Free State 100K: "Me vs Myself" and "Feelin' Right"

Wow. This is a lot sooner than I usually try to bang out a race report, but there's so much to tell I want to get it all down while it's still fresh in my brain and raw in its emotional impact.

So yeah...wow. Yesterday was such a physical and emotional roller coaster, I am inclined to just start spilling verbal diarrhea and foam at the mouth as I retell this fucker. However, as usual I need to throw in a little bit of backstory leading up to the race for context. Patience, my friends.

If you follow my blog regularly, you know that I was coming off of a very successful day running the Brew2Brew solo and was feeling strong coming into this weekend. Nothing hurt and I was confident in my training and more importantly, I had put in the time and had my nutrition and hydration set in stone and ready to kill some bears.

UNTIL.....

For those unfamiliar with the concept of foreshadowing, something bad is about to happen

It seemed so innocent. It was a slow night at work and I was browsing Facebook during a long stretch of time when my patients didn't need anything. (Hey, it's night shift. Sometimes all they need is sleep.) Somebody had posted an ultrarunning podcast on the Trail Nerd Facebook page and a subsequent discussion had begun regarding hydration strategies and preferences. I weighed in with my opinions and what has worked for me in the past. I realized that I was commenting in a discussion about a podcast I hadn't actually listened to yet. And thus, 2 days out from the biggest, longest, most brutal race of my life, I LISTENED TO A FUCKING PODCAST ABOUT HYDRATION.

To be fair, I seriously thought it would just have some tips and tricks that some badass had gleaned over his years and years of running and that I might be able to pick up some last minute ideas to help my own race be that much more awesome salsa. As it tuuuurns out...it was an interview with Dr. Timothy Noakes, a professor of exercise and physical science, veteran of 70+ marathons and ultras, and a bunch of other really impressive stuff(read about him here), and author of the new book "Waterlogged: The Serious Problem of Overhydration in Endurance Sports". Are you starting to see a problem here?

This guy was essentially turning everything I thought I knew about hydration on its ear. Drink Early And Often? Not according to this guy. The worst part is that it all MADE SENSE. His explanations were well-thought out, and he had the research to back them up. Even down to the body's hormonal regulation and ADH(Anti Diuretic Hormone, the stuff that causes your body to retain water)...to my medically inclined brain it hit home in a big way. For a long time, I have relied on my urinary output to gauge how well hydrated I was, and this guy even went so far as to say that it didn't matter at all how much you urinated during a race. Ummm...

Shit. Immediately, I thought back to every epic blowup race I've ever had and how I felt. Was I really overhydrated every one of those times? The symptoms certainly fit better. I am inclined to go into a lengthy explanation of fluid and electrolyte homeostasis, but this is already dragging on too much. The point is as follows:

All that confidence I had in my race plan? Yeah...

I tried not to think about it...told myself it was an interesting concept that I definitely wanted to put in some time researching and finding out if it was really as legit as it sounded, maybe even something I could eventually incorporate into my own training and racing. I TRIED! But as we all know...even the smallest seed of doubt can, under the right circumstances and with enough time, blossom into a fully grown Fuck Off tree.

SO....The Race!

Everything was butter. I was well rested, good meal the night before, packed and ready to go, enough sleep. This thing was going down. I had the usual pre-race jitters, but surprisingly absent was the nervous pre-race poo(Luke H requested that I NOT talk about poo in this race report, so this is for him). For some reason, I always have a nervous pre-race poo... and it's not a pleasant poo by any stretch of the imagination. But I usually do the deed and I'm good to go. I have been extremely lucky to be blessed with an almost complete lack of GI issues during races, and this is the minor exception. This particular morning, nothing. I took it as a good sign that I was ready to crush.

I showed up, set up my drop bags, did a little stretching and had some chit chat with the quality folks that you are bound to find milling around at a trail race, and specifically a Trail Nerd event.

Great. Fucking. People

Makin' faces, like I do.

We all lined up, got the usual pre-race spiel from Race Director Extraordinaire Ben Holmes, and off we went! It was the usual conga line you would expect hitting the trails, and I just so happened to have been chatting with Chris W at the start, so it came to pass that he was behind me in that conga line. We continued chatting as the miles began to tick off. The faster folks pulled ahead, the slower folks got passed and after awhile we were settling into a really nice easy pace and a good rhythm. Dave E and Emily R eventually joined us as our small conga line joined with another group. For the first 10-11 miles, I was running easy and content with this group, and was surprised to find that I was actually leading a group of about 15 runners who seemed satisfied with the pace I was setting. This was good and bad...good because I had clear view of the trail ahead of me and I could choose my own pace, but subconsciously it was hard not to feel pressured to run a certain pace because of all the people behind me. I tried not to let it get to me, and I was relieved when the occasional runner made a pass and went on ahead.

This first stretch was nice because I was just running and not thinking about anything in particular...just enjoying the company of some quality Trail Nerds and enjoying a brisk beautiful morning. This group pulled ahead of me as we approached the Corps of Engineering aid station and they continued on without me as I took my time getting some food and grabbing some things out of my drop bag. I didn't see any of them for the rest of the day, which was fine...this was my race and I wasn't beholden to anybody else's pace. Chris W went on to a sub-8:30 finish in the 40 miler, and Emily R was 1st place female in the 40 miler. Big time congratulations to them!

As I pulled out of the aid station and continued my journey, for the first time that day, I was alone. And then everything slowly and steadily began to fall apart.

At first it was just a sensation, nothing more. Legs felt kinda heavy, but not bad. Felt kinda tired, but not overly so. I was walking a bit more than I would have liked, but wasn't worrying yet. Not yet.

Small senstations slowly made their presence more noticeable. The legs weren't just heavy...they were kinda sluggish. I wasn't just tired...I was sleepy. Like, not in the "Yawn, ah that's better" sort of way. More like, "I want to lie down and take a nap on the trail." What the hell is going on?

And then, somewhere around Mile 15, I began to come apart at the seams. Just in subtle ways at first, but negative thoughts were creeping into my head. Doubts about The Plan. Worries about how weak my legs felt this early. Something was definitely not right.

The "Yuck" face was intentional.

I finished my first loop in 4:10, which I thought was respectable. I know SOMEBODY asked me how I felt and I have completely blanked on who it was, but I told them I felt weird. And I did. Things were just off. I swapped some clothes, hit my drop bag, grabbed some food(the ONE thing I know I did right was eating enough), and with no other excuse to continue loitering I pointed myself back down the hill and onto the trails.


As I began my 2nd loop, once again by myself, I started to tear myself apart piece by piece. Every self-defeating thing that I could have conceived to think...you bet your ass I found a way to work it into the forefront of my consciousness. First on the Danny Sucks menu was how my legs felt. Immediate self-blame for Brew2Brew..."Fuck, I knew it was a bad idea. I thought it would be ok, but sure as shit, here I am, barely a third of the way through my 100K and my legs are fucking toast. Way to go, shithead." And so on and so forth...

The next course was from that wanker Dr. Noakes. As I tried to listen to my body and figure out what was wrong and what it needed, despite everything that had worked so well this year, race-tested and Danny-Approved...I couldn't tell which way was up. "Shit. My head is swimming and I am really starting to feel awful. Could this Noakes guy be right? Am I dehydrated or overhydrated? If I start drinking more, I am pretty sure this will get better...BUT WHAT IF IT DOESN'T!?!?!?" I was so flummoxed...so confused...so unsure of what to do, that out of fear I chose to do nothing, which in effect was the same as choosing the side of Dr. Noakes. I peed once, and it wasn't much, but then I wasn't sure if that was even a bad thing or not. At the very least I knew that either way I needed to keep taking in salt, so I did so.

I even took some time to dwell on my former relationship, which is ALWAYS great for my emotional well-being. Nice touch, Danny's Subconscious.

There are times when solitude is a good and welcome thing. However, when your race is falling apart, the weight of every mile left in front of you is on your shoulders, and your mind is systematically telling you how much of a failure you are, it's not necessarily the best thing. I was in no-man's land out on the trail. The longest stretch between manned aid stations, and nobody even remotely near me on the trail. Miles and miles passed and not a soul in sight. My spirits were beginning to sink, and knowing that I'm supposed to be ENJOYING this, I criticized myself for not doing so. Good strategy, huh?

You've still got 40 miles left...how do you feel?

So I was essentially in the Pit Of Despair at this point. I felt awful, both physically and emotionally, and I was hating on myself in a big way. I was absolutely dreading every step I had yet to take, and I was terrified that it was only going to get worse. In the midst of this self-made hell I had banished myself to, I FINALLY stumbled upon some more friendly faces at the MooseJaw aid station. What's more? They had grilled cheese sandwiches and BACON! It was hearty and delicious, and though a small thing, it was a boost to get some proper food down the hatch. I was still in a serious funk, but sometimes the small things make just enough of a difference to get by.

I continued on without much improvement in how I felt physically, still moving pretty slow and walking a lot. It was at this point that I hit my rock-bottom low point of the day. This dude with a trekking pole who looks to be 60-70 years old(I looked him up, he's 57) comes TRUCKING up from behind me and passes me like I was standing still. At the same time as being in awe of this old hardass, I am filled with shame and self-loathing for whatever choices I have made that led me to this exact moment. Within a few miles I pass within earshot of the finish line area. I can hear the commotion and excitement of people coming in, finishing half marathons and marathons, or just finishing a loop of whatever race they were doing. I wanted so badly to be somewhere else and to be doing something else...and it would be so easy...just hang a left up that road and this nightmare would be over. I'm a stubborn asshole, so I didn't quit. But just the fact that I wanted to quit is what is significant.

The Wave...

And then it happened. A few miles further and I cut down onto the red trail(video courtesy of a fellow racer). This portion of trail skirts right along the lakeshore and is very rocky and pretty fun if you've got the legs for it. I didn't think I had the legs for that kind of running. I'm not exactly sure how or why it happened, but somebody in my brain just said "Pick up the pace...see what happens." It couldn't make things any worse, so I tried. I switched my slow and sloggy shuffle to a higher cadence, dancing from rock to rock, almost as if I enjoyed running and was having fun. Except I did, and I was.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, here I was running really well and enjoying it. Maybe it was the sun beginning to peek out from behind the clouds, or maybe it was the gentle cool breeze coming off the lake and hitting me in the face(my money is on this one), but a switch flipped. Many of my ultrarunning friends who have done 100Ks and 100 milers have often said that you have to "ride the wave" when it comes. Periodic bursts of energy that supposedly just come and go, and we were to take advantage of them. Well, this wave came and I rode it for all it was worth! I had no idea how long it would last, but I didn't rightly care either.

Somewhere around Mile 25, still on red trail, I see Old Badass Trekking Pole Guy and I'm gaining on him. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. I really don't suspect that I'd stay in front of him for very long anyways, but it might mean something to pass him, so I slowly pull up behind him, wait for an opportune moment, and then I call out, "On your left. Don't worry though, you'll probably catch me again in a mile or so. I'm just riding the wave."

What he said next was probably just a throwaway smalltalk comment in his mind, but to me it absolutely changed everything...

"Well, you gotta run when it feels right."

He said it as if it were the most obvious thing anybody ever knew. Like he had learned that lesson way back in kindergarten. But in that exact instant, I forgave myself for everything. Yes, I had a bad stretch of miles, but that was over now, and this dog still had a lot of fight left in him! All of the self-doubt and criticism from the past 10 miles went straight out the window and as the enormity of that weight lifted off of my shoulders, a huge grin broke across my face. I knew things were going to get better. And they did.

I wasn't necessarily running faster, but I was running with a light heart and I was finally able to live in the moment and enjoy my day. I rolled in and out of Land's End, past Lake Henry, past the boatyard, and before I knew it, I was approaching Corps of Engineering again...roughly the halfway point of my race! A group of runners were gaining on me approaching this stop and they were talking about their post-race meals. This conversation suddenly reminded me how much I wanted, more than anything else in the world, some REAL FOOD...something like a large pepperoni pizza.

With food on my mind, I came into the aid station and went about my business, getting in my drop bag. Then Bryan W, who had run the Garmin Half earlier that day and had arrived to volunteer at this race, walked up to me and asked, "What do you need?" I told him I didn't know. He then said, "We have tacos." And then I answered in the affirmative, including every swear word I could think of. "Make it happen." He ran off and shortly returned with a beef and cheese soft taco. As I sank my teeth into it, a noise escaped me that you might expect to hear in a pornographic film. A moan of utter satisfaction and ecstasy as I experienced a full blown foodgasm. And there were possibly a few more swear words, I'm not entirely certain.

I was halfway done. I had just eaten a delicious taco. And...hell, nothing else. Those two things were enough on their own, but I was pretty happy with life at the moment, needless to say. The next few miles before I hit Land's End again, I passed the one-and-only Lou Joline...80 years old and still out there cranking out the marathon. A true inspiration for any bear killer, I hope I'm that tough when I'm his age. The miles passed...not easily, because they were hard physically...but they were good miles. I was excited for my last loop. Being more than halfway done was a big deal mentally, but having some company would be absolutely heavenly compared to what I went through 20 miles ago.

I rolled back into the main aid station to cheers from wonderful people. This time I was in a much better mood. I had been texting time splits to my mother all day so she could keep my pacer informed of my progress and also post updates on Facebook. Sure enough, the second I arrived, Matty M was standing there ready for duty. He immediately assessed the situation, asked how much I'd been eating and drinking(I left out the fact that I had basically trimmed my fluid intake down to almost nothing) and grabbed me some food while I grabbed my headlamp and some warmer clothes for the final loop. I took one last look at the food table, grabbed one last orange slice, then I high-fived Matty and said, "Let's do this."

The Pacer...

Thinking about this race, I had long debated whether or not to have a pacer. I've always prided myself on being a relatively self-reliant athlete when it comes to training and racing. I do as much as I can on my own, and for better or worse, I can fully claim whatever results I get as my own. I liked the idea of doing this full race by myself...the training and the racing. When Ashley A asked me if I had a pacer yet, I said no. She then told me that Matty wasn't busy that day and that he's an excellent pacer, so I went ahead and decided that I wasn't so certain about being able to finish that I'd reject that offer. I think Matty said "Yes" before I had even finished asking. He's a helluva guy, for certain. And a helluva pacer, to nobody's surprise.

Within the first few miles, I knew I was going to be fine. He was making me eat something every 30 minutes, helping me plan what I was going to get at the next aid station to save the time I would invariably spend going "Hmmmmm, uh let's see....an orange slice.....an S-Cap.....uhhhh". But more important than all of that, he was keeping me talking. We exchanged ultra stories. We talked about life. Shit, I'll probably never remember half of what we talked about out there, but the fact was that there was no way in hell I'd find my way back to that deep dark hole I dug for myself earlier.

This got me thinking, and I kinda had another pretty significant epiphany. Forgive me for how cliche this sounds, as I myself nearly rolled my eyes when I realized I'd have to include it in my blog ...BUT....Life is a lot like an ultramarathon. Ugh....really, Danny?

Really. Deal with it.

Let me elaborate. As I mentioned in my previous blog, I finally overcame my own stubbornness and contacted a therapist to help me work through some issues in my life. It was one of those things where I felt like I should be tough enough to figure it all out on my own, and that there are people who are way worse off than I am, that I should feel lucky to be as happy as I was. But I wasn't as happy as I could be. I'm coming to my point...sure I was physically capable of running that entire 62 miles by myself. Sure I am completely capable of living my life without paying somebody to listen to my problems and help me figure out solutions to those problems.

But I guess in life and ultramarathons, sometimes it's just nice to have somebody to talk to.

Best comment yet:"You look like you're fencing"

And having Matty along was brilliant. We traded off on who took lead. He kept me eating and on-task at aid stations, and he kept my spirits up. The last loop probably hurt the most, but I didn't notice it due to the excellent company I had along with me. The miles simply ticked off as Matty continually reassured me how well I was doing. Whether or not it was true doesn't matter, it matters that I believed him. We hit Corps of Engineers for the last time and realizing I had less than 10 miles to go, I struck a triumphant pose to send to my mother, reassuring her I was still alive and moving.

We busted out the headlamps and as we prepared to leave the aid station, there was a girl who left right ahead of us. A tiny spark of competition lit inside me as I calmly told Matty, "I want to beat her." It's always about the small victories.

We headed off into the dwindling dusk light, firing up our "torches" as we entered the woods again. The girl was keeping a pretty solid pace for about half a mile until she hit a technical section. She slowed to a walk and gingerly tip-toed through the rocky section. Seizing the opportunity, Matty blazed past her with me following shortly after. My strength was once again my technique, and we quickly put a sizeable gap on my new #1 archrival. Ok not really...but I did end up finishing almost 20 minutes ahead of her.

Elation and exhaustion

After we hit Land's End for the last time, with just under 3 miles to go, I knew this thing was in the bag and I took lead and pressed the pace with every drop of strength I had left. The miles were marked for this last section of trail and I celebrated each one as we passed them. The hooting and hollering began with about half a mile remaining. We hit the gravel road that led to the finish area and I romped up the hill screaming like a bat out of hell. Ben, a handful of volunteers, and a couple remaining racers were there cheering like I was winning olympic gold, despite the fact that I was finishing 38th out of 45 in the 100K distance that day. With a fist pump and a shout I crossed the line. Ben handed me my 100K belt buckle and sticker as I relished the moment. For the past year, I had looked forward to this moment, and it was finally here. How did I feel? Sore and tired, but supremely satisfied.

The trusty pacer

Overall, I am thrilled with how my race went. I was slightly shy of my expected finish time, but I never really cared about that. My nutrition was spot on all day. My hydration? Well, I'm convinced that I truly was waterlogged after drinking too much on my first loop. When I backed off on my water intake and increased my salt, I slowly began to feel better. It may be the thing that saved my race, but I'll never know for sure. Additionally, even though I severely cut back on the fluids, my urine output stayed about the same. I think I'll be ordering Dr. Timothy Noakes's book after all because I need to know more.

As always, the race itself was executed to perfection by the race director and his army of fantastic volunteers. I've spoken at length about just how well staffed these races are, so I'll keep it short. All I'll say is that it's not every day that you recognize the guy filling your hydration pack as Darin S, the guy who won the 100K two years ago. In many other instances, the volunteer helping you out at this moment actually ran the half marathon earlier and is now giving straight back to the race they just finished! It is for these reasons I am proud to call myself a Trail Nerd, always and forever.

So...I know I've dragged on quite a bit, but now the question is thus...

What's next?

Well, aside from the immediate future which will be spent recovering and relearning how to walk properly, I'm not exactly sure. My tentative plan was to use this race as a litmus test to see if I think I can do a 100 miler this fall. That answer is not yet clear to me, but I have come up with an even better question.

Do I WANT to do a 100 miler this fall? Whether I can or not is one thing, but I'm going to have to sort through this experience and decide if I think doing a full century is even right for me. I have to figure out what challenge will make me the happiest in this particular year of my life. Matty and I talked at length about getting burned out on running and ultras specifically. He and I agreed that it seems like some runners will tackle a certain distance not because it is their heart's desire to conquer it, but because they think that's the next thing they're supposed to do. I don't want to do a 100 mile race because it's the next logical step, or because I think I should, or any other reason other than it being the one challenge that would bring me the most happiness and fulfillment to meet.

So I don't have an answer for the What's Next question. Maybe I'll focus on yoga for awhile. Maybe I'll just do a bunch of shorter ultras for the rest of the year. Maybe I'll throw in a triathlon to mix it up. Who knows? All I know is that this race was the right challenge for me this week.

Maybe next week's challenge is just happiness. My first therapy appointment is in 8 hours. That sounds like a good place to start.

As always, thanks for reading and for your overwhelming support! When I got home from the race, as exhausted as I was, I could not go to sleep before reading through about an hour's worth of comments and messages on Facebook. There were countless moments during my race, especially during the bad parts, where I simply thought of everyone who was following my progress via my mom's updates, and of all the great and uplifting things you were sending my way! In a small way, you all helped carry me through those miles, and I feel lucky beyond description to have so much love and support from so many amazing people.

KTB,
Danny

A race isn't truly over until you drink a beer out of your race mug while ogling your finisher's award.

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