"Plan to get faster in the second half of the race."
"Towards the end, you should be progressively speeding up like a carpet unrolling."
All good advice, but oh, the difficulty in putting this plan into action. Patience. Calm. Relaxation. Experience. Sometimes lessons take a long time to learn and these are all too often very difficult lessons for many runners at any distance, but the ultra-distances are where those long, endless, painful miles await after going out too fast and not paying attention to your body. The death march.
And so it was that I found myself comfortably jogging along through the streets of Boise at 5:08am last Saturday morning with a group of 20 or so like-minded ultra-runners. Most were heading out for the full 50 miles. The rest were doing a shortend version of whatever distance appealed to them. I figured I would go at least 50k and then if I felt good enough at the 19 mile mark on the out and back course, I would continue on to the turnaround at mile 26 (there was an extension loop we did only on the way out that added an extra mile. Then, on the way back, we skipped that loop cutting off two miles to finish with an even 50). I began running with the intent of maintaining a pace that I could theoretically maintain for 100 miles. I wanted to keep my heartrate low, my legs fresh, food and drink going in and walk whenever I wanted to. I was not there to race. I was there to prepare.
The first 11 miles were up. Waaaaaaay up. We gained 2,500 ft. It took alot of patience to let a group of five or so runners take off up the trail. "This is not a race. This is not a race", I kept telling myself. Walk slower. Keep the heart rate down. I came into the aid station at 2:10. Not bad. Just under 12 min/mile and I still felt like I was going slow. I stopped at the truck that had the tailgate flipped down and was met by Jack manning the aid station. He had spread out the food and drink on the tailgate for the runners to peruse as they arrived. I grabbed a few pringles and pretzels and continued my walk up the dirt road. The next aid station was 8 miles away and I was told to "stay to the left at every junction", by the father of one of the runners a few minutes behind me on the course. He was there to crew for his son, Cliff, who was running the full 50 miles. Staying left was good advice especially because this course was not marked and for a newcomer like me running by themselves, it would have been impossible to know for sure which direction to take when the road or trail split. I hoped I would either catch up to an experienced Schafer Butte runner by the next aid station or someone would catch up to me. If I had to stop and wait, I would.
At roughly mile 15, Cliff caught up to me and we walked most of the remaining climb up to the mile 19 aid station at 7,500 ft where we were shrouded in a cold white fog. We had climbed up to the top of Bogus Basin Ski Area from its southern backside and the weather was not so summery here with a temperature of maybe 45 degrees. We had been out 4:10 hrs. About 13:10 min/mile. I felt like I was on a hike.
From here, it would be an unsupported 7 mile out and back section. I needed to make sure I had 14 miles of happy times with me so I filled up my two liters, mixed in the approprite Powerbar Endurancemix and headed off. I downed a protein shake, had a bit of food, and waited a few minutes for Cliff knowing he had run this course before and I was about to get myself lost if I continued on by myself. He was my guide. There is no way possible for to have done this event without someone with me to guide me and Cliff did an amazing job. We seemed to be pretty well matched for running together and it was nice to have some company. We skidded down a 1/4 mile section of lingering snow on one of the ski runs and then began snaking our way down the switchback service road through the ski area. We came to a closed gate across the service road and were emptied out onto a paved road. We took a left and quickly came to an intersection with another road and a couple faint trails at the bottom of a looming butte in front of us to the north. Cliff pointed out that we would be heading around Schafer Butte in a clockwise direction coming within sight of where we picked up the loop trail before turning away and running a singletrack trail east to the turnaround a few miles later. I expected to see the leaders coming back on the trail any time figuring they probably had at least a half hour on us. After all, Cliff and I had been jogging easily on the downhills and hiking pretty much all of the uphills and stopping occassionaly to go over the route or take a pit stop.
Finally, at 5:15 into the race, we passed the lead group of three on their return trip after reaching the turnaround. I made a note of the time and the place on the trail where our paths crossed. Not long after that, Cliff and I passed another runner heading back, and finally reached the turnaround. We had covered 26 miles in 5:25. 12:30 min/mile. Perfect. I told Cliff to go on ahead. I needed a "pit stop" and I would try to catch up to him. I felt good as I began running the slightly uphill trail after the turnaround. I could see Cliff walking and figured he was waiting for me. As I fell in behind him, he moved to the side of the trail, mentioned something about always seemeing to lose steam after reaching the turnaround on out and back courses, and told me to go on if I wanted. I always feel energized and refreshed any time I reach the turnaround on a course so I didn't understand quite what his predicament was, but I voiced a cheery "Ok, well I'll see you up the trail!" fully expecting to see him catch back up to me over the next few miles.
About a mile of running later and I caught up to the runner who had been just behind the lead group of four. He was not doing too well. He didn't have any gear other than a waistbelt with water flasks. We was wearing shorts and a white short sleeve shirt. It seemed too minimal for a fairly unsupported run in the mountains on a day where the temperature just never really warmed up. I was wearing my long sleeve smartwool and my windbreaker and that was borderline just enough to keep me warm. I passed the spot where I had seen the leaders and checked my time. 5:35. Whoa! The lead group is only 20 minutes ahead! And I feel like I'm out for an easy hike in the mountains. I wondered how they felt. I wondered if I'd see some of them by the finish.
I chatted with the guy I had caught up to for a few minutes and evaluated his condition. Cold. Dehydrated. Lacking calories. His race had turned. His march had begun. I asked him if he needed anything. I wanted to give some more clothing, but I was already wearing everything I brought and I was borderline cold. Food? Water? Nope, he said he was ok and was going to take the shortcut and bypass the loop trail around Schafer Butte to speed his trip back up to the aid station at the top of the ski area. I agreed that was a good choice and began my loop. I was met by the remaining runners still heading out to the turnaround. There weren't as many as had began th race with us six hours earlier and I rationalized that some of them had turned around for a shorter distance. I could still see Cliff at certain times behind be on the trail still running. It was good to see he was continuing to move quickly. Since I was simply reversing our earlier route I was confident I could navigate on my own so I didn't feel that waiting for him was completely neccessary although I thought it would be nice to regain the company. I figured he'd catch up to me soon.
I popped out of the loop trail and back onto the pavement, missed the turn back onto the ski area service road, had to hop over through some brush to find it again, and began my powerhike up the mountain. Halfway up, I saw Cliff beginning his climb. We waved. I reached the top and caught back up to Mr. Hypothermia (the runner wearing short sleeves who I had encountered way back on the loop trail) and checked in with him to see how he was fairing. Not so good, but we were within a mile of the aid station and he seemed capable of continuing on his own to get there. I was thinking his race would probably be done at that point.
I cruised into the aid station just below the top of the ski area at 7:00 hrs. miles. 12:44 pace. Sweet. 17 miles and 4,750 feet below and I'd be done. Could I break 10 hours? Gasp! Not if it means running hard. I'd made it this far feeleing great and my main concern was taking care of my knees.
I stopped for a refil on water. Another 2 liters. This time, just water. Some of the folks hanging out at this aid station were sitting on camp chairs around a fire they had built on the edge of the dirt road. But on the road. There they were just sittin round the fire right on the road. I dunno, maybe it wasn't that unusual of a thing, but I remember staring at them as I refilled my water thnking how odd a sight it was to see a fire buring on the dirt road surface with people huddled around it. I certainly don't blame then though. It was cold and foggy up there. Colder than it had been on our way out a few hours earlier. And the fog was freezing to the trees and chairlifts and anything else that happened to be up there. It even snowed a bit, ever so lightly.
I began my descent looking forward to warmer temps and caught up with an older gentleman heading down the course with trekking poles. Tyler, I think. He was around sixty years old and out on a 50 mile trek alonside the rest of us young pups. An absolutely great guy. We chatted and laughed for 5 or 10 minutes. The walking felt good to me. And I enjoyed talking to him. But then we parted ways and I picked up my shuffle down the road. About 30 minutes later, I caught up with another runner. I had seen this guy in the lead pack after the turnaround. He was walking. I began walking with him. Frank. Lived in Boise. Running his first 50 miler. I asked him what happened to the pack he was with. He said one of the four runners in his pack stopped at the last aid station at mile 33. Craig, another member of their group took off down the trail in full flight and was not to be seen again. Andre, the remaining lead pack member was somewhere ahead. Frank said he had to slow down because he was feeling the effects of 35+ miles and needed to pace himself a bit slower. I decided to walk/jog with him to the next aid station where we would have 9 miles to go. It was great. A liesurely pace. Just moseying along.
We arrived together at the last aid station at about 9:05. 13:18 min/mile. The last 10 miles could have been much quicker on the gradual rolling, but mostly downhill smooth surfaced dirt road, but I had made the decision to enjoy the company of my running compatriots instead of focusing on maintaing a faster pace. In the end, this was the best possible scenario. I still remained feeling great. Knees were getting a little sore, but felt good for the most part. And I was getting to know some great people. Fantasticly enjoyable.
Shortly after beginning our final 9 miles, Frank mentioned he would be slowing down and for me to continue on. Well, he seemed to be doing fine other than being tired and I didn't want to be out there any longer than I had to so off I went. Rolled along on some beautiful rolling singletrack at first, then took a right on a trail named "Hell's Ridge". And boy, they weren't kidding. This thing was dry, loose, extremely rocky, rugged, jagged, and very steep in many spots. Ouch. Now my knees were not happy. Oh, the pain. I tried so hard to take it easy on them, but whether walking down that stuff or jogging, there's really no easy way down. I had begun to develope some blisters on both big toes as well and now those were making their presence known. Grrrrrrrrrrr... Where's the end of this thing? Down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down... More down... I navigated my way through the seemingly endless maze of trails snaking all over the hills northeast of town and managed to stay on the same route we took on our way up hours and hours ago when it was barely light enough to see. Things looked alot different now.
I finally bottomed out onto the road we started on and shuffled my blistered feet and aching knees back to Fort Boise Park where we began our journey so long before. I tagged the finishing tree and stopped the watch. 10:20 hrs. Perfect. 12:24 min/mile. And I finished strong and comfortable. (Other than the blisters and knees)
Conclusion:
I mentioned in my earlier post that I had a few revelations and here they are:
Heart rate. More than anything, this is the indicator that dictates my speed. If my heart rate is too high, I'm burning fuel at a rate exceeding that of which I can replace it. The higher the intensity, the more difficult it becomes for my muscles to continue to work while trying to process food and water. They impeed each other. I must maintain a pace that allows the fuel to be processed efficiently. When I eat, my digestive system needs the ability to focus on processing that fuel without being overburdened by a muscular and cardiovascular system operating at a high intensity. The faster I go, the less my body can process food. The more I process food, the less fast my body can go. I became keenly aware of this correlation while I was out there and if that means letting the leaders go and never seeing them again, well so be it. They are the faster runners. All I can do is take care of myself within the limits of me.
Nutrition. I ate and drank and ate and drank out there. More than I think I ever have. I easily put away over 3,000 calories. That's 300 cal/hr. And I guess that's nothing unusual for ultra-runners, but it's just something I've had difficulty doing in the past, partly because I was usually focused on going fast and not allowing my body the opportunity to ingest that much. For the record, here is what I consumed:
5.5 liters of fluid. 18 scoops of the Powerbar Endurance drink mix (9 scoops/2 liters). 4 liters of the drink mix and about 1.5 liters of water on the way down.
8 Tangerine Powergels
2 11oz EAS Myoplax Lite chocolate protein drink
1 Odwalla Super-Protein bar
2 strawberry Pop-Tarts
Variety of Pringles, pretzels, orange slices, oreos, and peanut butter/honey bagles
I feel ready for the Big Horn 100. I'm fit enough. I've got my shoes, clothing, nutrition, and pace dialed. I'm going to take better care of my feet. I'll be changing socks and shoes along the course to avoid blisters. It's not any of those things that concerns me. It's my knees.
It'll be a challenge to keep my knees happy over that kind of distance. If they hurt after 50, they're gonna hurt more after 100. But I'm employing every tactic I have at my disposal to increase my odds.
1. Slow the pace down. Slower pace = softer striding
2. Take rest breaks at the aid stations to sit down and give the knees a break while I change shoes/socks
3. Apply topical Tendon Rescue ointment on my knees every 20 miles
4. Pop one or two Ibuprofen every 20 miles
5. Wear Patellar Tendon knee strap below kneecap on each knee
6. Do massage work on IT band and Abductors with focus on releasing the tension over the kneecap ligaments and tendons.
Will any or all of this work? ?? ????????? I don't know. But at least I'll be able to say I did my best to prepare and gave it everything I had in my first attempt at 100 miles.
Oh, and one more thing...
http://www.bandannarunning.com/
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