Vert Libre: The Swarm

They swarmed my passive black lab, and the mass turned like a hurricane tracked on radar - her small body the eye of the storm surrounded by churning golden fur. I could hear her yelps and all the growls, and picked up a rock - no fallen branches in reach - running to her defense. Seeing she wasn't alone, the pack fell away - seven, then five, then two. Then just she and I continuing down the gulch without looking back, rock still in my hand. We dared a quick drink at the junction, still breathing hard, then climbed the singletrack for home as if it had all happened long ago.

Vert Libre: free-form poetry and observations from the trail

RJ Review: Fenix L2D Q5 Flashlight

About ten years ago I read an article in the newspaper about the resurgence of men's hats - of the fedora, bowler varieties. One of the men quoted in the article, who'd recently bought a Homburg - a type of hat with a fashionably rugged style - said that whenever he put it on and went outside it made him feel like he was carrying a loaded gun.

Hyperbole, of course, and probably just plain ludicrous. But I nevertheless think of that quote every time I reach into my drop bag in the waning light and pull out my Fenix L2D Q5 flashlight for a long night on the trail. Something about this light just buoys my confidence.

I've used it on two long-night runs - Coyote Two Moon in March and Wasatch Front in September - and one short-night run - Bighorn 100 on the solstice - and in all settings, on all types of darkened trail, it was flawless. With up to 180 lumens, it's got plenty of power to light the way. Its focused beam is great for searching out trail markers, harrowing drop-offs, or those things that go crack in the night. The brushed aluminum body of the L2D feels solid in the hand (even a sweaty hand) and wipes off easily when gel loading goes bad. And for the brightness it delivers, it's compact and light.

Best of all, and the main reason I bought mine in the first place, is the battery life. In medium mode (53 lumens), with just two standard AA batteries, the L2D shined brighter and longer than I needed it to at Coyote and Wasatch, each with nighttime running between ten and eleven hours.

As with most anything, there are some minor frailties worth noting. First, some folks with bigger hands might actually find the light too small in diameter to comfortably carry for hours on end. My hands fit solidly in the "medium" bin, and the L2D works nicely for me. Those in the L/XL range, though, may find it a bit small. Second, and this is likely the biggest frailty, the L2D is pricey. It retails for around $60.00; though, there are some deals out there since it's being sunsetted for the newer LD20.

Overall, though, if you're looking to run your first or your fiftieth nighttime trail run and you've got a few dollars stored away, the Fenix L2D is a great light source that'll get you where you're going with confidence, and on just two AA's.

For detailed specs on different brightness modes (including SOS flashing!), lens coating, and other things I can in no way assess properly, click here.

More reviews on Run Junkie (reviews).

Vert Libre: Changes - Fall Running

The running is so different this time of year. Races done and the big miles logged. Once overgrown trails cut back by the dry tail-end of summer and new chill of fall. I know I should be resting but legs and singletrack yell "speed" and push me along with reminders that this run - today, right now - could be the last one before the snows put things to rest until March? April? Heaven forbid, May? And though the edge is a little rough and my waist a little more full, the PR's still come. So free is the running, so relaxed, my legs find the contours of the trails like they never did in the heat of the season. Up the valley, I see the full grey clouds dropping snow, and the forecast says they're coming this way. Time to see how fast I really am.

Vert Libre - free-form poetry and observations from the trail

Top Twenty @Run_Junkie Tweets from October 2009

For those intelligent folks disinclined to follow the Run Junkie Twitter feed but who have just a dash of voyeur in their souls, I offer this executive summary from the last month. Here they are, such as they are: the top 20 tweets of October from @run_junkie.

1. Beautiful early evening run yesterday through campus and around The Dish at Stanford. Pretty stout little loop.7:18 AM Oct 24th from Echofon
2. Yes, it dilutes things a bit. But why should it bother me? "Plodders Have a Place, but Is It in a Marathon?" - NYT: http://bit.ly/19SWYY5:32 AM Oct 23rd from Echofon
3. Palm Drive - Stanford: http://twitpic.com/mi0r612:20 PM Oct 22nd from Echofon
4. In Palo Alto with the family for the big 20th college reunion. Stopped by Zombie Runner, of course: http://twitpic.com/mhn2j10:41 AM Oct 22nd from Echofon
5. Something Buddhist about latte art. Impermanent. http://twitpic.com/mcpfu6:48 AM Oct 21st from Echofon
6. For a bookish ultra runner, how great to get a nod on the Ulysses "Seen" blog (1st paragraph)? - http://tinyurl.com/yjw7uwv8:42 AM Oct 20th from Echofon
7. New blog post: Race-Day Demons and Their Long Shadows http://bit.ly/rw7JN9:48 PM Oct 19th from twitterfeed
8. Bowling shirts & boner minutes. Coyote Two Moon 100 opens applications - a Chris Scott event not to be missed: http://coyotetwomoon.com7:33 AM Oct 19th from web
9. 1700 in the bowl as Western States 100 application period comes to a close. It's going to take some good luck in Dec to get a golden ticket.12:52 PM Oct 16th from Echofon
10. Nice run in the fall sun on some brand new singletrack. Hard to beat it.11:30 AM Oct 16th from Echofon
11. Lance seems to be France's White Whale, one hopes they don't meet the Pequod's end. VeloNews: http://bit.ly/13UIc69:21 AM Oct 13th from Echofon
12. Can't go wrong following Hicham El Guerrouj's example. "Exercise and company: Fitter with friends" | The Economist - http://shar.es/1l6qQ8:00 AM Oct 12th from ShareThis.com
13. New blog post: 10 for '10: Goals for the Season Ahead http://bit.ly/l5us56:47 PM Oct 11th from twitterfeed
14. Didn't run this morning. But I did spend 2 hours "cross-training" at the new pump park in Hailey. http://twitpic.com/l4v2l10:09 AM Oct 11th from Echofon
15. "Growth in Mountain Biking May Put Western Park Trails Off Limits" - NY Times: http://bit.ly/19LtNC7:38 AM Oct 11th from Echofon
16. Western States study: Quercetin does not affect rating of perceived exertion [or finish time]: Res Sports Med. 2009 - http://shar.es/1j9pM9:14 AM Oct 8th from ShareThis.com
17. Snow piling up atop Baldy. This didn't happen until mid December last year: http://www.sunvalley.com/Su...1:12 PM Oct 5th from Echofon
18. Sitting at Costco in Twin, eating pizza and wondering Rocky or Coyote10:58 AM Oct 2nd from Echofon
19. New blog post: Reflections on the 2009 Season http://bit.ly/27ouhF9:47 PM Oct 1st from twitterfeed
20. Name's in the WS hat. Feel like I should hit the sauna, just in case...7:07 AM Oct 1st from Echofon

Confronting Race-Day Demons and Their Long Shadows

We all have a race-day demon. Some of us are quicker to admit it than others, but for each of us, by the time we toe the line at an ultra-distance event, the specter of some past failure or some past breakdown haunts our psyches. For many runners, these demons float away as soon as the gun goes off. For others, they rear their heads post race. And for some, like me, they travel with us many miles and many hours along the trail.

My big demon? It's mile 39. It was at that point of the Grand Teton 50 in 2008 where things started to descend quickly into a nutritional DNF a few miles later on. And even though I've had some decent finishes at a number of harder and longer events since then, I still feel some level of relief every time I get past mile 39 in good shape.

And that's the thing about these demons. They can have long shadows that can cast across race after race, even training run after training run. We simply have to learn how to deal with them until they eventually fade away.

Training was my proving ground - The lab where I was able to build up a new calorie, fluid, and electrolyte plan that helped me toe the line at my first 100k with enough confidence that the demon of the Tetons, while not silenced, was somewhat muted. Race after race since then, the demon has been increasingly small and quiet, until at the 2009 Wasatch Front 100, mile 39 came and went without much notice (editors note, Wasatch was not without issues).

Of course, it's still something I occasionally think about, and rightfully so. The Teton DNF was a pivotal moment in my would-be ultra life, and one that could have easily been the death knell of the distance for me. But defeat (especially born of inaction) casts a longer and more indelible shadow than any sort of race-day demon that toes the line with us. By taking it head on, race after race, we weaken it until it dissolves completely.

I hadn't thought much about this topic until I read a piece in the most recent UltraRUNNING by Stan Beutler (UR; Oct 2009; pg 41) who chronicled his successful return to this year's Bighorn 100 seven years after a harrowing, near-death experience with hyponatremia in the 2002 race.

With great heart, he writes:
"When I crossed the finish line in this year's 100-mile race, I felt gratitude, more than triumph, relief, or any other emotion. I was grateful for the chance to make it all the way back."

That's what tackling our demons does. It brings us back, full circle. Yet, we return not as the same person who began the trip, but one who has grown mentally, physically, and maybe even spiritually in the process. Of course, most of our demons pale in comparison to Mr. Beutler's but what they all offer us is the chance for growth and the ability to look ahead knowing the future is ours to make.

10 for '10: Goals for the Season Ahead

With off-season life all bon-bons and foot massages and easy chairs, and my 2009 season summed up (here), why not move on toward goals for 2010? At no time will they seem more attainable than as I sit here sipping an Americano and eating some chocolate, so here they are, in no particular order. Some are pretty global; some pretty specific to local training.

1. Run a challenging 100 miler in under 24 hours. (PR 25:34, Wasatch)
2. Run Bald Mountain Trail (Sun Valley ski mountain) in under an hour. (PR 1:00:46).
3. Run Bald Mountain Trail in under 59:00.
4. Run Carbonate climb (trailhead to mineshaft) in under 26:00. (PR 26:37).
5. Write, and get published, more long-form pieces on ultra-running.
6. Write more poetry, running-inspired or otherwise
7. Find some level of relief from the full-price of shoes, equipment, and calories
8. Take more planned easy weeks during the heat of training
9. Get more group runs in with friends
10. Get at least two long runs on trails I've never trod

Reflections on the 2009 Season

Yes, there are a number of races yet to be run this year - but not by me. So, it seemed time to reflect on the long 2009 season before it faded away in my memory as planning for 2010 takes hold. Here, you'll find my "best of" list for 2009. I thought about including the "worst of" as well. But, in the balance of things, it seemed a little petty and belittling to what on all accounts was a really fabulous 2009. (The truly inquisitive can still glean the season's downsides in my Attackpoint training log).

Best race:

A toss-up between the Wasatch Front 100 and Pocatello 50. For pure effort and grit and successfully working through some tough times, it's Wasatch (see Best turnaround). For pure performance, it's got to be Pocatello.

Best race schwag:

The chock-full and esoteric Coyote Two Moon goodie bag, which included one very nice Patagonia Slopestyle Hoodie.

Best hike:

Idaho's Hyndman Peak (12,009), with my wife.

Best photo:

A tired AJW bringing up the rear in a training run post Western/Hardrock double.

Best video of someone else's race:

While it's hard not to give this to the AJW/Kevin Sullivan Leadville regurgitation special, it has to go to the pacer's view video of Kim Holak's Hardrock (below):

Best song:

Blitzen Trapper's Furr, which played a key role on one of my winter long runs, and which I played over and over during the night at the Bighorn 100.

Best sensation:

Entering the shaded woods of Bare Ass Pass at Wasatch after the baking heat between Big Mountain and Lambs.

Best quest for vertical:

The climbs up and runs down the snowy slopes of Sun Valley's Bald Mountain ahead of March's Coyote Two Moon 100k.

Best turnaround:

Getting past the early-stage GI meltdown at Wasatch and making it to the finish in decent shape and still OK time.

Best hardest track workout:

A Brad Mitchell special that finished with a 20-minute "tempo" with AJW and Brad leading the lightning charge. I stumbled home afterward with a tingling face and drank 32 ounces of chocolate milk.

Best training run:

The April quadruple Carbonate/Vorberg loop. 32 miles with 6,000 feet of climbing that felt about as effortless as it gets. Also inspired Best running-related poem.

Best running-related poem:

I didn't write too many this season, but the hands down winner was the This is Just Say knock off, which actually made it on the wall of my wife's office.

100 Miles with James Joyce: My Foos Won't Moos

A transcendent romp through the night that meshes the real and imaginary, capturing life's tragedy and triumphs in the sample of hours between dusk and dawn.

A circuitous, all day journey from watering hole to watering hole, where the same clutch of people cross paths throughout the day until they all come together in a liquid and calorie-fueled finale.

Description of the last 100 miler you did?

Most likely. But they're also the plot lines (as they are) of James Joyces' Finnegans Wake and Ulysses, respectively.

Though I've been a runner and a devotee of Joyce for most of my adult life, it was only in the last month that I saw any parallels between his writings and running. During my usual mind games a couple weeks ahead of Wasatch, a phrase from the washerwomen chapter of Finnegans Wake kept coming into my mind, a phrase that would presage my first mile heading out of Brighton on race day.

In the close of Book 1, two washerwomen are doing laundry in the river, sharing rumors of the novel's two main characters. As night falls, they begin to transform - one into a tree; another into a stone (you just have to go with it). As the one woman changes into a tree, she tells the other: "My foos won't moos." Written in Joyce's at-times-maddening "night language," the line translates to: "My feet won't move."

So I had a great time playing this line with my wife in the lead up to the race, thinking of the 26,000 feet of climbing to conquer and the ever-increasing temps called for on race day. And the night of Wasatch, I actually did my best-ever washerwoman impression heading out of Brighton at mile 75. If I wasn't the personification of someone slowly turning into a tree, I don't know what I was (see previous post). Just ask my pacer - and the four people who passed us.

But, even beyond such a direct simile, Joyce's general philosophy meshes wonderfully with that of ultra-running. He reveled in the extraordinary within the ordinary. Whether it was a lowly advertising canvasser (Leopold Bloom in Ulysses) or a hod carrying father of three (Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker in Finnegans Wake), he saw within each person's life a complex web of history, philosophy, mythology, observation and desire forged in the trials and triumphs of every day. Who of us who has been lucky enough to race, run, or walk through a 100 miles hasn't felt such a broad transcendent experience in that enriched time between the gun and finish line?

Moreover, Joyce's characters are nothing if not peripatetic. In Ulysses, the main characters journey in and around Dublin in an exhausting and event-filled day that begins at dawn and finishes with a final collapse into bed in the wee hours. In Finnegans Wake - perhaps the most ultra-esque novel - the characters traverse time, space, and reality as dreams and hallucinations play out over the course of a single, wild night.

Yes, I know. Such simple parallels between Joyce and ultra-running are not the thing that dissertations are made of, but I've always treasured the connections in my life - the small things that cross-over from one passion to the other, magnifying both. So, it was a real gift to finally see a connection between my favorite sport and my favorite author, so much so it was almost OK that heading out of Brighton my foos wouldn't moos.

Race Report: Wasatch Front 100 Endurance Run

When I started to see my breath reflected in the light of the headlamp, I felt it might happen: I might actually finish my first Wasatch Front 100, something that in the early hours of the race seemed as remote a possibility as winning the thing outright. But as I made my way off the final major climb up to near 10,000 feet, descending to the moister and richer air of the lower elevations, I could not only feel a measure of energy and calm returning to my body but also see it in the slow steady breaths that seemed to crystallize in the light. With fewer than ten miles to go to the finish at Homestead, I let myself for the first time truly believe.

Twenty two hours earlier, I had been hunched over and vomiting, a victim of total gastric shutdown, which began just after Grobben's Corner (mile 14) until a couple miles past the Bountiful B aid station (mile 24). It was disappointing. My outside hope for a near 24 hour time was quickly replaced with the hope of just finishing, as one hour of walking and very slow trotting on runnable terrain spilled into two, and then three hours. Nevertheless, I knew I had no choice. I kept coming back to something my friend, training buddy, and eventual pacer that day out of Lamb's Canyon had told me a year earlier after my disastrous (he would say ridiculous) drop at the Teton 50 the previous September: take the time to settle your system when things turn south before they reach past the point of recovery.

So, I walked, and walked, and vomited, and walked, and watched scores of people pass me. And when I got to Bountiful, I sat reclined, two chairs over from a disappointed looking and skinned-up Prudence L'Heureux (whose day turned out to be done). There I stayed for close to ten minutes, drinking a lot of ice water and on the sage advice of the aid station captain, a cup of flat Coke with ice. Then out I went, ambling toward Sessions (mile 28), and things started to turn around.

The knot in my system started to loosen. I could begin to run a bit. A few miles later I was moving at my regular pace and began to baby my stomach with food and fluid. A few ounces of Coke here. A Cliff Blok or two there. The metronome intake of 250 to 300 calories an hour that saw me to the finish at the Bighorn 100 in June, was replaced with what I came to call the "tolerance" nutrition plan. Whenever I felt like I could stomach some calories, I'd take them in, which came to about 150 to 200 calories an hour for the rest of the journey - not horrid but not an amount that left much wiggle room, as would become clear later heading out of Brighton (mile 75), but I get ahead of myself.

Finally feeling better, I was able to start tapping out some strong miles and making up some ground. In 69th place out of Sessions, I was 30th or so into the major Big Mountain aid station (mile 39), where I got to see my fabulous, one-man crew, Brad Mitchell, who I'm pretty sure knew before I even told him that it'd been a rough ride to get there. He met me, took all my stuff, and ushered me to the scale (down 3 pounds). While he filled my bottles and hydration bladder, I quickly grabbed some gels and bloks (most of which I knew I wouldn't be able to eat) and headed out for the overgrown and overexposed 14 miles to Lamb's, enjoying the brief chance to chat with Brad as we walked to the trailhead.

The trip to Lamb's was uneventful, if hot. It had turned out to be the warmest Wasatch in 12 years, and although I typically don't thrive in the heat, I wasn't feeling too bad. I kept drinking and drinking (five plus bottles by the end of the section), had a chance to chat with Tom Remkes and Scott Mason, and came into Lamb's feeling pretty strong and ready for the company of my pacer, AJW.

Yet again, Brad was great: filling bottles, arranging for some soup, and taking a quick assessment of my overall state. Walking out of the aid station, and through the underpass to the checkout, Andy updated me on happenings at Lamb's - a number of people were dropping from the heat and eventual 3rd place woman, Darla Askew, was 5 minutes ahead of us - and we made our way to the climb up Bare Ass Pass (mile 57).

After the heat into Lamb's, the cool and shaded woods out of Lamb's was amazingly refreshing, as was the chance to share some war stories with Andy, who I knew was assessing the damage of the day and figuring out out what he needed to do to get me to the finish. He joked, cajoled, praised, navigated, waxed nostalgic, and always fell silent at the right times. The perfect pacer from beginning to end.

We made good time up and over Bare Ass and then up to Millcreek (mile 61), hitting it at dusk, where with Brad's help we refueled and grabbed our nighttime gear for the trip to the high country of Desolation Lake (mile 67) and Scott's Transmission Tower (mile 71). Though I felt fairly good overall on this section, my low calorie intake really made the steep climbs at over 9,000 feet tough. What little bit of energy I was getting from my fuel, the climbs would eat up instantly. After the seven mile traverse of the ridge that oscillated between 9,400 and 9,900 feet, we took the long-feeling, but not really that long, descent to the Brighton ski lodge aid station (mile 75).

It was here things came a bit unglued. While Andy was seeing to his energy needs (something like 8 of the renowned Brighton hash brown bars!), I got weighed one last time (down 5 on the day) and Brad loaded up my pack and bottles, knowing more than I did at that point what I needed. I grabbed a cup of soup, and we left the chaos of Brighton for the remote trip up Catherine's Pass to Point Supreme (mile 78; elev 10,400 ft). Still in view of the lodge, the queasiness that started to come on as I gathered my things together, crashed over me and all my energy vanished. It wasn't pretty. Clutching my cup of soup, trying to take in whatever I could, AJW took the lead at what had to seem to him like a sub-glacial pace. For the first time since the early going, I was passed by a couple runners. But, we went with it and just kept moving forward and after about 15 minutes, my stomach settled and the few calories I was able to get in primed the energy pump, and once again we were able to move ahead at a pretty steady pace. It was a true relief.

Ant Knolls aid (mile 80) was next, a great station with a great crew who let us know we were currently sitting in 22nd place. After taking a couple shots of Coke, and feeling a world better than I did 5 miles previous, we headed for the "Grunt," a notorious, not very long but very steep late-stage climb. My legs felt good and we made pretty short work of it. Then it was off to the last aid station at Pot Bottom (mile 93).

Barely dodging disaster out of Brighton and having already passed the runner's generally slower than me, I thought we'd settled into our station in the race - 22nd. But on the final descent into Pot Bottom, I was surprised that we caught Darla (and her pacer, Krissy Moehl), who offered very kind words as they let us by, and another group of three (one racer, two pacers).

Trying to keep our momentum, we were in and out of Pot Bottom quickly (passing, I believe, one other racer who hadn't yet left the aid). All that was left: One final bottle of Coke; one final decent climb, and then the final, often gnarly, long descent to home. The way I was feeling, I knew I was going to make it. Though the steep ups and downs were still pretty slow, I had the legs and the energy to tap out a pretty good rhythm on everything else, and when we hit the road to Homestead, just three quarters mile way, I was ecstatic. It wouldn't be 24 hours, but it would be very close to my time at Bighorn (an arguably faster course), something Andy knew. So, just to make sure we capped things off right, he took us home in a good closing clip, and I was able to cross the line just under Bighorn time in 25:34:19.

Nearly 27,000 feet of climbing. 26,000 descending. 19th place overall, and a world away from the dark hours of 69th.

It was just a little over a year earlier that I had closed out my first ultra season with a total meltdown at the Teton 50, my confidence in tatters. But in hindsight it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. It focused my training, made me experiment with nutrition, and motivated me to sign up for races more difficult than Teton so I'd have the chance to prove to myself I'd moved beyond the early failure.

It was that concatenation of races that lead me to the line at Kaysville four days ago, and I feel privileged to have had the chance to run that amazing course, with an amazing crew and pacer, and to gather the richness of experience a long, long day on the trail offers us all.

Photo by Matt Galland; Desolation Lake in the daylight.

You Think You'll Run Wasatch in What Time?

My Wasatch Front 100 pacers on yesterday's run around Greenhorn Gulch. As reserved as always, we won't be sneaking up on anyone. Anxious to toe the line.