Running Away, Catching Up, and Brew2Brew

This post is primarily going to be a quick catch up on training as I'm a little over a week away from the Free State 100k, but I wanted to get a little thoughtful and play armchair therapist a bit first. Please bear with me. (Skip down a bit if you don't want to read all the personal stuff)

A friend of mine posted on Facebook, something along the lines of "I've been down lately, so I ran a whole bunch, but I'm still down and now I'm frustrated."(Heavily paraphrased)

Well, I don't know AT ALL what THAT feels like. Not one bit. (Is the sarcasm thick enough?)

Yes, the past 4-5 months have been quite rough for me, but I feel like I'm finally coming out the other side and really feeling like myself again. I definitely sympathize with my friend, having just gone through that, but it really got me thinking after I responded to his post with basically an off-the-cuff comment. 

"Running away from your problems doesn't work unless you have something to run towards."

About 30 seconds after posting this, my brain said "Holy shit." and we went full blown epiphany. 

Literally AND figuratively, this is possibly the most profound thing I've realized since my relationship ended. In a literal sense, when everything fell apart with my ex, I immediately needed running in my life as a source of distraction and as one of the few places of refuge and serenity in my life. I was under no illusion that any of my problems would be solved, nor would they just magically go away with enough time...but for the time being, I needed something...anything...to take my mind off of the heartache. 

This whole time, my sole focus was what was behind me. The thing that was gone, the thing I missed. The thing I was running away from. The pain and the loss. I was trying to get as far away from those things as possible, but in an abstract sense, I really hadn't picked a particular direction in which to run. Just AWAY. The problem there is that when you're traveling with no compass and no destination in mind, you tend to stray from your original heading, and over enough time you end up going in circles and ending up right back where you started. See? Clever, huh?

So lately, I've started piecing things back together in a big way. Staying on top of my life responsibilities was the first step. Things as small as tidying up my room...cleaning my car...scheduling overdue appointments with dentists and doctors...and finally biting the bullet, sacking up, and deciding to see a therapist. Maybe just for a little while, just to get some perspective and a little direction. And because I deserve to be happy. (Remember my New Year's resolutions?)

Well wouldn't you know it, all of these little things that I'm doing in my own life...as it turns out, THEY are the thing that are making the difference. Essentially, without being consciously aware of it until now, I have shifted my life's focus away from the past, and towards the future...towards the person I want to be. I don't know exactly when this shift occurred, and it's likely that it just happened gradually enough for me to not notice, but it has rendered upon me an incredible sense of happiness and empowerment that I've only experienced a few other times in my life. So that's nice...

Anyways...back to training stuff!!!

I finished my exercise challenge yesterday, having only missed a workout on 3 of the first 100 days of this year. In the end, I realized that perfection had never been the goal. The goal was to make a commitment to self-improvement and get some serious repetition on very positive and healthy habits. I'd say Mission Fucking Accomplished! I've had 3 wildly successful ultramarathons, rediscovered and built my yoga practice back from scratch, and I'm still injury free! Speaking of that 3rd ultra...

Brew 2 Brew 2013 - 43 Mile Solo Run!!!

Pre-Sunrise start, I'm the goofy bald guy making faces for Dick Ross

I signed up for this race with the intention that it would be my last long run and nutrition systems test before the 100k. I went back and forth on thinking it was a bad idea. Too close to raceday, too many pavement miles, possibility of injury. I decided to just listen to my body and see what happened. Some mystery pain the week before led me to a much needed visit with my massage therapist, and with those issues resolved I headed into the Brew2Brew with a relaxed attitude and the promise to myself that if things weren't feeling right, I'd drop and not give a single fuck. At least I hoped I could keep that promise to myself. 

With some zinc oxide sunscreen slathered on my freshly bald head(I let some kiddos shave it at a cancer research benefit) and the same nutritional plan that has fueled my other races this year, I arrived at Boulevard Brewery feeling calm, loose, and collected. I did not know who else was running the solo race, but I hadn't necessarily planned on running with anybody. As we lined up, I saw Wael and Danny M, fellow badass ultra Nerds. In the midst of chatting with them, the race started and we moved forward. Within a few miles, we were still together and chatting so it was more or less agreed upon that we'd just stick together since none of us had a particular time goal in mind. 

As the miles began to tick away, we kept seeing our splits coming in at 9:15 and 9:30, and every mile we kept saying, "Woah, we need to slow down or we'll regret it later." But we didn't heed our own advice. We all felt pretty good and were moving really well and we ran just over 20 miles at that pace. After we passed the halfway point, the course began to get hillier, and as our legs began to fatigue, we started employing some very effective run/walking. We'd point to a landmark(usually at the beginning of a hill) and say "Run to that telephone pole" and then we'd get a walk break. I had never run a race in this fashion, and I'm told this is THE strategy for 100 milers. It worked beautifully. 

At some point it was decided that we should shoot to finish under 8 hours, so we checked our time occasionally to make sure we stayed well within reach of that goal. Honestly, this was my longest run ever, by several miles, and I haven't run anywhere near this far in almost 2 years. The crazy thing is that even though I was sore, I don't think I struggled at any point today. We strode proudly into Lawrence, KS to a mob of adoring(drunk) fans(just people, really) and crossed the finish line side by side in 7:48. 

Chugging along with Wael and Danny M

I saw lots of familiar faces and shared lots of fun ultra stories with Danny and Wael, but one of my favorite things about this race has to do with the fact that it is primarily a relay race. Teams of up to 10 people dress in costumes and drink beer as they divy up the 43 miles between them. What this provided for was aid stations packed to the gills with people waiting for their runners to show up and tag them in (Don't worry, the aid stations themselves were reserved for solo runners and I never had to wait). The really really cool thing was that a good chunk of these relayers were either non-runners or just casual runners. And to a non-runner/casual runner, the idea of somebody running THE WHOLE THING seems ludicrous, absurd, and amazing. I know this because 6 years ago, as part of training for my first half marathon, I donned a bib number for the first time and did 2 legs of the 2007 Brew2Brew. I remember how I felt back then as I looked at these solo runners finishing and I thought they were gods. GODS, I tell ya!

Anyways...back to the present day. Every single aid station we passed, we were met with so many cheers and pats on the back, I couldn't help but feel like a hero of some sort. Though it's a severe simplification, I suspect that this feeling is as close as I'll ever get to knowing how members of the armed forces feel when they return home from active duty in a warzone. I kinda hoped for a band playing Sousa marches for us at the finish line, but there must've been a scheduling conflict with the local VFW or something. 

There weren't too many crazy stories to tell from this race, or at least nothing deserving enough to be exaggerated and elaborated upon in overly flowery words. The moral of the story was that I completed the longest run of my life and, with the help of two well-seasoned ultra runners keeping me company, it went really really smoothly. And the best news yet? In the four days since Brew2Brew, I've run twice and my legs really feel fantastic. I'm going to get one last massage from Katie tomorrow morning, and then I'll be ready to take on the Free State 100k with a full head of steam. And not to mention, I have recruited the One-And-Only Matty Mullins to pace me for the last 20 miles!  Needless to say...I feel very good about my chances of finishing and getting my first belt buckle!

I'll leave you with a few more photos from B2B. Photos by Dick Ross, courtesy of KC Track Club

Sunrise on the levee

The infamous boat crossing

Finish line with Danny M and some adoring fans

Rodeo Valley 50k: Something Gained, Something Lost

For a few years now, I've known that my brother is faster than me. He originally started running partially by following my example. He had come up to Idaho to watch me race my first Ironman, and according to him, that day he resolved to do a triathlon himself.

Well that was 2010.

Nearly 3 years later, he has beaten every PR that I have in distances he has attempted. And not by a hair...his half marathon PR is a solid 7 minutes faster than mine. In a half ironman, he's got me by nearly half an hour. We joke about who holds the LWR in a particular distance, or spelled out, the Loental World Record. I've only got a few left, and I've long suspected that the only reason I still held them was simply because Chris had not attempted those distances yet.

Here's the story of how I lost another one.

I've been hearing from Chris about trail races he has done, raced well in, even placed in his age group or overall. They were shorties of various distances, but nothing more than 20 miles. I'd mentioned to him on several occasions that it might be a good time to enter the world of ultramarathons and go for a 50k. He continually insisted to me that it was too far, and that he'd bonk, blowup, or die.

Knowing his capability as an athlete, I knew this was a bullshit excuse and I finally got him to consider doing one last December. As it turns out, he was having some injury problems at the time and didn't end up racing. So we fast forward to March 2013. I'm planning a weeklong visit to San Francisco and I ask my brother,

"Hey brother, are there any good races happening that weekend?"

He replies that there is a trail race at Rodeo Valley, a place we have both raced at before(I did the 30k and he did a 20k or something). Big huge honking gut-buster climbs, sweeping views of Marin, the Pacific Ocean, and the Golden Gate Bridge(unless it was foggy like it was last time, then you see nothing). I initially decide to hit up the 30k race again, but later consider trying out the 50k on that course, if nothing else to get in the miles in preparation for my 100k.

Yada yada yada, long story short, I convince my brother to sign up for the 50k and assure him that I'd be at his side every step of the way to make sure he didn't go out too fast, didn't fudge his nutrition, and for moral support and awesome brotherly bonding time.

50k course=Pink-Orange-Pink-Pink, all counterclockwise.

As raceday approached, he relayed his concern to me that he hadn't put in enough mileage, his only long run had been a downhill half marathon the previous month(he PR'd with the flu, by the way....what a fucker). I reminded him of my first 50k and how unprepared I was for it, both physically and mentally, and again reassured him that he'd be like Fonzie...you know...cool.

As far as my own race expectations, I had none. Aside from getting in the miles, my sole purpose was to see my brother through his first ultra. Thoughts of how fast I might be were about as nonexistent as thoughts can be. Extremely, not at all in any way, shape, or form. I hadn't even taken the time to compare what I remembered of the terrain and elevation to what I was most familiar with from the only other place I've ever done a 50k...WyCo.

I aided my brother in his queries about nutrition and hydration strategies, but he's done the endurance racing thing before, so he already had a pretty solid plan. I decided to go with my tried and true, the stuff that had worked so well in February, the PB+Nutella on tortilla, Honey Stinger chews, S-caps, beef jerky, and aid station grazing as available.

Race day arrived and we were as prepared as we could be. Chris had his morning coffee and his morning deuce, as is his tradition, while I did nothing in particular, as is my tradition. We arrived on-site, checked in, got our consecutively numbered race bibs(I briefly contemplating surreptitiously swapping them in case he beat me, and then I could TECHNICALLY still hold the LWR at the distance. But I'm not that petty, nor do I truly care that much about being better than my brother.

At the very most, if we were still stride for stride coming down the home stretch, I knew we'd have to sprint it out to the finish...which upon contemplation, I really had no idea how that would play out. I'd like to think my experience at ultras would leave me with more kick at the end, but his sheer athleticism might just bitch slap my "experience" as it unceremoniously ditched my sorry ass.

The co-race directors seemed like solid gentlemen, and played a little good cop/bad cop in their pre-race speeches. One of them being light-hearted, encouraging, and funny, while the other one was strictly covering rules, course instructions, cut-off times, and logistics. And one of them had a really kick ass dog. Funny guy said, "Who here has never done an ultra before?" My brother and several others raised their hands, to which funny guy replied, "Well then you guys are WAY too close to the front."

Pre-race talk...Gee, think he was the fun one? 

It was true, but the first mile of this course was on a road and a rather wide pathway, so sprinting out to get good position for the trail was not necessary.

They signalled the start of the race, and we slowly trotted forward.

Well...I tried to. Chris's slow trot is a bit faster than mine so I followed him. I cautioned him about the 9:00/mile pace we were laying down, but then again we were moving downhill. I went with it. The course meandered towards the foothills for a mile or so before any serious climbing happened. We both emptied our bladders in the bushes before we began climbing. And up we went!

Chris seemed unfamiliar with the concept of walking steep hills, and I often had to remind him that he'd pay for it later. We still at least jogged most of the lower grade inclines and were actually maintaining a pretty decent pace for our efforts.

Approaching the 1st aid station, please note the fog.

We hit the first aid station and then hit the first of the really steep stuff. It was at this point that Chris first really agreed that this was walking territory. We hiked it out through several false summits before we hit the first actual summit and enjoyed the trail as it spilled down the other side for some exhilarating downhill...or at least I enjoyed it. My bro is kind of a puss when it comes to technical downhills, so I enjoyed literally the ONLY thing that I'm better than him at, descending. We had amazing "views" of San Francisco Bay and the bridge. Granted these "views" were really just a solid wall of fog, but like last time, I had to simply imagine how nice the view must be.

It's beautiful! Supposedly...who knows?

The next section of climbing eased up and we had some really great ridge traverses that ducked in and out of eucalyptus groves that smelled exactly as you'd expect them to. Like how I think koala farts might smell if the world was a really funny place. Like...I mean...a REALLY funny place.

Finally we got our first downhill stretch and it was gradual enough that we could really stretch out the legs and just let it fly, and it was untechnical fire roads, so my brother didn't have to worry about the fact that he's a total wimp in that department.

I started to notice the he was occasionally putting small to medium gaps on me, and I'd occasionally have to pick it up beyond my comfort level to catch up. Mainly though, I just wanted to keep running with my brother because I was enjoying it so much!

During this first stretch of the race approaching Tennessee Valley, I began to formulate some expectations for the race. Based on how well we were moving, I was absolutely confident that Chris would finish with no problem whatsoever. I was also pretty confident that he'd probably end up dropping me at some point in the last few miles and handily beat me. The other thing that I realized was actually kind of startling, since I hadn't actually contemplated such a thing yet.

I was almost certain, based on how I felt and my pace thus far, that I would get a new PR out of the deal. Had I actually thought about it, compared WyCo to this terrain, I might have figured this out earlier. There are very few parts of WyCo where you can really open up and run with a full stride. Everything is so nasty technical, twisty-turny, muddy-slick-sticky, etc, that it takes some severe athleticism to hold even your normal running pace for any distance whatsoever. This course was almost entirely lacking anything as technical as WyCo, and while the hills were much much bigger, only a few of them were anywhere near as steep as the notorious sections like 3 Hills, Fall Down, Misery Ridge(not sure if that's the actual name, or if I just made it up...too lazy to check), and the others that are just cruel enough to suck yet refuse to be named.

The fog begins to "burn off".

Long unnecessary explanation aside, the terrain was harder in some ways, but easier in others, and definitely easier to go faster on. So yeah...crazy to think that barely more than a month after my triumphant PR at Run Toto Run, I might have yet another 50k PR to revel in.

Gut-busting fire roads coming out of Tennessee Valley

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We descended into Tennessee Valley, refilled hydration packs, got some snacks, and headed back up into the hills. For whatever reason, my brother's athleticism, my own residual fatigue from my high mileage at the start of the year, or other...the gaps my brother was putting on me started to increase. I was having trouble keeping pace with him. He would occasionally stop and wait for me. I began to realize that I wanted my brother to have his best race more than I wanted him to stay with me and continue the brotherly bonding. With the full realization that I could say nothing and he'd continue as he was, waiting for me when I fell behind, and that I might otherwise have a chance to retain the LWR, I went ahead and spoke up.

"Dude, you're looking wicked strong, and I'm pretty sure I'm just holding you back. If you're feeling it, you can just go for it."

Essentially, I wanted him to run HIS race, not MY race. He said he'd stick it out with me through this section of hills before he struck out on his own, and true to his word, together we topped the last climb before the descent back into Tennessee Valley. It was at this point we hugged, wished each other well, and He. Took. Off.

I made a mental note that we were 13 miles in as he quickly put an impressive gap on me. Within minutes, he was almost out of view. I was incredibly proud of the athlete he had become and I reveled at the thought of his eventual finish. He was absolutely destroying this race!

I turned my thoughts back to myself, as it was now just me, my thoughts, and my legs. I was SORE! I was descending, but with the focus now squarely on myself, I realized I was already too fatigued to really let it go on these long downhills. Running with Chris had afforded me the opportunity to run a pretty fast stinkin' pace for the first half of this race, but it had also put me in a bit of a pickle endurance-wise. But I also realized that if I were to PR today, I'd owe it completely to Chris for essentially pacing me to this point...which is funny because I was supposed to be pacing him.

After Chris dropped me, my pace dropped significantly. I came through the Tennessee Valley aid station again and then worked my way into the steepest cruelest part of the course, the Coastal Trail. These hills were just as large, but gut-busting hands-on-knees trudge-it-out affairs. My average pace fell steadily and quickly.

I was in more pain than this photo depicts.

The last hills of the first lap topped out amongst old artillery sites from back in WWII when we were paranoid about a Japanese invasion. The only thing left were creepy tunnels, rusty doors, and large circular gun placements which used to house enormous instruments of mass destruction, but were now just decrepit and fallen into disrepair. One of the race photographers had chosen a perch at the end of the one of these tunnels and caught us coming through.

The last downhills of the first lap were particularly punishing on the knees and feet, but I got through them and rolled back into the main aid station.

I made it a point to not even contemplate pulling out early, just because that kind of thinking tends to poison your mind in really bad ways. The only time I'll allow it is if I think I'm injured, in which case, I no longer have any shame whatsoever in calling it quits(though I have yet to prove this in a race).

I got what I needed at the aid station, and without a second thought, headed back down the road to take on the 2nd lap(technically a half lap, since this loop did not include the sections past Tennessee Valley). Essentially I had a half marathon left and roughly 2:15 left to PR, but I wasn't entirely sure how long it would take me. Judging by GPS is difficult because you never know how accurate the mileage is reading on the trails. Usually they read short...but I didn't want to count on it, so I assumed it was reading dead-on.

The first few miles getting into the hills were a definite test of willpower. These hills were runnable, and I knew I could really put myself in a good position to PR if I really took advantage and gained some time here before I hit the stuff I would HAVE to walk. My legs were cooperating...sort of. I settled into a pretty regular walk/run pattern that I decided I'd have to be satisfied with. I'd run for a stretch until my legs were screaming, and then I'd take 10-20 easy walking paces, usually stretching out the last few to milk them for all the recovery they were worth, and with pretty decent success.

I was able to gut through these first hills, hit the aid station, and then went into hike mode on the steep stuff. I knew I'd have to really cut loose on the downhills to have any chance at maintaining PR pace. By this time, the fog had finally FINALLY burned off and the views did not disappoint in the least. I topped out that ridge and headed down the backside, slowing my descent ever so slightly for just a moment to fully take in the long-promised view of the bridge and the bay. Stunning as it was, I had other pressing business at hand.

My quads, calves, knees, ankles, and feet....oh fuck it....my EVERYTHING was screaming from the repeated pounding as I motored down the hills, step by step towards Tennessee Valley, hoping to gain as much time as I could before the dreaded Coastal Trail which would inevitably destroy my legs and pace.

When I came screaming(figuratively...perhaps literally?) into Tennessee Valley, I was passed by somebody who wasn't racing, but was just out for an afternoon run. He did not look like he had been running for 5+ hours at that point, and his presence was a mockery of my suffering. I hated him and everything he represented. He gave me a friendly head nod, as if to imply "Hey great job, you're looking strong." That's not how I took it. To me, his pompous head nod read as "Hey look how fast I'm going! These legs are so FRESH! Man, these things work GREAT!"

Fuck that guy. I bet his family is full of assholes just like him. I bet he double parks ALL THE TIME.

I filled up at Tennessee Valley and asked how many miles until the finish. They told me 4.5 or so to go. I looked at my watch. It read 26.5. FUCK. My GPS was reading dead-on-balls accurate, and I hated it for working correctly. I had no wiggle room whatsoever from when it usually reads short on distance.

4.5 miles left and I've been running for 5:15. Previous PR was 6:17. About an hour to gut out the hardest portion of trail. I knew the last mile was downhill, so really as long as I averaged at least 15:00/mile on the steep ups, I had a shot. Once more unto the breach, good friends...

Luckily, I had hydrated and eaten well-enough to leave myself in a condition where I actually had a choice. Conquering willpower only works when the body is capable. My body was tired and beaten, but ready for a knock-down drag-out fight for glory, beer, and buxom women(ok...2 out of 3?).

I jogged hills that were even remotely runnable, busted-ass on flats and downhills, and power-fuck-walked the brutally steep ones. A mile passed...above pace! Then the hills got steeper. The next mile passed...right at 15:00. Still in the fight! The next mile passed, above pace! And the next, also above pace! I finally hit a peak where I can see basically the entire god-damned world. San Francisco off in the distance, the vast Pacific, and way way down there, I can see the parking lot, main race site, and finish line. I tell myself, "If I can be THERE in 20 minutes, I get a PR!"

That was it...with the prize in sight, I became an angry sweaty cannonball dressed in technical fabric as I bombed fiercely down the most technical descents of the entire course. Some hikers were gingerly tip-toeing this terrain. As they stepped aside to let me pass, they looked at me as if I were surely committing suicide going so fast.

I'm not my brother. This shit is what I live for. Somewhere on the edge of control and recklessness is how I love to run technical terrain when I've got the legs for it. And I may not have necessarily had the legs for the kind of control this called for, but I didn't rightly give a shit. I wanted a god-damned PR.

I sprinted through the old tunnels, looped around, ran down the stairs built into the hillside, and hit the road that would eventually wind around and around and take me to the finish. I blasted past boy scouts, families, and church groups out for day hikes.

The road flattened out and I rolled towards the finish line, finally crossing in 6:09:31. A PR by about 7.5 minutes. I gave an exhilarated fist-pump and immediately looked for my brother, who surely must have finished 30 minutes ago and would likely be bundled up and drinking a beer and a bowl of hot soup.

No...he's standing right there...literally right beyond the finish line. We congratulate each other and I inquire how he fared. He finished in 5:58! Wow...he obviously took the LWR, but only by 11 or so minutes. He had definitely gapped me significantly early on, but I must have made up a lot of time during the 2nd loop. There's the ol' experience coming through!

This was really a fantastic race overall. As colorful as I described it, I really did not hate any part of this race. Even when shrouded in eerie fog, the entire course was hauntingly beautiful, and when the fog burned off, it was utterly breathtaking, both figuratively and literally here. I planned and executed my race very well and I am entirely satisfied with my effort and certainly my surprising new PR. More than that, it was really great to see my brother approach an unknown challenge and conquer it without question. And most of all, even though it was only for 13 miles, it was an absolute treat to get to share in part of my brother's first ultramarathon. I loved running with him and hope we can do it again when there are no LWR's on the line!

+1 PR for Danny, +1 LWR for Chris, +100 fun for all

My next big challenge is running the Brew2Brew solo and a few weeks later, hopefully my first belt buckle finish at the Free State 100k. I have to admit that my mileage has not been what I hoped for the past month or so, but more important than that, I am not currently injured. I hurt a lot after Rodeo Valley, but within a few days it was all gone, putting to rest any worries that doing 50ks in back to back months was ill-advised. I'm looking forward to visiting my massage therapist in the coming week and not having any specific injuries that need fixin'. In addition, if this snow ever goes away, I look forward to ramping up my mileage in preparation for some new distance milestones!

If you remember that earlier this year I had taken on Bryan West's challenge of trying to exercise at least 30 minutes a day for 100 days straight. I'm happy to report that I haven't fallen off the bandwagon and earlier this evening I fulfilled my duty for Day 84 with a nice 40 minute self-guided yoga practice focusing on lots of hip openers. It almost worked out that the Brew2Brew would be Day 100, but my target date falls the day AFTER that run. Aw, shucks!

I'm not sure what my plan is for after Day 100, but I don't see any particular reason to quit what has essentially become a daily habit at this point. I may not be as anal about squeezing in a workout before midnight if I've slacked all day, but I do like the consistency and dependability of a healthy routine.

I keep saying I'm going to write about my rediscovered passion for yoga, the growth of my practice, and how many ways it has helped me. I still plan to write that blog, but I'm not quite ready. It's still a fairly emotionally charged topic for me, and the thoughts are still swirling around upstairs. It will happen...I just need more time to sort it all out.

Anyways...I apologize for kind of going off-topic at the end there, but I wanted to get some additional thoughts down before I forgot that I had them.

As always, thanks so much for reading and for your encouragement! I am enjoying a lot of success, and the personal satisfaction I have is pretty stellar, but I do draw a lot of inspiration and motivation from my friends who read and comment!

Danny

4 Years of KTB: Audience Participation Encouraged!

Today is my birthday.

No, not that one. The one I actually give a crap about. Not the day when my mother brought me into this world, but the day I brought myself into this world, in a manner of speaking.

Four years ago today, I took the initiative to change my own life. To be fair, I was just sad about a recent breakup and needed an outlet, but on that day I went for a run. And it hurt a whole heck of a lot. At the time I was, at best, a sporadic and inconsistent exerciser. I had done a half marathon each April for the past two years and had completely abandoned running in the time between. One of them I didn't even train for, so I'm not sure it even counts.

So anyways...on February 18th, 2009 I stepped out the door into the cold and searched for a way to distract myself from my life. Not going to dwell too much on the similarity between that day and my current situation, but it would be inappropriate to completely ignore it. However, that's not what this is about. This isn't about that FIRST run. It's about what happened next.

A lot has happened between that day and today. Starting with that first painful, gasping-for-air mile...fast forwarding 4 years...up through Saturday's 10 miler, my legs have carried me through 2,625 miles. In addition, I have traveled 4,464 miles via bike, and I have swam 83 miles.

I've received finisher medals for 11 half marathons, 2 marathons, 3 50k's, a 40 miler, 5 half Ironmans, 2 full Ironmans, and a generous smattering of shorter races. And I've done quite a few races that did not involve medals at all...though I do love all the Shiny!

Pretties

Today also marks my 49th day of consecutive exercise, on a quest to hit 100 straight...and maybe beyond? Honestly, if I made it that far, why quit?

So what is it I'm trying to say? Obviously this day means a lot to me. It's a day that makes me proud of who I am, what I've achieved, and what I have yet to achieve. It's a day when I get to reflect on everything I've done and take a moment to celebrate Me. Most people do this on their actual birthday, but I like this better. I'd rather celebrate myself on a day where I can look back and say “I accomplished something”.

I can not look back on the day of my birth and be so bold. I think there was a lot of drool and poop involved. I was completely helpless and unable to care for myself. And I couldn't even hold my head up on my own.

Sometimes even now as a grown-ass adult, I have trouble doing that.

But it's not because my head is too massive for my undeveloped neck muscles to lift(Though with all the bragging I'm doing, you might suspect that). Lately it has been hard to maintain a positive attitude due to life's curve balls, but I am trying to fight the good fight and be a happier version of me. This exercise streak may have something to do with that, both as a byproduct of, and a treatment for my depression.

Writing helps too. I like to write down my athletic stories because they help me remember all the little moments of those big races that would otherwise be forgotten within months. They help me fully relive an event which was meaningful to me. Even today I could go back and reread Part 4 of my Ironman Coeur d'Alene report and still get choked up remembering how exhilarated I felt turning onto the home stretch of the run and how raw the emotion was when I crossed the finish line and became an Ironman. When I write, I primarily write for me.

But there are some added benefits associated with making my stories public. I get to share my experiences with family and friends. I get motivation from people who read them and congratulate me on a race well run, or who help lift my spirits after a race that didn't go as planned. Finally, perhaps my favorite part, is that I get to watch others become inspired.

Now I'm not going to sit here and claim responsibility for anybody else's achievements. I know that I did X, and then So-And-So read about it and eventually went on to also do X. But they found that motivation and drive to succeed from within themselves, no question.

I simply like to think that maybe I just planted an idea in their head. Got them thinking about something they might not have otherwise considered. Something along the lines of when my good friend Delaware completed his first Ironman. I thought to myself, “Gee...I thought only freak-of-nature humanoid cyborgs could do that. Delaware is totally a real human and HE did one!” And that's not to say that he's not a badass, because he totally is. BUT...it's that shift in how you view the world, how you view a particular challenge, and how that shift changes the way you think about yourself.

That's what I mean by “What one man can do, another can do.”

I sincerely hope that people who read my blog don't come away with the notion that I'm any better, any faster, any stronger, or any more likely to succeed than they are. I really hope they come away with the thought that “Danny can do that. I bet I can do that too.”

And I have heard a few stories indicating that this is sometimes the case.

So...now....what do I want for my birthday? 

More stories...

If I were to make my life into a book(Don't worry, not actually going to happen), I'd like to think it would be less full of things I did, and more full of things that I inspired others to do.

Have you ever read one of my race reports? Heard me talk about a race, or even just heard 2nd hand about something I did or attempted to do? Were you then motivated or inspired to try something new or take on a challenge in your own life? I'd love to hear your story. Leave me a comment on this blog, on Facebook, on Twitter(@DannyKTB), or send me an email, dloental@gmail.com. No matter how big or small the story, or if you've even told me already, tell me again. It's MY BIRTHDAY and this is what I want.

I don't necessarily believe in a “meaning of life” as the scholars would define it, but I think that a really solid approach to our time on this planet is to try and leave the world a better place than we found it. For me, I think it's helping others achieve happiness and serenity the way I did four years ago today, by becoming active, healthy, and confident in themselves and their potential.

Looking forward to hearing from you!

KTB,
Danny

Run Toto Run 50k: WyCo, Our Fickle Mistress

To catch up on how I trained for this race and what my expectations were, dig my previous post. Otherwise, let's take a journey!

When setting goals and placing expectations, I've always tried to be bold but reasonable. I've never thrown myself at a challenge that I had absolutely no hope of achieving. Perhaps some challenges seemed larger in my mind than they were in real-life, but for the most part I've chosen to take small bites when it comes to new PRs in speed and distance. I don't know if I should be aiming higher or not, but as far as my satisfaction with being an athlete and achieving desired results more often than not, I have been pretty happy with this approach.

And then occasionally, I fail utterly and completely in setting a goal that is reasonable and realistic for my abilities. But not in the way that you think...

As this race approached, as confident as I was in my training, I still kept a wary eye on the weather and the trail conditions. I knew that sloppy trails could make or break my day. If the trails stayed dry, I would have predicted a finish as fast as 6:30 if I raced intelligently and had good legs. If it rained leading up to raceday, I was still confident that I'd break 7:00 barring any unforeseen circumstances, raceday blowups, or nutritional screwups. Two years ago, I had hoped to break 7:00, but I neglected my nutrition and blew up with 2 miles to go, missing the mark by 5 minutes. And face-planting in the snow with about 100 meters to go. Classic!

Although quite chilly, raceday morning arrived with sub-freezing temperatures. This was actually a blessing, as we might catch a break with the early mud being frozen before the day warmed up. I arrived at the race site an hour early by accident because I apparently thought the 50k and 20 milers were starting at 7 am. Better than being an hour late, I suppose. Nonetheless, I hung around, chatted with volunteers and set up my drop bag at the main aid station.

I was pretty satisfied with my nutrition plan for the day, though I must admit I broke the Golden Rule of racing on a few items(aka Never try anything new on race day). In addition to my normal Honey Stinger chews, electrolyte tabs, and PB/Nutella wraps, at the last minute I decided to throw in some coconut water for before each loop, and some beef jerky for the journey. I had always wanted to try beef jerky during a race, just so I could be "that guy". Ideally, I envisioned myself as a tough grizzled 60 year old dude in a full Ironman, riding a 20 year old bicycle, full beard blowing in the breeze, chewing on a hunk of dried meat as he passed some young whippersnapper who would look on in awe at the spectacle. Maybe someday...if I can ever actually grow a beard.

As 8:00 drew near, I begrudgingly stripped down to my race attire, shedding the warm fleece and extra beanie. I walked over to the starting area and began chatting with some Trail Nerd friends who were also racing. I was too far away to hear Ben's pre-race instructions, but I more or less knew the gist of what he was most-likely saying. "Follow the flags, don't be stupid, if you get lost you're stupid, if a sign tells you to 'slow down' then you should really slow down, here's a lighthearted anecdote about a guy who broke his leg there..."

HONK! The air-horn sounded signaling the start of the race. I was caught off-guard in mid-sentence with the guy I had been talking to. I immediately look down to start my watch and realize I've put it on upside down.

Derp!

Helluva way to start a race. I wonder what else I've neglected as I orient my brain to press the correct button. The watch happily bleeps at me as I begin jogging forward. I'm pretty far back in the pack, so I make an effort to pass as many people as possible on this first stretch through the open field and up the hill. Once we hit the trails, passing will not be so straightforward, and I dislike being stuck in a conga line and having my pace dictated for me. I made it a decent ways towards the front of the pack before that first left turn off the road and onto the trails. Twas' the moment of truth...

Doing work on solid earth!

I happily planted a foot onto solid, frozen ground as I started up the hill. This was indeed a blessing! This first few miles can be notoriously bog-like after rain, but the freezing temperatures caused it to freeze, harden, and PRESTO...traction! The trade-off was the cold air wreaking the usual havoc on my lungs as my body warmed up. Admittedly it is much better now with the asthma medications I take regularly, but it still takes me 10-15 minutes to work out all the wheezes and coughs on a cold day.

As I warmed up, I set down a pace that was mildly aggressive. I wanted a strong first loop. After so many long days on this course, I knew it like the back of my hand...the hills I could run, the hills I needed to walk, and the best lines on the technical downhills where I could steal free speed. I occasionally would find myself unable to pass a runner, but took these opportunities to remind myself that I could afford to slow down for a bit and conserve for later.

Triumphantly emerging from Wyandotte Triangle

The Wyandotte Triangle came and went. Fall Down Hill came and went. The Dam Hill came and went. That Place Where The Guy Broke His Leg and Fester's Wander came and went. Honestly, the first loop was going quite smoothly. The minor aches and pains I had been having the previous few weeks were not a problem and the legs felt strong. As I reentered the woods approaching the derelict boat yard, I noticed the mud was beginning to thaw and traction was beginning to worsen. The sun was coming out. Oh well...it was nice while it lasted. I knew that the 10 milers had started at 9 am. Those hundreds of pairs of shoes were hitting unthawed mud and I shuddered to think what condition those early stretches would be in when I saw them again.

Prime WyCo real estate

I fought the slowly worsening mud through the final aid station and through 3 Hills to find myself finishing my first lap in 1:45, which was right around where I wanted to be. I wasted no time in hitting my drop bag to grab a carton of coconut water and a peanut butter/nutella wrap. As I snacked, I handed my hydration vest to the Best Volunteers On The Planet™. Yes, Ben needs to trademark the ever-loving shit out of that phrase, because nobody has better volunteers than a Trail Nerd race. Period. Several attentive volunteers, many of whom are experienced ultrarunners themselves, immediately ask me what I need as my hydration pack is being filled. My eyes survey the smorgasbord of food and hydration options laid out before me. I spy the Tums. My brain consults the archives and mentions to me that in past races, we have run low on calcium. My body seconds the motion. I grab one and toss it down the hatch. Another Golden Rule violation. But not a bad idea, since it will have the dual effect of keeping the stomach settled. I'm entirely unsure why I hadn't tried it before.

My watch tells me 1 hour and 50 minutes of race time have elapsed as I stride away from the aid station to begin my 2nd loop, still munching on my PB/N wrap. Across the field, which is now not much more than a wide swath of mud with the occasional blade of grass defiantly bursting through as if 300-400 pairs of shoes just couldn't keep it down. Up the hill onto the road, left turn...

Hot mess.

THIS is what I expected. Sloppy, muddy, slippery doom stared me in the face as I trudged once again onto the trail. Each footfall, intended to propel the body forwards, included at least a slight budge to the side and back, robbing me of the full amount of momentum it could have otherwise provided. And in some places, you could lose ALL of it.

And then, there were the bogs. Shoe sucking. Soul sucking. Disheartening. Infuriating. I picture the "swamp of sadness" from Neverending Story, and the scene where it swallows up Atreyu's horse because it's just SO SAD. And that's only a slight exaggeration. Only slight.

Even just a few miles into the 2nd loop, my legs are really beginning to feel the punishment. All the extra effort required to slog through this unholy wasteland has brought a distinct fatigue into my body. I'm forced to walk more often. More than I would have expected. I don't have a clear feel for how fast I'm generally moving, but it doesn't feel adequate. The mind games begin as I wonder how much time I'm losing, even though my watch is RIGHT THERE telling me that I'm more or less right on pace.

Fall Down Hill, or in this case "Slide Down Hill" is more appropriate, comes once again. I somehow am able to successfully negotiate the descent without falling using the alternating techniques of "typewriter feet" and "mud skiing". "Typewriter feet" is a term I just this moment coined for the practice of ultra-high cadence footfalls down a steep and muddy incline. The idea is that if your foot is only on the ground for a split-second, it has no opportunity to slide out from beneath you. "Mud skiing" is employed on the steep switchback corners and...well...I don't believe an explanation is necessary.

"Typewriter Feet" - patent pending

Kickin' and a-gougin' in the mud and the blood and the beer...

(A quick Google search has revealed that, to my surprise and delight, I am actually the first person to use the term "typewriter feet" outside the context of typewriter repair and maintenance. Score one for originality!)

Fall Down Hill spits me mercifully back onto solid earth as I cross the grassy field behind the dam and begin to work my way up the Dam(n) Hill. I take this opportunity(as I did on the first lap) to take a salt cap and a deliciously mouth-watering piece of beef jerky(Seriously, this stuff was a total game changer). As I reach the road, I'm walking. Until the Best Volunteers On The Planet™at the upcoming aid station start going completely ape-shit crazy-go-nuts bonkers at my arrival. Seriously, can't say enough about them. With 5-6 complete strangers so enthusiastically celebrating my approach, I have no choice but to run the 30-40 yards between us. Quickly downing a few orange slices and slamming a cupfull of whatever electrolyte beverage they had laid out, I thank them all and I continue a solid trot up the road. It just seems so foreign to have my feet staying put for this stretch.

Fester's Wander was similarly messy, including two hills that were steep enough and muddy enough that the race director was nice enough to tie up ropes so that we could have a means of ascent that didn't involve desperately clawing our way up on all fours. Thanks Ben! The remainder of the second loop was difficult, but manageable. 3 Hills were just as steep, but with the added difficulty of the reduced traction.

As I finished out this loop, I was beginning to pass some of the slower 10 milers. This is always nice because it gives me an opportunity to pump up other racers and feed off of the energy they give in return. Basically all trail racers are awesome people. I even ran a stretch of this loop with a guy wearing, I kid you not, khaki shorts and a button up! He was faster than me, but he seemed confident that I was on pace and able to break 6 hours. Fat chance, but thanks for the encouragement! The remainder of my thoughts on this loop involved how much more my legs hurt than I had expected, and dark and dismal thoughts of what the final loop had in store for me.

Also, how flippin' good this beef jerky was!

I rolled back into the main aid station right at 4 hours, having run the second loop in 2:12. I was still right smack dab where I wanted to be. Trying to ignore the fatigue in my legs and worries about my third loop, I hit my drop bag for coconut water and another wrap before getting my hydration pack filled again and hitting the trail for the last time. My second loop had been roughly 30 minutes slower than my first, and projecting my third loop to be equivalently slower than my second, I was putting myself at a 6:45 finish at best. This seemed exciting, but one can never know what's going to happen on your last loop. These worries clouded my head as I finished my snack and turned onto the trails once again.

I'm not sure how I missed it. Perhaps my mind was blissfully occupied. Perhaps my mind was blissfully blank. Both are great options. But it took me at least a mile to realize something...

Where the hell did all the mud go!?!?!?

Indeed. These same paths that were sucking my will to live a mere 2 hours ago had somehow transformed. During that time, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, bestowing upon us light and heat. The trails had begun to dry ever so slightly, and with that drying came the transition from pudding consistency to Play-Doh consistency. And furthermore, the runners ahead of me had been so kind as to tamp down a good portion of the trail surface, resulting in a slightly soft, smooth, and delightfully tacky running surface(With apologies to the Hooters restaurant chain). As my mind became aware of this gift from Mother WyCo Superior, I realized that my legs actually felt fantastic. I was tired, but I was moving really well and definitely still had some juice left to spend.

Knowing full well that I had been been handed a rare circumstance that I did not deserve...the trails actually IMPROVED on the last lap...I knew I had to earn back some trail karma to show my appreciation to the gods and goddesses of trail running. Over the next several miles, I made a point to pick up any bits of trash that other racers had either accidentally(it happens) or intentionally(assholes happen too) dropped on the course. I'm normally not really a superstitious guy. But in an ultra, I am not taking any chances.

In the midst of this joyous realization, while tearing down a hill, out of nowhere I roll an ankle HARD. I nearly faceplant as I reel from the shock and sudden pain. I stubbornly continue running, trying to pretend it didn't happen...just keep moving...just keep moving...I'm fine, I'm FINE! But I did need to stop for a moment and take stock of myself. I rotate the ankle around, gingerly at first, and then more forcefully, now confident that nothing was broken, torn, or strained.

I take this moment to once again offer my gratitude to nobody in particular that I didn't just break my ankle clean in half. After all, it is the sorrowful man who forgets that Wyco Giveth and WyCo Taketh Away. With this in mind, knowing that this trail was taking a lot from me today, I decided that I needed to take some of it with me. I knelt down and scooped up a fingerful of wet WyCo Earth and gave myself some warpaint, Ultimate Warrior style(Ok, I did my best with the crude materials available and no mirror).

I continued forward with renewed resolve and maybe just a hint of additional humility.

The trails had improved significantly, though there were definitely still occasional problem spots. Liiiiike ........Fall Down Hill. I once again put to good use the previously mentioned tactics of negotiating this treacherous humdinger. And thus went my first and only fall of the day....

I was typewriting my feet into The Switchback(if you've run this course, you basically know which one I'm talking about) as I prepared to make my approach for the mud ski run. Partially into the corner, I begin to lose control. Core muscles activate, arms flail, knees quiver, CONTROL!

I come to a complete stop, halfway through the turn. I stand there silently, grateful that I didn't fall. As I contemplate my next move(there's nothing within reach that I can grab to anchor myself for forward progress) my feet begin to slide again, ever so slightly. Realizing there was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent what was about to happen, I resigned myself to my fate and watched helplessly as the slowest fall in the history of trail running transpired. My feet lazily slid downhill, and with no leverage to keep my torso above my feet, my upper body went uphill. SPLAT!

I laughed heartily at myself and at my predicament. That fall literally happened over about 10 seconds, start to finish. My left leg, left ass cheek, and both hands were now coated in sticky, slimy mud and I was HAPPY about it! I was going to wear this mud as a Brown Badge of Courage for the remainder of my day. And I was probably going to end up ingesting at least a small amount of it if I wanted to use those same hands for eating. I got around that in the short term...

...across the field, up the hill, to the aid station, where one of the Best Volunteers On The Planet™ doesn't hesitate for a moment before hand feeding me a couple orange slices after seeing that my hands were not in the cleanliest state. I mean...seriously...where else would you see that happen?

Onward and upward, the Dam Hill falls for the final time, I scream down Broken Leg Ridge, clamber up the Slicker Than Snot w/ Ropes section and approach Fester's Wander as I see the "4 Miles To Go" sign. My brain has always been notoriously bad at calculating splits on the fly, but all evidence points to the fact that I might be able to hit 6:30 if I keep the hammer down. Fester's Wander has not really dried out much, and it's an ordeal getting through some sections of it, but I put it behind me and see the next mile marker sign. Further calculations confirm I'm on pace to hit 6:30. Or maybe even slightly under.

Wha-Wha-WHAAAAAAT!?!?!? This was my "best case scenario" if the trails were in good condition. The trails were shitty, and I'm going to maybe beat this time?

This realization put some fire in my belly and I charged out of Fester's Wander wondering why I felt so great all of a sudden. Probably because I was smashing to pieces a goal that I thought was "reasonably possible".  Each further mile marker, in half-mile increments, cements in my mind the idea that I'm blowing this shit out of the water. I realize I'm not only definitely going to break 6:30, but now I've got a shot at 6:20. With two miles to go, I do some more math and realize that 6:15 is the new target.

I'm churning along and who do I spy up the trail? Of all the people in the trail running world, I see Jim. This is the same guy who I met at this exact race two years ago. To sum up, on that particular day, he passed me in the last two miles because I had experienced an epic meltdown, and finished one spot ahead of me. On this particular day, I was the one passing him in the last two miles. If I believed in a deity or some manner of controlling force in the universe, this would be a significant moment for me. The Universe's way of saying, "Hey Danny, way to manage your nutrition. Here's a little friendly retribution for ya!"

I battle through 3 Hills for the last time and suddenly I'm at Ye Olde Iron Post. This is the random rusty bar that is stuck into the ground alongside the very last sharp and slight uphill of the course. It appears to have no business being there, but it has always been a signal to me that I was almost home. I always give it a tap for good luck as I pass, and since I was feeling like a million bucks at that moment, I stooped down and gave it a kiss in thanks for always being there. 100 meters from the finish, I kick into top gear down the hill towards the finish line.

Screaming, hooting, and hollering, I enter the clearing of the main aid station and charge at the finish line, arms raised in triumph and head spinning in disbelief. I leap across the threshold and revel in the beauty of the moment.

Look! A porta potty!

Final lap - 2:19...A mere 7 minutes slower than the second loop

Final time - 6:17...A PR by almost 50 minutes.

Showing off my hard-earned mud. And a sticker and stuff.

I bask in the post race glow for quite awhile as I cheer on other runners to the finish and sip on hot chocolate. But to be honest, I really just want to get to the wrap up and debrief of this race.

How did this happen? How COULD this happen? 6:30 seemed possible, 6:45 seemed doable, and breaking 7:00 seemed likely. Until now, I had never so severely UNDERestimated myself. In addition to how thrilled I am with this race, I wonder if I should have been aiming higher. Shooting for 6 hours instead of 7? Who can say? Maybe with that approach I might have overexerted early on and blown up too soon. I can say for sure that I'm definitely on the hook to go for 6 hours next year. Giddy up!

Beyond that, I have learned some solid things. Put in the miles and TRUST in that training. Planning and practicing your nutrition WORKS! This effort seriously rivals Ironman Coeur d'Alene as one of my  most intelligently planned and successfully executed races of all time.

I've gotta give some serious thanks where they are due. Big ups to Heather C for being my Saturday morning buddy for some 10 and 20 milers out on the course. Lots of thanks to Katie Lewis for keeping my body in good working order with her amazing ninja massage skills. Seriously...go see her. She'll fix your broken bits. Lots of love to Kate at Westport Yoga for helping get me out of the house and start really building my yoga practice into something I can be proud of, the Yin to my running Yang, if you will. I'd like to thank my loving parents who were busy packing for a trip to sunny Mexico while I was suffering in the cold and mud. Couldn't have done it without you! And in all seriousness...for all of the wonderful support and encouragement you've given me my entire life. You're without a doubt the reason I am who I am today...and I like who I am a lot. I love you both more than I can say, and after all your hard work and all the shit your three sons put you through...you damn sure deserve this vacation! To Ben Holmes and the Best Volunteers On The Planet™, thanks once again for a stellar race experience. You are the best at what you do, and it shows. I'll see you guys at Free State!

Finally, I'd like to thank Jack Links, the makers of such fine products as Matador Beef Jerky. Your dried meats are some of the best I've ever tasted. If you are ever interested in sponsoring an ultramarathoner, I'd be willing to hear your offer.

Thanks everyone for reading! It was a helluva race and I'm glad to have shared that day and this story with all of you!

KTB,
Danny

Photos courtesy of Tyson Hofsommer and Dick Ross

Run Toto Run 50k: A Preamble to Madness and Mudness

T-minus 7 hours until my alarm clock goes off and I wake up to face my third 50k, and fourth ultramarathon total.

My most recent big race was Ironman Florida, which was over 2 months ago. Leading into that race, it was all "To say that 'this is the most I've ever trained/best I've ever prepared/superlative blah etc thing more/you get the point for any race I've ever done' would be an understatement!" 

To say that this is the most I've ever trained for/prepared for an ultramarathon is not only a huge OVERstatement, but it's also nefariously deceptive. It's the ONLY ultramarathon I've ever really trained for/prepared for in any proper fashion. My first 50k was a notorious rude-awakening, having never run trails, having never run THESE trails, and having only had 2 weeks to recover after my first Ironman. My second 50k had training that consisted of "running trails once or twice a week wherever I could fit it in during nursing school" and the raceday planning and preparation consisted of "......... ........ ......... um..... yeah." My 40 miler consisted of similar training and a slightly more intelligent approach to nutrition and hydration planning. 

I guess in fine "Pull A Loental" style, I finished all 3 of these races, and some of them in halfway decent time/good style. Lots of people just DNF on ultra races that they put in crappy preparation for, I'm told. I don't really know what to say, but I can certainly shrug my shoulders and make a stupid "I dunno" face. 

So what's so different about THIS race that it warranted three entire tangential paragraphs? Well...I've actually built mileage somewhat appropriately, I've actually done several good long runs, and I've ACTUALLY experimented with my nutrition and might sort of have a PLAN this time. Amazing right? During the course of preparing for this race I did something that most people do in preparation for their first marathon. I ran a 20 miler. 

"But Danny, haven't you done three ultramarathons, two marathons, and two full Ironmans...those runs were certainly longer than 20 miles, you bozo." 

Yes, you are correct. But those were races. What I'm trying to say is that in January of 2013, nearly 4 years after I became a runner, I did a 20 mile TRAINING run. 

"But doesn't, like, EVERYBODY insist that you can't do a marathon without doing at least one 20 miler? Don't you have to KNOW how your body will feel when it hits the wall? How did you weasel your way out of that rite of passage?"

<Shrug> <Stupid face> I dunno...

So it was, this January I ran my first 20 miler out at Colleen's Frozen Fat-Ass, busting out 7 laps at 3 miles a pop. And then two weeks later, I ran my second 20 miler...two laps of The Course out at WyCo. And then a week after that, I ran my THIRD 20 miler, once again at WyCo. 

"Wow....three 20 milers in one month? Making up for lost time? Paying a debt to the gods of running?" 

Well, perhaps...but more than likely it's simply a shift in my attitude. This is, after all, the Year Of The Ultra...so I had probably get used to the idea of 20 milers and beyond. 

Furthermore, in addition to a refocusing of my motivation to excel at running and racing this year, I also kinda stumbled into a very surprising and amazing personal trend. A fellow Trail Nerd, Bryan West, posted a personal challenge on Facebook and invited others to dare and give it a shot. He was going to attempt to go 100 days in a row with at least 30 minutes of exercise. I mean...as much as I have bitched about New Year's resolutions, that's a pretty badass challenge. I decided to throw my name into the hat and give it a shot. I was really just curious how long I'd make it. 

Well...I'm 39 days in and going strong. To be fair, a LOT of those days I've relied on yoga to be my workout. But it fucking counts, and if you disagree then you and I are no longer friends. 

Truth bomb

"Hey wait, weren't you wanting to do more yoga anyways?"

You bet your ass, I sure as shit was! And not only that, but as much of an emotional wreck I've been lately, the yoga has been an absolute blessing. Not only is it giving me something to do besides obsess over things I have no control over, but it is also giving me a calmer mind and better control over my thoughts. Kinda like this: --------------->

It sounds cheesy and hippy-dippy and all that crusty granola BS that I tend to disagree with. But it fucking works. In the midst of the worst depression I've ever experienced, I'm finding serious peace just focusing on my breath, working on the poses, and letting go of all the bullshit that my brain is trying to fixate upon. And more often than not, this serenity lasts for at least a few hours after I leave the studio. 

I could keep ranting about the yoga, but this blog is about a race or something, right? I'll talk yoga another time.

So what do I know?

I'm pretty well prepared. I've got a decent nutrition plan, so I hopefully won't blow up with 2 miles to go (See also: 2nd 50k). Yet, despite all of this training and preparation, the biggest X-Factor in this race appears like it will be the trail conditions. When these trails get wet, they get very VERY messy. And they are currently wet. Throw in several hundred pairs of shoes tramping and slipping and...squorschhhing their way through this course, I foresee an utter quagmire for all 3 loops. 

This was after ONE lap on a mostly dry course. Jeebus help us!

Under favorable conditions, I would predict a finish somewhere around 6:30-6:45 based on how well I've been running during my 20 milers out there. With the deteriorated conditions of the trail, I would be utterly THRILLED to break 7 hours. Though at the end of the day, this is not THE race. This race is just miles. I am fully prepared to DNF if things start to feel tweaky. I'm not gonna risk an injury at this point in the season for just another 50k. Remember that I have bigger plans on the horizon. I have officially signed up as a solo runner for this year's 44 mile Brew2Brew, and plan to sign up for the Free State 100k. An athlete who trains the way athletes are supposed to train would call it their "A" race. I'm just saying I want a belt buckle with a 1 and two 0's. <Protip...For those unaware, 100k and 100 mile races tend to give out belt buckles to their finishers instead of medals>

Please be advised, I am NOT doing Western States. 

So...now it's kinda late and I should probably do the whole sleep thing...though I should mention that I did my first 50k on two hours of sleep. Just sayin...gonna kill some bears tomorrow, regardless of the circumstances. 

READ ABOUT THE RACE!!!!

BONUS PICTURE!

The 3 pair on the left saw me through 1200 miles of trails, and the pair on the right will see me through 400 more.

New Year's 2012

In a continuing effort to keep personal stuff separated from purely athletic stuff, my new year's wrap-up/rant can be found here.

See you in 2013!

Ironman Florida: The Aftermath and Moving On...

I know that a month ago I said I was going to write this soon. Well, I'm finally getting around to it now. Honestly, I've been so overwhelmed by life lately, good in some ways and exceptionally bad in others, that I really haven't had any motivation whatsoever to finish telling this story.

It's hard even now to pretend that I'm still that guy who is 100% stoked about life and ready to drag everybody else along for the ride, because I am really having trouble just dragging myself out of my bedroom when my job doesn't require it. I recently posted on Facebook that "A day I can run is a good day." and that has held extremely true. What I left unsaid in that post was the other side of the coin. The days I can't run...well...those days are painfully bad.

And I should clarify that I am, at the moment, physically uninjured.

Let's get to the storytelling.

I miss feeling this way.

Ironman Florida! Wow, what a ride! If you're just joining our broadcast, you can catch up on the details of the race here.

When I last left you, I was falling asleep after a long day with a vague and undirected sense of satisfaction. If I leave out lots of other things that I've contemplated since then, I can tell you that as the days passed, I became more and more proud of what I accomplished out there in the waters and on the roads of Panama City, Florida.

The swim...well I basically owned it, no questions asked. I didn't hit my target time, but considering the conditions, I couldn't have hoped to perform nearly as well as I did. Definitely my proudest triathlon swim ever. The bike had its highs and lows, including forgetting hard lessons learned in the past, but still a strong showing. The run...mostly lows. Yet despite the crash I experienced...despite everything falling apart...I have grown incredibly proud of the way I was able to pick myself back up and fight my way back from race oblivion.

I was well short of my time goal, but still crushed my former PR by almost 45 minutes. I definitely feel that if I hadn't refocused myself out there, I could have lost so much more time and even fallen short of my former PR. Granted, an Ironman finish is still an Ironman finish, but I hate to think how disappointed I would have been to put in so much more training and finish slower on an easier course than I faced in Coeur d'Alene.

Overall, I am just proud of the toughness I was able to find in myself to deal with the setbacks that were thrown my way...some of them predictable and preventable, and others completely out of my control. I am also proud that, for the most part, I was able to enjoy the hell out of my race...maybe not quite in the way I hoped, especially during a few of the more excruciating moments...but I think I was smiling for a good chunk of November 3rd, 2012.

This ability to stay tough and enjoy myself in the face of difficulty will serve me well in the coming year, which I have big big plans for indeed. I've told a handful of people(basically anybody who would listen) but next year has been deemed "Year Of The Ultra".

No triathlons(well...Redman might be calling my name) and no road running(if I can help it). I'm already mentally committed to my 3rd 50k in February, running the 44 mile Brew2Brew solo, and the Free State Trail 100k in April. Depending on how that 100k goes...

...

...I might....MIGHT....sign up to run my first 100 miler in the fall.

That's a pretty hefty goal, and a lot of work and planning will be required to see me toe the starting line and see the finish line, where I'd inevitably cry like a baby because that's what I do.

So what have I been up to since I got home from Florida? My original plan saw me taking a solid month off of running and doing a bunch of yoga instead. Well...remember what I've always said about plans? If you don't...um...well I'll tell you.

"A plan is a just a list of things that probably won't happen."

So...have I been resting?

Hell no. When I arrived home, I was forced to make an incredibly difficult decision in my personal life and begin to cope with the emotional fallout of that decision. This was absolutely the worst possible time to give up running. So I didn't. Within a week, I was back out on the trails putting in the longest runs that my legs would allow me. I've tried to be smart about it, but there are some days when I simply cannot make it without finding my serenity in the woods. And as I mentioned before...those days when I can't make it out there...they are incredibly difficult.


Luckily, so far I don't feel injured. I don't have any pain when I run, but I worry about how sustainable this is. I shudder to think of what would happen to my state of mind if I were sidelined by tendonitis, plantar fascistic, or worse...a stress fracture. I'm relying heavily on my friends to keep my spirits up and I am constantly searching for new ways to distract myself from heavy thoughts that can be suffocating at times.

Finisher awards with two of CC's sisters-in-law.

One of those distractions was a spur-of-the-moment road trip to Oklahoma City to visit my dear friend CC, hang out with her family, and participate in a race she was helping to organize, "Little Willie's Triple Dog Dare". This was something completely new for me...a stair climbing race. I've always wanted to try one and this seemed like the perfect time to give it a shot. The race consisted of three conjoined skyscrapers in downtown OKC, and as you might guess, the Tripe Dog Dare option involved running up...and back down...a total of about 70 flights of stairs between the three. I had no expectations for how I'd do, since it was a completely new experience for me, and I didn't train for it. Well at the end of the day I received a plaque for 3rd place in my age group, which is the first time I've officially placed in any race I've done in my 3 1/2 year running career. And I couldn't walk normally for a good chunk of the following week.

Good distraction, I'd say. I just wish I could go visit good friends and have fun races every weekend.

As I mentioned at the beginning, there is some good news in all of this. I believe this is my first official public announcement, but I accepted a new job as a night nurse in the Hematology/Oncology unit at Children's Mercy Hospital in downtown Kansas City. This is the same unit where I did my nursing school capstone, and to say that I am excited about this job is a huge understatement. Nearly everybody has the same reaction when I tell them I'll be caring for children with cancer...a gasp and a sad face...but I feel it is a tremendous gift and a privilege to have the opportunity to help these amazing kids and their families through this incredibly difficult chapter in their lives. And yes, I am pretty sure I probably said those exact words during my interview, but it's no bullshit.

So enough about the non-athletic personal life crap. I am incredibly grateful to the friends who have been there for me this past month, in-person and otherwise. I am grateful to my Trail Nerd friends who support me and encourage me. I am especially grateful for my family...they have always been amazing, and I've always felt incredibly lucky to be a Loental. (OKAAAAAY!!!!)

Truth be told, despite how much I'm hurting right now, I am physically healthy and I am legitimately excited about the coming year and what it holds for me in my athletic endeavors.

12 hour shift+no sleep+10 miles of WyCo=THIS FACE!

Take care of yourselves and kill some bears.

Danny