Blue Ridge Relay Weekend

Leg 2: 7.76 @ 55:57 (7:13/mi) - "Hard" (1431 ft drop, 238 ft gain)
Leg 14: 9.99 @ 1:29.16 (8:56/mi) - "Very Hard" (149 ft drop, 838 ft gain)
Leg 26: 4.41 @  34:36 (7:51/mi) - "Moderate" (583 ft drop, 104 ft gain)

Since so many of our friends have written wonderful recaps of this year's relay, I think I can safely keep my perspective pretty short now that I let the time pass.  I certainly had a great time with great friends on Stache and Dash and other teams, and I would certainly love to do it again.

Leading into the big weekend, I took the Wednesday and Thursday off to play it safe, but still managed to get insufficient sleep Thursday night.  We pulled into Anne Marie's house at 6:30 to load up the vans, and by 7 we were on the road.  I had hoped to get some reading done assuming everyone else would want to sleep, but spirits were so upbeat with Adam Gasperini driving, Emily Barrett navigating shotgun, Siobhan Havlik riding Kurt Cobain, Christi beside me, Glenn Carroll studying the volunteer manual hard, and Laura Sudduth providing loads of entertainment it was impossible for me to relax in Van #1.  We became even more anxious after our short convenience store stop almost turned into a collision with Lat Purser's team van.  By the time we hit Virginia, my intent to focus on reading developed into sound upright sleeping in the van.  Soon after the quick nap, we were approaching Grayson Highlands State Park, and could see some of the early starters coming down the mountain.  Excitement really started to mount as we passed one of UCRR's teams the Designated Drinkers hanging out at the first exchange point, then we saw Diane Derkowski running down from the start to meet the DD's.

photo courtesy of Rob Ducsay...
Van 1 L to R: Emily, Me, Christi, Laura, Adam, Siobhan

As our van parked, we hopped out, stretched, greeted some of the Crazy Legs and D.A.R.T.'ers, grabbed the Relay t-shirts, and lined up for photo ops.  A few short minutes later it was time for our entire 10:30 wave to start, we cheered as "Stache and Dash" was called over the bullhorn and before I knew it, Laura was off and running with a hoard of teams we would soon be getting to know a little better.  After jumping back in the vans, we drove down the hill to the first exchange zone where we had seen the Designated Drinkers with plenty of time for me to stretch and squeeze in a few strides to loosen up.  I checked-in with the officials at my exchange zone, tried to review the turn-by-turn directions, and do everything I could to be aware as I waited for Laura's arrival.  Naturally, after all my preparation for this event, when it was my time to take the baton (or slap bracelet in this case), I had no idea the experience I would come to embrace.

Seriously about to storm down the mountain...

Like a cannonball, I bolted from the exchange zone as if a -4% grade meant I could cut my 10k time in half.  Trodding down the shoulder in my trail shoes, I thought the brief period on asphalt would only propel me faster, but I started to feel a twinge up my muscles before I found the gravel roads.  The grassy shoulder wasn't stable enough, but I could hardly stand the shock of asphalt on my stiff soles.  I started to think what a crappy choice on my part, but really had to spend more time focusing on my environment as soon as I hit my first gravel road.  It'd been ages since I ran on country roads like this.  All I could think of was "John Freaking Denver" as I plowed down the sharp hills passing one beat up old rusty truck, abandoned farm with a single remaining farm animal, and out of date windmill after another.  I was really coming to appreciate being out in this Deliverance community, when a couple of "fellars" in a little red pick-up started approaching -- the first car I recalled seeing since I left the park.  Despite the camouflage they were both wearing, I could still see both of them as one leaned out of the passenger side looking in my direction.  Slightly alarmed, I slowed my pace as this gent lift some small piece of equipment up to his face as he continues to look my direction and shouts, "Keep on goin'!"  Holy crap! I was frightened to the point of directional confusion... "Do I dodge to the nearest ditch or continue galloping down the hill in hope that these boys can't turn around and come after me quick enough," I thought.  Looking back, I think these fine friendly locals were trying to cheer me on as I just happened to pass them in the middle of whatever game season it may have been.  I bounded onward and and downward contemplating how insane this much downhill was to not be an actual trail race.  How does anyone's muscles sustain this much pounding, exactly what I feared from my first leg. As soon as I thought I couldn't take anymore, the course leveled off.  How pleasant, and then instantly my three seconds of flat turned into sharp incline.  Ouch.  I thought this was supposed to be my intensive downhill leg.  Fortunately, I had spent "more than enough" time studying my elevation charts and just knew this uphill would be over in about a half mile.  Much to my surprise, this was a half mile that had no end in sight.  I can't think of the last run I've done with so many cutbacks UPHILL!  Eventually, my over-exaggerated deceleration ended before I even considered walking, and I caught sight of another racer in the distance.  Although I began with the notion that I would simply try to maintain the same pace as everyone else that was running this leg, I regained my fighting spirit and remembered what I came out here to do -- rack up road kills!!  I imagine that any inkling of a competitive nature would force any other runners to feel the same hunger I had, but all that mattered was that I got mine.  So here, in the last two miles of my first leg, it became clear, just like in any endurance road running event I've competed before, use this time to methodically pick off the weak of heart.  All too easily I caught my first road kill as he was bearing right but I cleverly knew to take the left turn instead.  I looked back over my shoulder and yelled a salutation.  He asked if we should be going left and I reassured him that I was going the correct direction since my team captain was smart enough to create miniature laminated directions.  I exchange greetings with the guy as he follows me down another dirt road, and he introduces himself as "LT."  A third mile down, LT says, "Wait, you sure about this?"  We reexamined the directions and realized I was horribly wrong.  LT and I turned around and headed back to the course.  As we turned back onto the path there were two guys bounding up the hill behind us.  I wanted to surge ahead and my new counterpart seemed to let them hang with  these two guys.  Unfortunately, my surge came a little too soon, and the other two guys from GONADS caught up to me as we climbed.  It was all I could do to hang with these guys, but I just trusted I could draft off them to the end of my leg.  My instinct was that these guys must have come from the next wave of teams, but as we progressed up one more small hill, the two other competitors weakened.  As they slowed, I saw a sign reading "EXCHANGE ZONE" that gave me a little wind beneath my wings.  I no longer had any sense of distance, but I knew this was my time for one final kick.  No matter how much the down hills hurt before, I had one last down hill to kick as hard as possible to get my team back into a competitive position. Naturally I kicked faster than I had run all week, saw all the teams waiting at the exchange zone and Christi ready and waiting.  I slapped the bracelet on her wrist, relieved to have survived my first leg.  The cheers from my van mates were pretty uplifting and I realized that the two guys who I used to draft up the hill weren't from a later wave start, but had just taken a wrong turn as well.  Maybe it was due to navigational ineptitude on our parts, but I managed to get three road kills in my first leg.  Wow, the competitive juices were pumping.  I congratulated LT on sticking out a pretty good leg with hopes to enjoy a couple more legs together (yeah right, as I hoped to pound his team the 12 Monkeys into submission).  Shaking hands with LT, I saw he was on a team with a guy named Billy, Carolina alumnus, that I met during the 2010 Dowd Y Half-marathon.  This was a pretty good sign that there were going to be a surprising number of familiar faces throughout the relay, and as much as it was sure to be a good time, I was determined to get my fair share of road kills to make my team proud.

Stache and Dash Van #1's first solid meal of the day.

If I intend to keep this post short of epic, I'll have to leave the occurrences surrounding other teammates' legs concise in hopes that they will be able to tell their own version.  After the rest of Van #1 proceeded through their legs and Emily handed off to Bjorn, it was time to grab some lunch.  Chad Randolph recommended we head back to West Jefferson after picking up our volunteers from a few legs back.  Back-tracking, we saw the CRC/Try Sports guys waiting at Ashe Park for Ben Hovis.  When we saw Ben, their only competition was nowhere in sight.  Our CRC heroes had their own epic, record-breaking battle against the Asheville Running Collective, told from multiple other perspectives.  We had quick lunch at some decent pizza & pasta joint in West Jefferson by 3 and headed off to our next Transition Point, the Tanger Outlets.  The van got a little turned around, but we still arrived at the Outlets with plenty of time to spare.  This being the 2nd transition zone, we were able to run into so many teams.  As we pulled into the parking lot, I finally found an opportunity to use my silly string and tagged one of the UCRR vans.  We saw the hotties from Crazy Hot Legs with Dalena representing for the same legs as I, the Providence Harriers with Allen also conquering the same legs I would, Team Awesome, again 12 Monkeys, GONADs, D.A.R.T., Ludicrous Speed, a couple versions of UNC teams, and many more but thankfully the ARC and CRC/Try Sports had still not caught up to the earlier waves.  This was also the first exchange zone where people had to be suited up with all the night time safety equipment.  I was fairly confident that the wave of night running would start separating a lot of ill-prepared teams.

As I waited for Laura at our second hand off, I took the time to chat with Mark Ulrich and the Designated Drinkers, before he started up the same Grandfather Mountain leg that I would.  The temperatures had dropped with sundown, and I had to do a lot of warming up, but my temperament was pretty casual as I waited.  Chatting it up with Caleb Boyd and a few others from Kickin' Ultra Asphalt, I heard a very familiar voice walk-up behind me.  It was Ben Hovis himself.  That meant the CRC/Try Sports team would soon be catching up to us after all.  Surely enough, John Compton walked up behind me on the other side, and said, "What's up buddy?" or something of the nature.  I thought, "Ah crap, now, getting passed by Compton is even more imminent."  Thankfully, Laura came out of the dark and slapped the bracelet on me, so I could get out of there before contemplating becoming road kill so soon.  I knew Grandfather Mountain would be a formidable battleground, but I really had no clue how to pace ten miles of constant elevation gain.  I thought half marathon pace would be a nice prayer, but 7:30 pace was only good for the initial flat.  I was alone when I started and didn't think anyone would be coming up behind me anytime soon.  I just stared at the path of light on the ground a few feet in front of me as provided by my headlamp.  I've done my fair share of night runs, but this seemed dark as can be.  I think the biggest difference as I headed up the hill was that there were no city lights for miles around.  It was eerie and magnificent at the same time.  I really appreciated the solitude as I plodded along with one foot in front of the other.  I managed to get one easy road kill early, but unfortunately, it wasn't Mark.  I really hoped that this leg would prove me to be in better shape than Mr. Ulrich, but I knew I couldn't afford to think about much more than maintaining pace as I continued up the perilous road.  Alone in the dark I was passed by a couple of unidentified team vans then suddenly heard a runner behind me in the distance.  I thought it must have been ARC's and CRC's vans that passed me, so this valiant runner approaching me at such a swift pace must be John.  I yelled out, "Compton?"  No response.  I guess it wasn't him after all, as I became easy road kill myself, I just said, "Way to go man."  I looked down at the ground and thought, just maybe I could use this occurrence to try to stick the pace stronger.  A couple minutes later, more footsteps, and I yelled, "Yeah John!"  Bewildered -- still not him -- I offered, "Go get 'em." Thankfully, I don't think this runner knew what I was saying either.  Getting passed by a second guy that wasn't even CRC was almost embarrassing.  I thought I was too competitive to become road kill like this.  I still haven't found a second victim to even this leg out so of course my ego was feeling even more defeated.  I could only compare this feeling to the loneliness that comes in ultra-marathons or my long, slow, solo runs.  I tried to accept the potential depression and stay my course. The grade of the banking turns on the road was becoming pretty annoying to me and at one point I imagined how horrible it would be if this harsh grade forced me to roll down the side of the mountain.  How long would it be before anyone found me?  "Sheesh, gotta find another road kill.  Please God, let me rediscover self-value for the sake of my team.  I really don't want to have to walk this or give in"  This single leg felt like one of the five toughest runs I've ever encountered.  I heard another van coming and thought again, "Dear God please let it be them!" "Woo! Yeah Jamaar!" is the cry I heard from the CRC van.  Prayers answered.  As they came up closer I heard Beigay spurn, "Better hurry, here comes Compton."  It was comically uplifting, as I light-heartedly feigned a 100m sprint.  Even though I knew it couldn't keep it up, it was a nice boost.  Then another van passed right before what sounded like pretty familiar footsteps. I called out, "Nice cadence."  It really was one of my peer heroes.  John encouraged me with a "Good job man.  Keep it up." I thought how there's no way someone with his poetic speed could possibly think what i was performing could be considered a job well done, but I retorted, "Thanks Comp, it's an honor."  Again he encourages with, "You too man," dashing into the dark.  I was so proud thinking how cool it was to be first hand witness to the battle between CRC and ARC.  Surely enough, a couple minutes later ARC's guy came up behind me, but at that point I didn't know what to say and just gave some meaningless cliche of sportsmanship.  It was at this point that I started to wonder just how long I had been climbing up this mountain.  I know I'd been studying my Garmin the last half hour, but it felt like I had endured a half-marathon so far.  Ugh, still another few miles to go.  I shook off most of the negativity and just committed to make sure I didn't walk this mountain under any circumstances.  Eventually I did find two more road kills, neither recognizable competitors, and the mountain leveled off approaching the exchange zone.  I proudly announced, "STACHE AND DASH," repeatedly to ensure Christi would be ready.  I figured at this point my team should have been worried about my safety.  After all, it felt like hours.  I was so spent I didn't know how I could survive another race effort.

After squeezing a couple hours sleep in the driver's seat,  I tried to ready myself for my moderate short third leg.  By the time I changed into my racers, I was feeling ready to unleash every ounce of my soul.  I wanted to make sure I had nothing left in me to give by the end.  For anyone keeping count, I was now 6-4 on the road kill count.  I had a lot of competitive frustration to get out.  I caught up with Where the Hell is Van #2?, and Boom! I was off at a good 10K clip into the foggy early morning.  As soon as I left the exchange zone I realized there a heavy fog cover with lessening visibility.

Nearly inexistent road visibility

I didn't care about the extraneous factors anymore, because I had less than five miles to prove my worth to Stache and Dash.  I felt good cruising up and down the rural roads in this cool weather.  No matter what happened from here, I was going to give it my best.  I had a brief exchange as I casually passed a Master from UNC, and pulled two more road kills before I finished my final leg uphill.  I gave it my all, and still felt like it couldn't be over so soon. I wanted more miles, so with Christi less than a minute ahead, I took off after her to try to cheer her on a little.  I quickly returned to my team full of energy even though I had given myself 22 miles of pain. I was anxious to get on the van and cheer on every other leg of our team.

Naturally, by the time our van was complete, we had passed some beautiful scenes that almost made me miss living in the mountains.  We scarfed a wonderful pancake breakfast  from a church that provided a well staffed transition point, then I crashed in the van.  I awoke to our arrival in the familiar center of downtown Asheville.  We awaited our teammates from Van #2, then wrapped up Stache and Dash's 2011 Blue Ridge Relay with John Fillette gloriously cruising into downtown A-town and across the green with all of us on his heels.  It was an experience that won't soon be forgotten.  As for other insights into what our team endured/ encountered, I'll leave it to other  team members to post their own recaps.

from L to R: Adam, Emily, Siobhan, Rob, Christi, me, Bjorn, Laura, Sarah, Jessica, Anne Marie, John

Finally Frosty Fifty

(image courtesy of Troy Lee)

The Eagerly Anticipated Story of My First Salem Lakeshore Frosty 50K

Dist: 31.1 Miles

Time: 5:19:24 (10:17 pace)

It was a cold, dark night -- when I fell asleep at midnight. I tried to go through my pre-race evening rituals to ensure I got plenty of sleep, but somehow I knew it wouldn't come together. I even took the night off from work so that I could ensure a proper pre-race meal. Before going to bed, I saw that the current temps were colder than expected for our arrival at Salem Lake, so I knew I was more than prepared for the cold.

Finally, my 4AM alarm went off, and I headed to the kitchen for a small bowl of oatmeal to kick start my morning. Somehow, Christi, her dad Steve, and I were a little behind leaving Christi's parents' house but still made our trip up to Winston by 7:15 just behind the Guys car and the Girls car from UCRR. I hopped out of the car heavily bundled and picked up my bib with Steve and Christi in time to see a beautiful winter sunrise over the lake. Thanks to reading last year's race reports from UCRR, I had a pretty good idea what to expect upon my arrival. I made last minute preparations with my SPIbelt and bib. Started dropping layers then hung out with some of the gang as we heard the call over the bullhorn for "Five minutes till the race starts. If you're racing today, you'd better be headed over to the start." I finally met Troy Eisenberger, Emily Knudson (a potential Amy Poehler look-a-like), Jason Rose, and Vince Smith (my unwitting hero). We lined up for one decent group photo-op, where I happen to look like the only one still sleeping. Emily Hansen and Bill Weimer snuck in without me even noticing, but it was great to have such a great group of local runners who also made the trip on such a cold morning. We all turned and wished each other one last good luck. [SN: I've always wondered, what reaction would one get if they bid another runner to "Break a leg!" for a race. Maybe not that funny after all.] Surely enough, Warren Allen gave us a "Ready, Set, [Bugle Playing]!"

I was more than happy to start off nice and easy as a cool 50+ runners took off passing by in the first quarter mile. I chatted up Landon Dunn and Siobahn about potential March 20th marathons without a conclusion. I looked down at my watch to see that amidst the shuffle of the slightly crowded start of a trail race, I still remained at 11:30 pace (1:30 behind my goal pace). At the same time, it seemed that Vince was ready to have some fun too, so I bid adieu to the ladies and caught up to him. We started talking about our plans for the race, and I started to notice that despite all my talk of just relaxing and finishing the race, I had really put a lot of pressure on myself. Vince agreed to stick by me for a little while, and there is so much I could say about the ensuing miles. If you're looking for a short version of how this time passed, the mile splits for the day were as such: 9:59, 9:13, 8:59, 9:34, 9:02, 9:16, 9:34, 9:24, 9:52, 10:24, 10:10, 10:37, 9:52, 10:05, 10:02, 15:58 (when I stopped to change socks while my fingers should have been fending off frostbite), 9:46, 8:59, 10:07, 10:02, 11:39, 11:14, 10:46, 11:26, 12:30,11:34, 11:12,11:23, 9:48, 10:49, (then some blazing half-marathon pace to the finish for 1.1 where I forgot to stop my watch after crossing the finish).

I don't think any of the ultra-marathon gurus with whom I discussed my plans believed that I really thought I was going to stick the idea of not walking the whole race. To me, I didn't understand how they could expect someone who is in pretty good shape to want to walk at all. I have watched enough videos, and read more than enough information to know that even some of the best walk a lot on more treacherous trails, steeper inclines, and longer ultras than a 50K, but come on! This was only 5 more miles than a marathon. All of my training was geared around holding a 10:00 pace. Even if I had to take a hill a lot slower and blaze down it like you see the ultra fanatics do it, I've even trained to transition from 9:00 pace to 12:00 pace and back on command all while maintaining a jog/run never walking. Boy did I have something to learn. The first aid station around mile three had a good spread of gatorade and water for hydration, oreos, pretzels, and pb&j sandwhiches for solids. Vince and I passed a guy from Florida who had run five Badwater Ultramarathons ("the world's toughest footrace"), but now had to squeeze in this 50K to meet the new registration standards. At this hill around mile 5 is where I first saw a number of racers literally WALKING the hill. This is also the first place I noticed a change in the course from what we saw for the 30K trail race back in September.

Vince understood that I really wasn't prepared to walk any part of the course, so as we approached a hill or aid station, I would slow down to a pace that I could maintain through the aid station/ hill and he would simply walk through it and catch up. I started to notice that by simply trotting through these periods, I wasn't gaining more than 100m on him and it seemed to be hurting me a lot more. The next aid station came soon after the hill on the other side of the lake around mile 6. This is the first time that I was able to see Christi and Steve since the start. I rolled through too quickly to really exchange any memorable comments, but I grabbed a cup of water to down my Hammer gel and kept going. Vince caught up and we started seeing the leaders of the pack. Suddenly, we were faced with a shallow creek due to a water level that was higher than I remember from the September race also. In order to conquer this swift, brisk six foot chasm of potential frostbite, someone had placed about ten rocks, only a few of which were actually above the current water level. Thinking my Brooks footwear would allow me the power to walk across water like the Jesus lizard from their ads, I bypassed the rock path and splashed in the worst way. I was very thankful that I had packed five pairs of socks in the bag after all. Another frigid mile to the turn around point we crossed paths with Michelle Hazelton and B3 making CRC proud. I could've sworn I had seen Matt Jaskot in his unique unripened banana yellow CRC shorts in the parking lot, but never saw him during the race. Shortly after the ladies, we saw in order Bobby Aswell, Mark Cox, Theoden, Jason Rose, Emily Hansen, and Troy Eisenberger all smiling so it helped keep my spirit high. As we hit the turn around, I took quick stock of how my body felt, and there was no unnatural fatigue for just under 8 miles, and the only pain was my feet resembling blocks of ice. As we traversed the creek a second time, I was determined to get a little more practice staying on the rocks for when my feet would be dry next time. Successfully we crossed, with only a slight splash from Vince, and before we knew it, snow was falling around us. I knew it was supposed to be cold, but I hadn't the slightest clue what to make of snow coming down during a race like this. It brought a smile to my face. Sure enough all the girls that started together were still running with each other. Vince pointed out Daniel Lieb and we passed Carolyn Fritzsche somewhere in that period too. Approaching the Carters at the station, I exclaimed what an idiot I was for splashing through the rushing water and asked for a fresh pair of thin socks when I arrive back at the start line.

Coming back up the winding steeper side of THE hill (much like the one on McAlpine's XC course), I still felt no need to walk. My ultra tour guide did convince me to take it easier however and I was beginning to question everything for which I had trained over the last month since Thunder Road. On the way back, I stepped over an unopened Hammer Gel that looked like conspicuously like the flavor I was carrying. Crap! I lost 2 of my 5. In hindsight, I should've found a way to concentrate on fueling the way I know I need. My frigid fingers' ineptness was an easy excuse not to try to open my SPIbelt anymore for the back-up, back-up gel and powerbars I had stored. As we hit the start line at the end of the fisrt lap Christi was holding two pairs of fresh socks for me. We briefly talked about the snow that was sticking to the ground all around us and the appearance of a blizzard over the lake. While Vince took a pit stop at the appropriately located port-a-johns, my fingers fumbled around trying to change my socks. We grabbed some quick solids to take with us, and we were off.

After the nearly five minutes we lost between laps, my legs felt truly rejuvenated. I had no thoughts tiring and had forgotten almost any notion of pain. Before I knew it, our pace was -9:00 again, and I told myself that I could not maintain a race if I continued to push like this. I was briefly distracted by Vince's version of some Black Eyed Peas song and rolled with the punches. Maybe it was only due to the negative thoughts I let creep into my race psychology earlier, or my lack of practice walking uphills, but by the time I hit THE hill again, I was hurting badly. Knowing I had another 9 miles to go when I saw the Carters at the aid station, I told Christi I really was going to need her to finish strong. Approaching the creek for the third time, I negotiated the rock pathway much more adeptly, in part due to the baby steps I allowed myself to take. When we were passing the marshall at the turn-around point, he inquired how I was feeling. I told him I'd be okay, I just needed to stop being a baby. We rolled on with the snow subsiding almost 4 hours after sunrise, and Vince's version of "Barbie Girl" by Aqua kicked us up a notch in the enthusiasm column.

We picked up my secret weapon on our way back at mile 24. Passing off my nearly empty QuickDraw to Steve Carter, Christi jumped right in to pace us through to the end. Thankfulness was on the tip of my tongue every other minute. We recapped Vince's antics and some of the other previous topics of the day as I walked back up THE hill and galloped down the other side. Every mile or so following would result in me seeing a different stereotypical ultra runner ahead of me, warning Vince and Christi of my plans, then turning my gears harder just long enough to push my "opponent" more than they desired, and slowing down to a trot after they would give in. This plan continued for the next five miles as I passed about ten different runners. If I could see them, I could pass them. Vince's rain of positive affirmations and Christi allowing me to draft off her through some pretty headstrong winds made it much easier to conserve energy when I wasn't kicking to pass other runners.

Looking back, I think the last three miles were another lesson all their own, which I will try to apply in marathons to come. With one surge after another, I kept reminding myself that it would be ludicrous to try to maintain a tempo of anything faster than ten minutes, and I would make Christi slow down for me. Although I set out hoping to beat myself into mush over the course of the 50K, by the last 5K I had stopped checking my pace and simply knew that I wanted to be able to sprint to the finish, unaware of how much kick I would actually possess. Just like most every other race, I rounded the last corner before I expected, and my instinct pushed my legs for a faster turnover than I had endured any other instant the entire race. Forgetting about every whining point the last five hours, my galloping sprint evolved into my very first finish line airplane. Never in my life have I felt so good as I did crossing that finish line with every single highlight from this race and my last marathon flashing before my eyes. I was greeted with congratulations from friends and a pretty sweet finisher's trophy. I tried to thank Steve, Christi, and Vince more as I hurried over to scarf down three Krispy Kreme doughnuts. The ladies of UCRR began crossing the finish line consecutively as I changed shoes. I was glad to see everyone from UCRR had finished before 6 hours. It would've been painstaking for anyone to be going around that lake long. As we all hopped in the cars to head back home, nothing could take away from my elation. Looking back, I realized how much more I really had left in me to compete longer/faster. I will definitely return for this 50K at some point, but I eagerly look forward to my next ultra distance being even further.

Snow Day

~18.11 in 3:07:43 (10:22 avg)

I should definitely say I had a great first Christmas with Christi's family this year, and I think it was worth skipping a day to enjoy great times with these great people.  Not a substitute for quality time with my own family, but it sure felt good to change it up like that.

Just before bed last night I saw a number of e-mails between UCRR members planning a snow run @ 7am on the MC Greenway, and I was anxious to make up miles myself.  I made it out the door by 5:45 but the roadways still seemed a little precarious to be solo at that hour.  By 6:15, I started the watch up from my driveway and took off at an easy trot for McAlpine.  While I was wearing my headlamp, I never had to turn the high beams on while soaking up this pre-sunrise winter wonderland.  I really wanted to take it easy and stomping through the snow made my goal of 10:00 miles a lot easier  all the way down to the park.  As soon as I hit the greenway, I was filled with elation as I saw no other footprints in sight.  All the way past the XC course still not even animal tracks.  My route seemed so pure and unscathed, I really just wanted to stop and take pictures.  I felt like time stood still while I slowly jogged praying aloud thanking the Creator for this amazing morning.  Then I finally came across a couple of Masters running together as I approached Old Bell.  As I progressed down the south end of the greenway I could see the snow was still just as thick, but my steps became lighter by the second and I decided to rattle off a couple of -8:00's with a max of 6:30 and did the same thing back 2 more miles from Old Bell.  Suddenly I had to snap out of it and remind myself that my goal wasn't about the quick turnover no matter how good it felt.  I really needed to maintain the discipline for 10:00 avg today.  So knowing I had no choice but to suck it up and cover the miles on a path I knew very well I decided to do various random loops all around the XC course.

Lesson Learned:  When the course is absolutely covered in snow, it is far safer to traverse THE Hill of the McAlpine XC course backwards than the easy way.  

My subsequent 2nd, 3rd, & 4th times tackling the hill backwards resulted from the notion that I needed it for practice since I'm already aware of the steep grade of the single "cliff" in the middle of Salem Lake's Frosty 50 course that I will have to climb twice.  By mile 12, I was slowing down at an alarming rate hitting what may have been my worst mile split (12:30) since suffering from the fuel-free long runs of the summer.

Lesson Learned: Running in the snow is waaaay more tedious than logging miles on the sandy beaches of the Carolina Coast.

Despite the pain, I was familiar with this desperate feeling of anguish, and I knew I'd survive like any other tough long run.  By the time the sun rose, I really picked up on a number of points to adjust in my training.  It turns out that it's not so difficult to maintain a slower pace if I ignore my watch for a while.  I also noticed that despite my deceleration, I had neither pushed my lactic threshold nor VO2 max so far that I couldn't easily pick up the pace to -8:00 miles with very little focus.  I kept looking down and inquiring within whether or not anything actually hurt or felt strained, even my breathing, and I couldn't think of a single excuse.

I imagine that I would've gladly stayed outside long enough to add on +4 slow miles had I taken the time to stop and check what hour of the morning it really was.  Since I only knew that I was approaching 3 hours of continuous run time, my promised return home before 10:00 had to be imminent as well.  I pondered my future marathon - ultra career throughout the last ten miles today, and I think I've come up with the following formula.  Race, 2 weeks recovery, 2 weeks hard training, 2 weeks taper, race.  I hope to see if this basic guideline can withstand through May at least.

Looking back, today's wintry adventure was great for me because the time I had to enjoy the wondrous beauty of this snow day at the best time of morning, and also I think I set myself up for a new outlook on a couple of different key aspects to my ultra- career. In the end, I played around with my "mileage vs. holiday time off" ratio a little too much this week.  I think I burned more calories than I ingested, but I'm definitely falling short of a 70 mile week again.  At this point, recovering from a sixty mile week is becoming all too easy, that I know it's not about over-exerting myself as much as I just need to arrange my schedule accordingly and plan smarter around "holidays" and the likes of such.  I'm quite anxious to see what the New Year will hold for me now that my aspirations for 2011 are in a completely different area from my goals of 2009 or '10.