Road to 100 - Confessions Of An Athletic Supporter

No, that's not what I...I didn't mean....SHADDUP!

(If you need to catch up, check out Part 1 and Part 2) 

I'd been looking forward to this trip basically all year. My brother had signed up for Ironman Tahoe and my friend Erin Miller had signed up for the Bear 100 trail race in Utah/Idaho the following weekend. I was being entrusted to help crew and pace Erin for what looked to be one of the most epic races around. I was excited to see my brother become an Ironman and I was excited to get some play time and some long runs at altitude...Tahoe is at 6000 ft and the Bear course ranges from 4000 to 9000.

Giddy up, motherfuckers!

I had to work 4 shifts in a row before my trip, but I soldiered through, packed up, and made my early morning flight with the help of a ride to the airport from trusty ol' Delaware. I arrived in San Francisco and we immediately packed the cars for the drive up to Lake Tahoe. I had intended to catch up on sleep during this drive, but it ended up being a nice opportunity to get acquainted with my brother's new ladyfriend, Megan. After being together only a handful of months, I'm still not quite sure how he managed to cajole her into playing sherpa for his first Ironman, but kudos to them both!

We had a few days to kill before the race, so I made sure to enjoy everything Tahoe had to offer me. On the first morning, I joined my brother and a training buddy for a brief swim in the lake. I couldn't even begin to describe how beautiful it was, so I'm not gonna bother.

That'll do...

That afternoon found me joining Megan for a run on the race course. Myself because I needed a buncha miles that week, and her because she is training for her first full marathon. Her IT band had been giving her troubles lately and started to really bother her a few miles in, so we cut a 10 miler short to about 6.

The following day, after researching a bit on the Tahoe Rim Trail, I struck out on my own for a long run. The Tahoe Rim Trail is a single continuous trail loop that circles Lake Tahoe and is 165 miles long! I can't imagine I'd ever get bored if I lived out here! Anyways, I chose a 14 mile out-and-back from Brockman Summit to Watson Lake. It was possibly the most serene I've felt since the Perry 50k.

Miles from my troubles...

The following day, I met up with an ultrarunner friend of Chris's and ran most of the Escarpment. This was a trail that started at Squaw Valley, the ski resort we were staying in, as well as the epicenter for the Ironman race that weekend. I also discovered that the Escarpment is the first portion of the Western States 100 course and it basically goes straight-the-fuck up a ski slope! We got off course a bit and only ended up running 4.5 miles instead of the intended 10, but it's probably better because it was cold, rainy, and a snowstorm/thunderstorm ended up rolling in! It was still some excellent hill and altitude training! 

From the top

From the bottom

The following day was the race itself, which you can read all about in this interview, but suffice to say that my brother is a complete badass and I'm so very proud of him!

After a mentally relaxing/physically exhausting weekend in Tahoe, we drove back to San Francisco. A few days of R+R in "the city" and then I woke up early, walked to the BART, and caught a flight to Salt Lake City, where "Major Mudbabe" Erin Miller was waiting to pick me up(I believe her rank has increased, but Major Mudbabe has a better ring to it). Erin is a logistics officer in the army and had prepared some incredibly detailed maps, flowcharts, and topographical analysis of the Bear 100 course for use by those of us who were crewing and pacing that weekend. Once in the car, I immediately began studying up on the maps to orient myself to the task at hand. These maps were LEGIT! And they were in a pretty pink binder, which I believe was the most important detail.

The task at hand...I had come prepared to crew for Erin and Hayley, with the help of Erica and Sophia, as well as pace Erin for roughly 30 miles of her race. Certain circumstances intervened which slightly complicated the issue. Sophia, needing redemption from a DNF earlier this year, had signed up to race, leaving Erica and I to crew and pace three runners. Sure...no problem. But THEN...a week prior, Erica had biffed hardcore on a trail run and had torn her knee asunder. So she was perhaps questionable to pace as well. No worries...we soldiered on.

Everyone arrived, pre-race briefings were attended, drop bags were packed and dropped off, racers were checked in, crotch butter was discussed at length. I had to make the point that it's not technically for your "crotch"...it's more for your taint...your perineum...your grundle. Thus I henceforth dubbed it "grundle butter". If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you're winning the game. You know...the game where you win by not having THAT mental image.

 Notwithstanding how nervous Erin, Hayley and Sophia might have been for their 100 miles of mountains, ice, snow, bears(?), and what have you...I was incredibly nervous about my responsibilities for the weekend.

I had never crewed for an ultra before, let alone a 100 miler. I had never paced anybody for a race longer than a half marathon. I felt very inexperienced and very unaccomplished, and mostly I worried that I just plain didn't know what the hell I was doing. Luckily, I'd have Erica, a well-seasoned ultra crew member, to guide me and show me which way was up. And as far as pacing, I knew Erin was a tough-as-nails, low-maintenance runner, and all signs pointed to the fact that she probably didn't even NEED me there. So that settled my nerves a bit.

The layout of the course allowed for crew access at mile 60 and mile 75, so Erin tentatively requested that I pace her starting at 75, but possibly at 60 if things weren't going so well. We all knew she was going to kill it though.

As I am outlining the story of this race in my mind, I am realizing exactly how MUCH I want to say about it. I am also realizing that cramming it all into a single post is going to result in my official attempt at The Great American Novel. So, to spare my 10 readers from having to block off an hour of their day to wade through it, I've decided to break it up some. 

Continue reading about...THE RACE!

The Road to 100: Part 2

(Read Part 1 here)
The weeks following my meltdown were much improved. It's amazing how something little like turning off Facebook can really help you focus on what's important. I think I cleaned my apartment for the first time in months. More importantly, there was nothing stopping me from running now. Not even the biggest timesuck humanity has ever produced. The legs felt ready and the mind was more than willing(to be distracted from itself).

Day by day, and week by week, I began to slowly and steadily establish that the Red Loop at Shawnee Mission Park was now my bitch. In other words, my new definition of “short run” was 8 miles. We had some good weather, and then some shitty weather. It was getting so hot that running at 6 am just wasn't quite early enough to avoid 90 degree temps. I rediscovered my love for....no... my obsession with... no... my addiction to...YES! My addiction to Sonic cherry limeades. There's honestly nothing better, more satisfying, or more flavorgasmically awesome than an ice cold cherry limeade after 12 miles in ridiculous heat and humidity.

MmmmmmmmmOHMYGOD!!!!!!

The runs weren't fast, but luckily speed wasn't the focus here. I needed to be covering miles and not hurting. In that respect, I was succeeding. I continued regular massage to work out all the little aches and pains that came with it, and I was astounded at the overall results. On one of my many red loop runs I had an interesting run-in with mother nature.

As I plodded along, something darted across the trail. Just another squirrel, at first glance. But a closer look revealed a kitten! But then a more further evaluation indicated that it was actually a baby bobcat! The nose was much too broad and the paws were enormous! I immediately stopped and looked around for momma bobcat, as I didn't quite feel like getting mauled on THAT particular day. After assessing my surroundings and becoming fairly certain we were alone on the trail, I snapped a quick video on my phone and got the hell out of there! 

Seeing as how I was seemingly back on the wagon for Ozark Trails, I had to take a hard look at my calendar and figure some things out. I basically had two months to pick up where I left off in May and build up to 50-60 miles a week with some back-to-backs thrown in for good measure. I had to build mileage fast, but intelligently. I trusted that the base I had built in January through May would allow me to skip square one, so I had started with 25 miles the first two weeks. The plan has been to add 5 miles per week, and with one exception because of travel, I've stuck with it. Now it is October and after two weeks spent getting sweaty and breathless at altitude with some amazing people, I am still absolutely terrified of the goal I have set for myself. But my confidence grows by the day. *

Mentally, I'm back to my baseline of merely being kinda bummed about things in my personal life, but at least I'm not being crushed by them.

Travel? Altitude? Um...Danny...are you just gonna mention those things and not explain yourself? We 10 readers demand to know what you've been up to for the past 2 weeks.

I'll think about it.

To be continued...

*Update: As of today, I'm having to cut out my final week of high mileage and taper early due to a sore ankle. This has been a really hard decision because it might just be a little niggle, but it might get worse. The OT100 course is notorious for being technical and covered with leaves...so as Bad Ben would say "Trail By Braille". The last thing I need is to bring a bad ankle into a race full of hidden ankle rollers. 

As you might have figured out from Part 1, this is obviously not having a positive effect on my state of mind. Taper blues are bad enough, but when you layer them on top of a tendency towards depression, things can get hairy. I predict the next 3 weeks are not going to be my best. 

The Road to 100: Part 1

It's been a long ass time since I've written anything. I could just mash it all up into one post, but it would probably end up being 50 pages long. So I'm not going to do that. I'm going to break it up into multiple installments to enhance the reading experience for myself and the 10 people who read my blog. The first episode is entitled:

July and August Pretty Much Sucked

...

Hmmm...maybe I'd better think of something more clever.

...

The Serious Case of the Mondays That Lasted Two Months

So the last time I posted, everything was butterflies and fucking sunshine. I rocked the box for five straight months as an ultrarunner, kicked ass at my job, went to therapy LIKE A BOSS, and was only minimally upset about my train wreck of a personal life.

And THEN I needed a break from running. And THEN all the bubblegum and unicorn farts disappeared.

After running the night half marathon at Perry and having absolutely nothing in the tank from the very beginning, it seemed perhaps time to give the ol' running gears a rest. I wasn't injured, but I was just generally worn down...a perfect state to be in if you WANT an injury. So I cut WAY back on my mileage. And wouldn't you know it, much to nobody's surprise, the exact moment running was off the table...BINGO...my depression crept right the hell back onto the table.

It was subtle at first. And less subtle as weeks went on. Enjoyment of simple things began to decrease. I made less effort to find ways to occupy my free time. I slept like an idiot. I obsessed over things I have no control over and old questions that I already know the answers to. I stopped going to therapy. I stopped going to yoga.

I let myself feel sorry for myself, and I reveled in the comfort of my own misery.

I really can't describe how reassuring it was to discover how transparent and fragile my mental health is. Without running, everything basically sucks. I mean...it doesn't suck...my life is really awesome...but without that one constant in my life that constantly reminds me of the things I am capable of, I am incapable of recognizing it.

Then one day I woke up and my knee hurt. For absolutely no reason whatsoever. From there, whatever vestiges of contentment I might have had in my life went out the window. 

Desperation...

I saw my massage therapist. I took two entire weeks away from running. I saw my massage therapist again. I took ANOTHER week from running. I obsessed some more. I basically gave up hope that I'd be able to run the 100 miler in November. I slept away most of my free time or spent it watching Battlestar Galactica. Honestly, the only time I wasn't overtly unhappy was when I was at work. Luckily, I still love my job and am still convinced I'd have gone off the deep end months ago without it.

The knee was slowly getting better, but I was so miserable I couldn't take it anymore. Colleen's Sweaty Ass Run would be a chance for me to get in some miles and get an idea of whether or not my knee was healed enough to try to start building mileage for the 100 miler. I planned on trying to get in 15 miles and just see how things felt. Things felt ok, it turns out. I ended up getting in 12 miles and called it quits because I didn't want to push it.

The mysterious knee pain had come and gone with nary a clue as to what caused it. I had a very tentative sense that I was back in business for running, but mentally I was still completely fucked. One particular evening I was in a horrible funk, unloaded on somebody who didn't deserve to be unloaded on, and hit my emotional rock bottom. Two days later, I deactivated Facebook to prevent myself from unleashing any more poison unto the world...and also because it's the hugest fucking waste of time ever invented. 

The day after that wasn't great, but it was a little better. And sometimes a little is just enough.

I think I went for a run in the morning.  

To be continued...Onward to Part 2!

2013 Is Half Gone...

What have you got to show for it?

What were your New Years Resolutions 6 months ago?

Have you achieved what you had hoped for? Are you still in the process of working towards those goals? Have you given up or forgotten?

Today is just as good as January 1st to rededicate yourself to those things. Or pick some new goals to work towards.

I had a mileage goal for 2013...to run 1000 miles. 6 months in, I've put down 522 miles so I'm more or less right on schedule.

That's basically it for now. Sometimes we all just need a wake-up call and a reminder that life is indeed passing us by. I hope you all have been making good use of it!

KTB

Perry Lake 50K: Do You Like Apples?

In many ways, this race was completely an afterthought. I had envisioned taking a solid month off of any serious running following the Free State 100K. Seeing as how that was the biggest race I've ever done in my life, my concerns were regarding burning myself out physically and mentally. Like a good boy, I didn't run once the week following that race, I saw my massage therapist, and I was keeping up with my yoga.

Like a good boy. Following "the plan".

But then again...

It was an absolutely beautiful day. The trails at Shawnee Mission Park were finally open! How could I resist? Seriously...how?

Heaven

8 miles of Red Loop convinced me that perhaps I was recovering faster than I thought I would. Later that week, I ran again...just a 5 mile out-and-back in downtown KC. My legs...honestly...if you had told me that a little over a week ago I had run 62 miles, I'd have called you a liar. My legs felt brand-spanking new.

And that night at work...11 days post-Free State...I signed up for my 5th ultramarathon of the year, which was 11 days away. I had run the Perry Lake trails before. I had checked out finish times from the previous year. They seemed fast. I wondered if I'd be able to manage a sub-6...maybe a few minutes faster and I could reclaim the coveted 50K LWR that I had lost to my brother back in March. Or I could just have a fun day out on the trails.

What really struck me the most going into this race was my mindset regarding the distance. "It's just another 50K". I remember the point in my life when I was shocked to discover half marathons were not a big deal anymore. I could churn out 13.1 miles on pretty much any given day, regardless of training. Now I had officially become a casual ultramarathoner.

I've also noticed that I've been essentially flowing from one ultra to another this year. After putting in solid mileage in January, I've basically maintained by simultaneously recovering from one race and tapering into the next. I haven't done a long training run since January, because every race I've done counts as my long run. In my mind, at least. I'm not injured, and as long as I stay that way, I don't see any reason why I couldn't continue this for the time being.

Right...THE RACE! I RAN A RACE! Let's talk about that...

I was extremely excited for Perry Lake because for the very first time in my running career, I was going to try and push the pace on an ultra distance race. Prior to this, I had taken very conservative and calculated approaches to my pacing, but I decided that I really have nothing to prove to myself at this point. I've PR'd two 50Ks already this year, so if I blew up, I'd at least get an opportunity to fully experience a threshold.

Free State taught me some lessons regarding hydration, so I was going to focus on less water and more salt. Especially since it was going to be a bit hotter for this race. In addition to pushing pace, I was also going to attempt to spend as little time at aid stations as possible. Not because I desperately need those precious minutes, but because looking at my Garmin readouts from Free State, my "moving time" and my "total time" showed a discrepancy of two entire hours. That's 2 hours of standing, squatting, eating, drinking...and a decided lack of what ultramarathoners call "relentless forward progress". I'm not really ashamed, per se...it was my first 100K...but I could definitely do better. Even if it was just as small as taking food and walking while I ate it.

Having such loose goals and expectations left me feeling very relaxed and content on race morning. I stayed in Lawrence the night before, and even had a few beers out with friends before turning in for the night. The weather was perfect...a bit chilly in the morning, but expected to warm up some. The trails were utterly immaculate with exactly one muddy spot on the entire course.

Surrounded by friendly faces and positive attitudes, we gathered beforehand to exchange stories and a few laughs before we lined up to start. I think I ONCE AGAIN told the story of running my first 50K....at WyCo....2 weeks after my first Ironman....and as my first trail race. It's not really much of a story...just that I did it, and how ill-advised that series of life decisions was.

Storytime with Danny

Soon enough we lined up with the half marathoners, got the usual brief but charming pre-race speech from Bad Ben, and then the horn blew.

Striding off down the hill and onto the trail, I had the original intention of taking the first few miles easy before gradually pushing the pace. In classic style, I didn't do that. I decided to go for a feeling instead of a specific pace, and I decided to run with a "moderate sense of urgency", and that's as well as I can describe it. Not in a hurry, but definitely going somewhere. 

The first few miles went smoothly enough, though I was in a big conga line of runners. I was really enjoying their pace, but after a few miles I noticed that the people up front were running trail stupid. "Trail stupid" is a term I thought I had just invented, but when I tried to explain it to a fellow runner in the days following the race, they immediately knew exactly what I meant. No word-smithing points for me today. These "trail stupid" runners had a fantastic pace, but they were running the uphills and WALKING the technical descents. Um, that's not how this is supposed to work. You walk the uphills and make up the time by bombing the downhills in full berzerker mode. After a few miles of this, my frustration won the debate and I passed 6-7 people all in one go. I noticed that they were mostly half-marathoners, and it seemed odd that I'd been keeping pace with them. And I left them in the dust after the first big downhill. 

I was holding a solid pace for the next several miles and simply could not believe how fantastic my legs felt. I was pushing the pace... but I wasn't breathing hard, I wasn't struggling, my footwork was on-point, my form was smooth, and I was overcome with the sense that I was just gliding over the terrain. 

Effortless flow

You know how there are some days when you just don't have legs? This was not one of those days. Today, I had The Legs Of A Golden GOD! Or at least that's what I kept telling myself...perhaps hoping it would remain true for a few more hours.

I rolled in and out of the first aid station, staffed by Bryan West and some other fine folks. I grabbed what I needed and wasted no time in heading back down the trail, with a banana and some orange slices in hand. I snacked on them as I ran, and honestly felt somewhat silly that I hadn't thought to do that before. 

After I left my original conga line behind, with a few exceptions, I ran the rest of the 1st loop and a good chunk of the 2nd loop completely by myself. I did yo-yo a few times with a half marathoner from Colorado and we did chat briefly during one of these passes. He was impressed with my pace and even called me a "beast". I soon found out that he had never run trails before. This resulted in me smoking him on technical sections and him smoking me on hills. It was a fun back-and-forth before I ultimately passed him for good and didn't see him again. Nice guy though! 

Aside from that, I spent a very large portion of this race completely by myself. If you read my 100K race report, you'll remember on that particular day, the solitude was poisonous and debilitating. I got into my head and let my doubts, insecurities, and negative emotions get the best of me. It was hell until I could redirect my thoughts with the help of another friendly racer. 

Today was a demonstration of the power of positive thought and what a huge difference a few weeks can make. Both literally and figuratively, there was not a single cloud in my sky. It was a beautiful day, and I was filled with nothing but good vibes and happy thoughts. 

I knew I was trouncing the first loop, but only had a general sense that I was doing so. Garmin mileage is notoriously squirrely, so I took the splits with a grain of salt(or perhaps an S-cap or two). I came through the 2nd manned aid station at mile 13(staffed by some questionably French Frenchmen), grabbed food, notably french toast(get it?), and set off to tackle the final 2 mile loop which would bring me back to this aid station and to my halfway point. Having not really focused much on my watch, I didn't really think about time expectations until I finished this 2 miles. Coming back into the aid station, I hit my drop bag, restocked on chews, grabbed some Nutella/PB wraps, and got a refill on my hydration pack. As I began my 2nd loop, it finally occurred to me that I was halfway done...a reliable mileage marker....15.5 miles....time elapsed?

2:26

....um....

....the what?

2:26....sub-fucking 5 hour pace. 

Um, this can NOT be possible. Not fucking possible. How the....I can't even....WHAT?

Granted, I knew I would likely not maintain that pace for the 2nd lap...but the fact remained that I had run sub-5 hour pace for half of my race and, as of yet, had not destroyed my legs. I was still moving.

...and I was a full HALF HOUR faster than I imagined I could possibly be at this point...that's some solid wiggle room for a new PR or....dare I suggest....a reclaimed LWR! Recent Gallup polls have suggested that my brother Chris does indeed like apples. 

Within the first mile of my 2nd loop, I experienced the first of two difficulties that I would face all day. My hydration plan seemed to be working beautifully up to this point and things were going great until this moment. I stopped to relieve myself and I had an awful flashback to Ironman Florida...only a few drips came out...but the uncomfortable urge remained. Oh shit...here we go again. For a little backstory, I spent a good hour of my run in Florida with this painful urge to urinate, but no urine to back it up. It definitely slowed me down between the frequent stops at the john and feeling miserable. I seriously did NOT want to go through that again.

Instead of panicking, I realized that I would need to start taking in more water to alleviate this issue. I guess I'm still fine tuning the hydration strategy. It was a nice Goldilocks moment for me as I realized that last race I drank too much, and this time I didn't drink enough. But I know at some point I'll get it dialed in and I'll have that race where my fluid intake will be just right.

Anyways, I won't dwell much more, aside from to say that the discomfort lasted a little while longer and I had a few more stops along the way to attempt to relieve the sensation, but it eventually faded and I was right back to rocking my way down the trail. 

My pace was gradually slowing through the course of the 2nd loop, but that was to be expected. I was still running faster than I ever had in an ultra. And I still felt pretty fantastic. 

I hit Bryan West's aid station once more, in and out without too much delay, and headed back out with another handful of fruit. As the miles ticked away, something really really unexpected happened.

I started passing people. Not a ton, obviously...we were spaced out well enough at this point. But every now and then, I'd see somebody up the trail, and since I apparently had the legs for it...why the hell not try and catch 'em?

The point is this. I had basically chosen a completely haphazard approach to this race...afterburners until I either finish or explode. It seemed like this "plan" would see me passing people in the early stages of the race...NOT the final 5-10 miles. But that's how it unfolded. I passed some really strong and fast looking dudes who just looked like they had nothing left in the tank. It seemed almost like I was pulling one over on the universe. Like I was getting away with something while the gods of trail running were looking the other way. This isn't really supposed to happen. I bet those dudes trained really hard...and I just kinda showed up and said, "Aw shit, let's f*ckin' wing it!"

I do remember the one exception to that pattern...it was probably with 5 or so miles to go, a friendly chap named Eric caught me. I think we yo-yo'd a few times, and chit-chatted about something or other, but I honestly couldn't tell you what. I do remember that my hydration pack went dry and I had a little miniature panic, because I couldn't figure out exactly how many miles were between us and the aid station, but at the same time, it'd seem silly to refill it with only 2 miles to go. I decided that I'd pound a few cups of fluid and ditch the pack altogether for the last mini loop before the finish.

About a half mile before we reached L'aid Statione du Français, we happened upon one of the amazing race photographers. Between Rick and Kristi Mayo and Tyson Hofsommer, I have never had so many awesome pictures of myself from one race. Big thanks to them for the amazing shots! Anyways...I was leading Eric in, and when I spotted the photographer, per accredited Dorkus Malorkus protocol, I immediately went into "think of something goofy to do" mode. My brain sorted through the typical options...Goofy face? Double thumbs-up? Mid-air heel click? Point at camera with best Blue Steel face? Flex?

All good options, no doubt. But my eyes spotted gold. A good sized log running parallel to the trail.

Bingo.

Cue the circus music.

...woah...Woah....WOAH!

You can see Eric in the background of the 2nd shot, possibly wondering who the hell this yahoo is. Anyways...Tyson captured the moment in all its "glory"... in-focus and everything!

As I exultantly laughed at my personal triumph over the Spontaneous Optional Log Obstacle, all of a sudden, completely out of nowhere....BAM!

I bonked.

Finally...I knew it would probably happen. Fate had finally become wise to what I was up to and was finally putting an end to my ridiculous charade as a fast ultramarathoner.

But you know what? Fuck Fate. As Eric passed me, rather than sinking into endless, hopeless, bleak despair, I slammed 3 Honey Stinger chews and gritted my teeth for an impending bear fight. I was moving slow. Really slow. The legs were screaming and refused to respond. But I kept moving as well as I could. I knew I was close. Maybe a few hundred meters from France. I didn't necessarily think they could fix what was wrong with me...but it was something to shoot for.

I could hear the cheers as Eric rolled through. I was close.

I busted into the clearing. My mom and dad were standing there cheering(I knew they were planning on coming to watch me finish since they were visiting friends in Lawrence). So...I saw them. My brain acknowledged, "Those are the people who are my parents." With the hazy bonked-induced state my mind was in, that's basically all it could muster. I approached the table, called for 2 cups of Heed, slammed 3 orange slices, announced that I was ditching my empty hydration pack, and said, "See you in 2 miles!"

It wasn't until after I had finished that the realization struck me...I hadn't physically acknowledged my parents in any way, shape, or form. No "Hello", no eye contact, no anything. They would have been well within their right to disown me on the spot. But since they're the best parents on the god-damned planet, they did not. I later apologized profusely for this utter failure as an offspring, but they at least pretended to forgive me on the premise that I was "focused"...or "drunk on a nutritional deficit".

Truckin' it in to the finish

Back to that...I left the Fantastic Frenchmen(Bryan Hay, Dave Everhart, Amber Lane, and the Amazing Mel, for the record). As I pressed onward up that first hill out of the aid station, something happened. Within a minute or two, suddenly the fog cleared, the weight lifted off of my shoulders, and I was instantaneous back in business. My legs were back! I didn't know what happened, but for the sake of the positive vibe, I congratulated myself on my quick thinking back when I took that extra nutrition on board. I was less than 2 miles from destroying my PR and reclaiming the LWR by a LONG shot, and I was loving it! I charged every hill and screamed down every descent. I again passed a race photographer...seriously, I think they might have cloned themselves because they were all over this course like Wyco mud.

I have very few recollections of looking at my watch, oddly enough. If I did, it may have been out of mere curiosity. I knew I was going way faster than anything I had planned on, so I didn't really have any particular time I was shooting for or calculating splits for. All I know is that I came screaming down the hill to loud cheers and blazed past the aid station, up the final hill to the finish line.

I tried. I tried SO hard. I wanted to run the whole hill...I thought to myself, "Damn it I'm RIGHT THERE. So close to finishing...walking at any point on this hill is unaccept...shit...I'm walking".

So I ran MOST of the final hill. I topped out, made a left turn, high-fived some kids cheering from the back of a minivan, and ran it in.

Can you tell...

...that I'm happy?

I crossed the finish line and stopped my watch.

5:35

Damn.

I mean.....DAMN!

Not really sure what to think about that. But I'll try. That's a new PR by 34 minutes. That's an LWR by 23 minutes. It's bizarre to think that 3 months ago, my 50K PR stood at 7:05. Since then I've done three 50Ks, PRing each time and chopping a cumulative hour and a half off of my time. I later found out that I finished 11th out of 45 overall, and that this was also my first ultra where I didn't get "chicked". This is possibly the more amazing stat, because there are some seriously badass female runners amongst the Trail Nerds!

Let the record show, I was unaware that
there was GOOD beer at the aid station
down the hill.

After finishing, I greeted my parents properly, enjoyed a post-race beer, and reveled in wondering how I should rub it in my brother's face. That clip from Good Will Hunting seemed perfectly fit for the job.

Finishing this race in this style, given my preparation, makes me really really excited for 50K's now. I mean, not that I wasn't before, but it seems this distance has kinda replaced half-marathons as my new go-to for when I think I want a new PR.

As far as what's next, I've signed up for Hospital Hill half marathon, which I'll be running with Karli Lockard. She's running a half marathon every month this year to support her grandfather who is battling cancer. You may know her as Karli Ritter from Fox 4 Weather, but I know her as the wife of one of my best friends and as an amazing person in her own right. After Hospital Hill, I have no solid plans for the summer. I had toyed with the idea of running an ultra every month this year in lieu of doing my first 100 miler, but I've put some more thought into the century. There's a race I'm looking at in early November called the Ozark Trail 100. It looks to be a fantastic course for a first-timer, and it finishes half an hour away from Rolla, MO, where my parents live, and where I grew up! Bonus!

So with that being the plan, and the weather getting hotter, more humid, and more oppressively stifling, it might just be a perfect time for me to take some serious well-earned rest on the ol' running gears. I'll still run and race, but maybe back off on the ultras. Maybe? I won't call that "the plan" because you know damn well I won't follow it. But it's something to consider.

The only other items on my racing calendar are traveling out to Tahoe to watch my brother race Ironman Tahoe(and very likely steal my LWR at that distance while he's at it), and then fly straight up to Salt Lake City to meet up with Major Mudbabe Erin Miller to help crew and pace her for her first 100 miler at The Bear! This may or may not be a thinly veiled attempt by me to scope the course for possibly running it myself at some undecided point in the future. It also may or may not be a thinly veiled attempt by me to selfishly earn trail karma that will hopefully let the trail gods smile upon me when I attempt the distance myself. Who knows?

Well I don't really have much else to say besides my usual sign-off and then maybe some bonus pictures...

Kill the Bear! One and all!

Caught doing my "hurr durr" before the race.

My father "finishes" his first 50k.
Ignore that he forgot to run the
first 30.75 miles of it!
He's a winner in my book!

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