September and Everything After

Oh the days dwindle down

To a precious few

September, November

And these precious days I'll spend with you

These precious days I'll spend with you 

- Lyrics by Maxwell Anderson, 

(I of course prefer the version sung by Willie Nelson)

Whether it was because I hiked/walked/lumbered my way through about 40 miles of the Hawk Hundred (because I was too zapped to run) or I was just lucky, I had no real physical issues to recover from afterwards. Just some minor swelling in my feet/ankles that was gone in 3 or 4 days, and the usual post-race stiffness that lasted just a day or two. I did encounter a few mystery race related ailments. I had a tender left kneecap that turned bright red and swelled up a bit during the race (it looked like I had been stung by a bee) and a split toenail (hard to do while wearing toe socks), which didn't hurt or show any bruising/discoloration, in fact I didn't even realize it was there until a few weeks or so after the race when a bunch of mud got stuck under the nail (blech). After all of the buildup, anticipation, training, and finally the running of the 2018 Hawk Hundred (Sept 8), the rest of September/October sort of felt (running-wise) like an after-Hawk decompression. My runs were fewer/slower/shorter and really just the bare minimum needed for me to finish the remaining three races on my 2018 calendar.

I did not run a single step between the finish line of the Hawk and the starting line of the Konquer the Konza 25k two-weeks later (Sept 23). That seemed to be a good plan as I averaged 9:09 minute miles for those 15-ish miles, which is pretty fast for me, although the course is very runnable.

Finish Line, Konquer the Konza 2018 

Between the Konza and Randolph's Revenge half marathon on October 20, I took things pretty easy. A few 15 mile runs were the longest, and a couple of 6-7 milers during the week was what felt right, so that's what I did. Randolph's Revenge went well and I had a blast. It is such a great race on a beautiful course! I was able to score some awesome first place hardware (for being the only guy in my age group). I ran well, but after briefly getting off course twice and finding myself at the back of a conga line for a few miles, my time was a bit slower than last year.

 Swag from Randolph's Revenge (photo by Caroline Miley)

Nice Shot of the Beautiful Course at Randolph's Revenge (Photo by Caroline Miley)

After Randolph's, there were just 3 weeks till Sanders Saunter (November 10) so I stayed with basically the same training mileage and hoped it would be enough to run a respectable 50k. As it turned out it was, barely. I suspected that I was under-trained, but I also thought, what the hell, it's my last race of the year, let it fly, if I blow up and hike it in, no big deal. I felt good the entire race until I was about 4 miles from the finish. I felt a twinge or two in my hamstrings and realized that likely because it was too cold to sweat much, I hadn't really taken in any salt all day. So, when they asked me what they could get for me at Lands End aid station, I was ready, "Tailwind and Pringles please". About a half mile further down the trail, I had to stop as the cramps locked up my left hamstring. I found my salt caps in my flip belt and downed three of them, then started hobbling down the trail as it began to loosen up. Another runner passed me at that point, and true to the nature of trail runners, he stopped and asked me if I was OK and did I need anything. To be clear, he was moving really well and would've passed me with or without my cramp issues. I was stopped by leg cramps once again about a half mile later, but after a few minutes was able to run without further issues to the finish. I didn't need to stop at the Lake Henry aid station since it's only 2 miles from the finish, so I high-fived Gary,  yelled my thanks to the volunteers, and kept running. As I was heading into the woods, I heard Gary yell "sub-six", as in finishing the race in under 6 hours.Yeah right, I thought, more like sub-seven if I'm lucky. I hadn't looked at my watch all day so I had no idea till the finish line clock came into view and read 5:58. A new PR (personal record) for me, but all I could think was, wow, I'm gonna regret that tomorrow. :-)

A Beautiful Sunrise at the Start of the 2018 Sanders Saunter (photo by Mile 90 Photography)

The 2018 Sanders Saunter was ran in honor of Peggy "Chick Hawk" Beecher, who was a very dear trail running friend of mine. I was pretty emotional at various times during the race thinking about her and her wonderful family. There aren't enough words to convey what the Beecher family has meant to me these past 7 or 8 years since I first met them. Aside from their wonderful friendships, they also introduced me to the Lawrence Trail Hawks and the North Shore Trails.

Overall, my 2018 running went very well. Thankfully I had no injuries, aside from the rolled ankle (which I put into the "Accident" category) in April. This was my second year of wearing sandals and I think that they've really helped to make me a more durable runner. I had a few 70 mile weeks and one 80 mile week in the runup to the Hawk and my old friend plantar fasciitis (PF) never flared up at all. I stretched and foam rolled thoroughly at least once a week and that seemed to be what I needed to keep things from getting too tight. Upon finishing the Hawk, my feet felt like they could go another hundred miles (really), everything else, not so much. The theory (my abbreviated version) goes that the muscles and connective tissue (fascia) in your feet get stronger from running in sandals. In short, if you run barefoot (in sandals, with no arch support), you strengthen the fascia in your foot so that your arch can do what it has evolved to do, which is to support your body weight. With the arch doing its part to support the load, there is less stress on the calves. I know that this approach isn't for everyone, but it's really brought another level of enjoyment to my running, not to mention (so far anyway) fewer injuries in the past two years.

To commemorate my first (and possibly only) 100 mile run, I decided to get a tattoo. I've never had or even thought of having a tattoo before, but it seemed a fun way to remember the race, the year of preparing for it, and the entire experience. The tattoo is on the top of my foot, and it looks like someone rolled my Hawk Hundred buckle on a stamp pad and then stamped it onto my foot, with a few exceptions. Instead of the "Sub 32 Hour Finish" text, I substituted the date of the race. As time goes by, I believe that the date will likely mean more to me than the time that it took to finish. I also wanted to acknowledge the people who kept me going after mile 75. Without Deanna, Josh, Miguel, and Sherrie, I never would have gone back out for loop 4 to finish the race, so to show my appreciation, I had the letters D, J, M, and S added just below the buckle. There are 4 hearts between those four letters which are for "my girls". It looks just how I envisioned it, aaaand yes, I realize that it's more than slightly ridiculous for a 54 year old, scrawny, glasses-wearing, tech-writing, happily-married, father-of-three to get a tattoo, but hey, it's cheaper than a Camaro.

This will mess with the nurses in the rest home in a few years

It's now the time of year when I like to rest/recharge both mentally and physically. Until January, I'll likely only run enough during the week so that I can manage a 10 miler or two on the weekends. This is likely the end of Rube Runs for a while (no tears please). I've already signed up for the Rockin' K Marathon next April, so maybe I can write a Rockin' race report with a happier ending next year.

Thanks for humoring me (and my predilection with mid-sentence parentheses),
Rube

With A Little Help From My Friends

I get by with a little help from my friends

I get high with....SCRIIIITCH (record scratching sound)

Nope, that doesn't really work

On a loooong lonesome highway, 

East of Omaha.....SCRIIIITCH

What? No!

Hey yo, I'm just like my country, 

I'm young, scrappy, and hungry

And I am not throwing away my shot.....SCRIIIITCH

Closer, but not quite

Get up, get back on your feet

You're the one they can't beat and you know it

Come on, let's see what you've got

Just take your best shot and don't blow it- Tommy Shaw

Not really a Styx fan anymore, but that mostly works.

Yup, that's why I love to run Bunker Hill in the morning. Pic by Mile 90 Photography

Whew! Where to even start. Spoiler alert, I finished. I ran 100 miles. Well, there was walking involved, more on that later. Race morning started off a little iffy, I slept pretty well considering that my alarm was set for 3:00 AM. Yes that's my fault, I've got a morning routine that works so I stick with it even when the race starts at 6:00 AM. Right off, while getting dressed I noticed that the race bib that I'd carefully pinned to my running shorts the night before was on the back side of my shorts. I got that corrected just in time to wipe up the hot water that the Kuerig machine was spewing all over the counter because I forgot to put the cup under the spout. I was really hoping that the whole day wouldn't go this way. Everything else before the race went pretty well though. I'd assumed that the car was pre-disastered since a tire blew out on me the day before on my way to work.

Maddie asked "Why does Dad's pre-race pic look like a Nike commercial?" :-) Pic by Mile 90 Photography

I got to the lake 5:15-ish, hauled my portable aid station (cooler on wheels, camp chair, hugely stuffed duffel bag) also known as a drop bag to the shelter, drank more coffee and tried not to get too jacked  up while waiting the last few minutes before the start. Then we were off. I'm not sure if I was actually grinning like a goof or just felt that way, but I was definitely a kid on Christmas morning again (without the dread of having to go to church)! The Hawk Hundred course is 4 loops (25 miles each) of rough, rooty, rocky trails on the north shore of Clinton Lake in Lawrence, Kansas. I finished loop 1 just where I wanted, around 5 1/4 hours. I'd chatted most of the way with fellow runners, remembered to eat a lot, drink a lot, and eat salt sticks at every aid station. Side note, I also managed to poop in nearly every bathroom along the course (as well as a few places that aren't "technically" bathrooms, although they're certainly roomy). Hopefully there won't be anymore on that later. If that's too much info, this is likely your first and last time reading this blog. Oh, and also, Tour of Doodie. :-)

 Cruising the Red Trail on Loop 1 (pic by Mile 90)

I gotta tell ya, coming into the start/finish area between loops is what I imagine it feels like for a president, well you know a real president, to arrive at a fine hotel. Everyone is there cheering as you arrive, there is immediately someone there asking "what can I get you?", and people hand you food and drink with no expectation of you paying for it. It is definitely the rock star treatment. So, while I stuffed a PB & J and a guacamole filled tortilla into my mouth, my water bottles were refilled with my iced coconut water and a fresh baggie of dates/coconut shavings was placed into my hands. Deanna was there to wish me luck, so I got a hug and a kiss and kicked right back out onto the trail for loop 2.

Cactus Ridge on Loop 2, I grabbed my rain jacket as it started to rain when I left start/finish, but never needed it. Pic by Mile 90

Loop 2 was pretty much a replay of loop 1, just on a slightly slower speed. I hiked a little more but pooped a lot less (Immodium finally kicked in), a tradeoff I was more than willing to make. I SEEMED to be moving a lot slower than loop 1 though. I don't typically look at my watch during races (and not much in training either) so I wasn't sure but I would've guessed that I was pushing 8 hours on loop 2. As it turned out though, it took me around 6 1/2 hours. So, it was more rock star treatment at start/finish. I remembered to grab my headlamp (loop 2 is the only loop that you don't need a headlamp) and spare batteries. I should've grabbed my spare headlamp also. I didn't need the spare, but somewhere out there in the dark woods I realized that if my headlamp suddenly died, I'd need a working light just to be able to replace the batteries in the dead lamp. More importantly though, I forgot to chug my bottle of Starbucks iced coffee from my cooler. The caffeine boost may have improved my state of mind as Loop 3 wore on (and on).

I had one of those "if this isn't nice, I don't know what is" moments at the start of loop 2. The top of Sanders Mound is completely covered in wild sunflowers right now, and in the misty cloudy sky, it was a beautiful/memorable sight. I had a similar moment in the dark towards the end of the interminable loop 3 when I paused while crossing Marina Road and just gazed at the stars in the beautiful night sky. Odd what you remember of 30 straight hours of running (well, moving).

I don't consider myself anti-social. I enjoy meeting and chatting with other folks on the trails. It's part of what makes these events so memorable. Many of the best people I know in this world I've spent time with out running through the woods. That said, over the years I've noticed that when I'm struggling out there, I do much better if I'm alone. I think that my brain can only handle so much concentration, and when everything hurts it takes almost all of my concentration just to keep running. I can be hurting, but really being intent on moving as quickly as possible, but if I get momentarily distracted by someone or something, I tend to immediately slow to a walk. It then takes me a few moments before I can get locked back in to running, or at least the closest thing to running that I can manage. For that reason, I intentionally kept to myself as much as possible for loop 3. I'd noticed that my knees were stiffening up at the end of loop 2, and that continued to worsen throughout loop 3.

I was chasing the sunset on the blue trail, but it was completely dark a few miles before I reached Cactus Ridge (about 8 miles in). Once the trails are dark, the only world you're aware of is the world within the light of your headlamp. It's kinda cool, kinda creepy, but also a little disorienting. I'm able to run well at night with a headlamp if I have reasonably fresh legs and fresh batteries in the lamp. But as my legs and the batteries wear down, my speed really drops, especially on technical (rooty, rocky, hilly) trails. Cactus Ridge has a few runnable (non-technical) sections, but I hiked nearly all of it. I managed to run quite a bit of Bunker Hill and Goodwin Loop as it's all grassy and smooth. From when I left West Park Road aid station to the start/finish (12 miles) though, I doubt that I ran more than a few steps.

Bunker Hill on Loop 3, pic by Mile 90

I left West Park Road aid station feeling pretty good as the great volunteers and the awesome food never fail to pump me up. I started out with a pretty good power hiking pace and kept it up for several miles, but I was definitely slowing when I hit Lands End aid station 5 1/2 miles later. The 6 1/2 miles between Lands End and the start/finish is where I fell completely apart. This section of the white trail is always a bit of a beat-down. It is very rocky with lots of short/steep ups and downs. At this point I was barely moving and the downhills were ridiculous. I adopted a tree-hugging strategy. Whenever there was a rocky or rooty step-down of more than a few inches, I would grab onto the nearest tree for support. I was fearful of stumbling down the rocky inclines if I didn't support myself. It felt like someone had inserted red-hot golf balls behind each of my knees, also my left kneecap was really barking at me. I began looking at my watch and I realized that I was really burning up the hours that I'd stored away when I ran the first two loops pretty efficiently.  I remembered leaving West Park Road aid station at 10:00 PM and I figured that at my current pace I'd be lucky to finish the loop by 3:30 AM. That's just 12 miles in 5 1/2 hours, which is more time than it took me to run my entire first loop! Quickly doing the trail math (meaning you don't carry the 1, round up twice when calculating current pace, and estimate that you will slow exponentially by the square root every hour, even though every root on the trail is round not square), I came to the unmistakable conclusion that I could not complete loop 4 within the cutoff time. I actually thought about this later after the race, and I was fairly accurate, but only if I kept moving at that slow pace. At that time, I had no reason to think that after 21-ish hours of slowing down that I was capable of speeding up again. So, I gave up. Just that easily. After all of the physical and so-called "adversity" training, that was it. My fuzzy brain said "math doesn't lie dude", so I said "OK fine, I'm done". I began stockpiling all of my best rationalizations for quitting into my mental outline of the next entry in my RubeRuns blog post. Oy! Time for a PLOT TWIST!

With only about a mile left in loop 3 someone came up behind me for the first time in hours, in fact I'd sort of assumed that I was the only person left on the course still doing loop 3. When Miguel first came up behind me I noticed that the light of my headlamp had shrunk to the size of a pie plate on the ground. When his light was behind me, all I could see was my shadow on the ground, not much help for nighttime running. When I asked, I was surprised to hear that the runner he was pacing was on his 3rd loop too. Poor bastard, I thought, he'll never make it either (he did). I told Miguel that since I was going so slow and was only on loop 3 that I was done and wouldn't go back out for loop 4. He was having none of it. This is what I love about ultrarunners. You may have heard how supportive and encouraging they are (and they are!), and Miguel is among the best in both of those categories, but I fully expected a response of "Bummer dude, sorry to hear it.", instead I got "No, you're not!" I gave him my airtight logic for why I couldn't make the 32 hour cutoff and he seemed unimpressed. "It will turnaround." he said, "I know, I've been there.", "You've got way more than enough time.". I mostly just didn't respond as I was too tired, and besides what he did know about it (he's only won, what 2 or 3 hundred mile races), I mean whoever heard of your legs feeling better the further you went? That's when I noticed that the red-hot golf balls behind my knees seemed to have cooled and shrunk just a bit and I was able to negotiate the rocky step-downs just a bit better. Great, I thought, now that it's too late, my legs are coming back around. I told him thanks but no thanks. As they disappeared into the night, I returned to my pie plate-sized world of despair.

As I grumbled/stumbled into the start/finish area, I turned off my very dim headlamp. I didn't want anyone to notice as I gathered my stuff and slunk off into the night. I knew that telling Sherrie that I was done wouldn't be easy after all of the help/encouragement she'd given me over the last few months, but she'd get it. Math doesn't lie. I couldn't finish in time. Why prolong the inevitable? As he promised, Miguel had already spread the word that I was coming in, that I would try to quit, and that all I needed was a pacer. Little did I know, but Sherrie (and practically everyone else that I told that I wouldn't be using a pacer) had foreseen this, and she already had a plan. Bring in the closer.

In case you don't know, a pacer is a runner that is allowed to run with you in the later (usually from mile 50 on) stages of a long race. Their job is to be the runner's brain (which tends to get squishy and soft), to be sure the runner is eating, drinking, staying on course, and not wallowing in a self-pity party in a pie plate-sized world of despair (love that line!). I did not want or plan to use a pacer in my first hundred mile attempt. I didn't want to put that burden on anyone that I liked or even disliked, because I suspected that I would be reduced to a whiny spoiled brat after 75 miles (picture Spaulding, Ted Knight's son in the movie Caddyshack). I have to admit that I was surprised at how many people told me that not using a pacer was a really bad idea, but that more or less hardened my position. I could have taken a hint when I looked at ultrasignup.com and saw that there were 59 pacers registered for the 60 registered 100 mile runners. I know that some runners had multiple pacers, but that's still a lot of folks using pacers. But I knew better, I'd do it my way thank you very much, and that's pretty much where it stood at mile 75 (although Josh had sort of hinted at a possible latenight pacing duty that Sherrie thought might be needed when I'd seen him that morning).

Sherrie found me before I could get to my drop bag and was asking how I felt. I gave her my airtight reasons for quitting, complete with my carefully calculated trail math for backup. She too, seemed unimpressed. She laid out the plan for me that Josh had been waiting for hours to pace me because he really needed more training miles for his upcoming first hundo attempt (which I knew to be true, even with a soggy brain). She said that things would turn around and that I'd be able to move again, it was just a matter of time (which I also suspected might be true, as the red hot golf balls behind my knees had seemed to disappear over the last 1/4 mile). The capper though, was when Deanna (who I'd suggested would want to stay away from the later stages of the race because she might feel sorry for me and tell me it might be OK to stop) told me that I'd spent the whole summer training for this thing and that I should get back out there and finish it. Well, Josh had indeed been waiting a long time, it was 3:30 AM (wait, what was Deanna doing here at 3:30 in the morning?) after all. I sorta felt like I could maybe run again, they'd been filling my water bottles and stuffing grilled cheese sandwiches in my hands since I got there. My squishy brain said "OK, sure, hand me that Starbucks!". So off we went for loop 4.

With Superhero Josh! Casually saves my race, while getting in a training run. Pic by Mile 90

Sherrie had picked (or maybe Josh volunteered, I don't remember the details) the perfect pacer for me. Josh is training for his first hundred miler, just a few weeks away, but he generally prefers to hike (or power hike as we like to call it) rather than run. It's a very efficient low-impact mode of travel. We hit the trails, him leading, and me trying to keep up as he swung his arms back and forth like a pendulum and ate up the miles. Josh was also perfect because he is a constant ray of sunshine. I've never heard him say anything but positive things about anyone or anything.  If anyone could keep me from falling back into my pity-party world, it was him! And he did keep my spirits up the entire way. I don't even remember what we talked about (some about pooping, I think), but we gabbed the whole night and morning away.

Loop 4 ended up being a lot like loop 3 except the sun was rising (2nd sunrise for this run) as we hit Bunker Hill. I was able to make decent time until Cactus Ridge, where it just got too technical for my stiffening knees. After Bunker Hill, it was back to the white trail which had chewed me up and spit me out on on loop 3. We (well I, Josh could've cruised all damn day) did OK till Lands End, but those last 6 1/2 miles from there to the finish seemed to take forever. I had to go back to my tree-hugging on even the slightest downhill. They had to set up an extra passing lane on the trail for everyone that needed to go around me. I didn't much mind though, 'cuz I WAS gonna finish, and I WASN'T gonna let everyone down that helped me get to this point. I crossed the finish line in 30 1/2 hours (cutoff is 32 hours), not what I'd hoped for, but at this point ultrarunning is probably not my future vocation anyway. I managed not to cry when I finished, but only because I was too squishy brained to really comprehend any thoughts but "thank you" and "beer".

End of Loop 4, went with the double raised arm fist pump! Pic by Mile 90

It has been a great ride! I'd been thinking about this race since I'd committed to it 18 months earlier. It had been THE target on my calendar. It will certainly be nice to move on to the next thing (couch surfing?, doubt it), but I'm definitely gonna soak in the good memories/vibes for as long as I can. I owe so many people debts that no honest man can pay (thank you Bruce Springsteen) for all the help and encouragement they gave me along the way.

I'm not sure if I'll ever run another 100 miler though. I think 50's may be my max distance for a while. The thing is, I'll never be better trained, never be better prepared, never have better support, never have better running weather, and I still had to hike for half of the damn race. And I DON'T LIKE TO HIKE (at least when I'm supposed to be running)! I understand that no one except the gifted ones can actually run for 100 miles. I don't mind hiking some uphills or when eating or recouping, but I want to be able to run for at least 80-90% of the actual distance. The 100 mile distance for me means a 60 mile run followed by a 40 mile hike, which just isn't what I want to do. Maybe I could do a mountain race somewhere where hiking is the only way to go, the beautiful scenery would probably offset the hiking, we'll see.

Three of my four sweethearts waiting for me at the finish!! Pic by Miguel using Deanna's camera

Thank you all for reading and checking in with me on this journey, it has definitely been a fun challenge, struggling to put together a coherent paragraph or two after each step along the way.

I've noticed that in the past year or so that I've changed from referring to fellow Trail Hawks/Trail Nerds as "people that I run with" to "friends that I run with", and that's the best part of it all! See y'all down the trail. :-)


Loop 1 - 5:27:25
Loop 2 - 6:16:20
Loop 3 - 9:19:30
Loop 4 - 9:35:17
Total - 30:38:32

As Ready As I'll Ever Be

I've got a long way to go before I get there

I've got a lot of field to hoe with the sun so high

Got a lot of miles to roll

And the next few only show

That there is still such a long way to go

 - Dwight Yoakam


It's the best cure for the blues
and it keeps me out of jail.
Goin' for a long, long run
on the North Shore Trail
 - Sky Smeed

Race Director Sherrie Klover giving final instructions before the start of the 2017 Hawk
(photo by Mile 90)

OK, it's really and finally here! I've been thinking about this day since I first decided to run the Hawk Hundred back in mid 2017. I absolutely love everything about this race. Things get started with the pre-race meal on Friday and the fun doesn't end till the 100 mile race cutoff at 2 PM Sunday (of course the Race Directors and volunteers are busy behind the scenes way before and afterwards). Then, just when things start to calm down, Mile 90 will post all of the awesome race pics which will set off a wave of social media frenzy as folks share their pics and stories. I've run the marathon (2013), volunteered (2014, 2017), and run the 50 mile race (2015, 2016), so I guess that leaves the hundo as the last box for me to check.

In my first post on this blog, I said that what I needed was "adversity training" to toughen myself up for the Hawk. I've certainly had that. Things have gone great overall, but I've definitely had some setbacks along the way. Hopefully those setbacks have taught me a few lessons that will help me get across the finish line this weekend.

The mudathon at the Psycho Wyco in February provided me with an opportunity to work on my patience and mental toughness. I was hoping to finish in 6-ish hours, but muddy conditions dictated otherwise. After a 2 hour first loop, I slogged through the mud for an additional 6-plus hours to complete the next two loops. I was happy with my effort though, I set out to run a 50k and that's what I did. All the beer was gone by the time I finished though.

I got my first DNF (Did Not Finish) at the Rockin' K in April. It may show up on ultrasignup as an "unofficial marathon finish", but I know that it's a 50 mile DNF. I was undertrained, but didn't know it. I found that you shouldn't rely too much on treadmill training, no matter how steep the incline setting. The downhills in the race just wore out my quads on the first loop. So I had to walk the downhills on loop two, which makes for some slow going on that course. Mentally though, I never hesitated about going out for loop two, and that was a little, yet important victory. I made the mile 38 cutoff time by 5 minutes but opted not to continue. Next time I try for the Rockin' K 50, I will focus on lots of hill repeats in training. There will be a next time for the 50 mile, probably not in 2019 though.

I rolled my ankle in April, no real damage, just lots of swelling. It happened well before the Night Hawk, so all things considered, I was pretty lucky. I did learn though, to always appreciate being able to run because it can be taken away in an instant. I'm old enough to know that I'm lucky to still be able to do this silly-assed running stuff and I want to keep doing it for as long I have legs that work and eyes that see. So, while running, occasionally I like to take Kurt Vonnegut's advice and look around and think "if this isn't nice, I don't know what is".

I got my second DNF at the Night Hawk 50k in June. There was really only one lesson to learn, you can't run in deep mud in sandals, unless you're wearing socks. This was a lesson that I could only learn in a race, as we don't run muddy trails (Trail Hawk motto, Kindness to Life and Land) when we're training. We'd rather not run muddy trails during a race either, but stuff happens sometimes. Another lesson that I could (we'll see) have learned from this race is the ever-popular "don't go out like an asshole". I ran the first loop too fast considering the heat/humidity, this likely contributed to the "stop me in my tracks" leg cramps that I had after the mud had forced me off the trail and onto the road. This race also confirmed for me that something unexpected and slightly crazy always happens at the Night Hawk.

My trek up to Blanca Peak earlier last month showed me that I can do things that scare me. That climb was challenging, and I admit that I had to "talk myself down" a few times as I felt the panic begin to rise. Mountain climbing seems to fall into the same category with child birth (so I hear) and running ultramarathons, if we could really remember just how painful/scary it actually was, we'd never do it again.

My training went perfectly right up to the end. Or nearly the end anyway. My last big training run (three weeks before the Hawk) was scheduled to be a 50 miler, or two 25 mile Hawk loops at Clinton Lake (same route as the Hawk). In planning this run, I'd debated whether I should run 30 miles on Saturday and 20 on Sunday (or some other combo) to make for a 50 mile weekend. From past experience though, I felt that a single 50 mile day would be best. I've struggled mentally in all of my past 50 milers, and I felt that maybe I'd learn something during the struggle that would help me through 100 miles. As it turned out though, the struggle this time was more physical than mental.

I knew that the 50 mile training run would be a hot one, the forecast was for mid 90's, but after running all summer in the heat, I didn't really think it would be an issue. As it turns out, running in the heat for 12-13 hours is waaay different for me than running in the heat for 4-5 hours, especially when (as I found out later) the heat index was up around 100. I had plenty of company and energy on the first loop. I was sweating like a pig as the temperature climbed, but was having no issues at all. I did start hiking the hills about 7 or 8 miles into loop two, that's not unusual, but I was thinking that if I was really in shape for 100 miles, I shouldn't be walking yet. Some parts of Cactus Ridge and all of the Bunker Hill/Goodwin loop are totally exposed, no tree cover at all, so the sun was really starting to beat me down during that section. By the time I came down from Bunker Hill to west park road, I was toast. Luckily there were some other folks out there running/crewing. They were looking out for me, so I had access to ice, caffeine, and all kinds of tasty calories. After a fifteen minute stop, I was as ready as I'd be, so I headed out for the last 12 miles on the white trail, walking as I downed a can of Coke. I managed to walk/jog for the next 4-5 miles. As I slowed to only walking though, I decided that I would jump back on the blue trail at Lands End which would shorten my remaining distance by 3 miles. This proved to be one of the few smart decisions I made that day. The last two miles, the best that I could do was a very slow walk, but I was breathing as if I was running at a moderate pace. The heat had taken its toll. To make matters worse, my hearing felt as if my ears were plugged. First one ear and then both felt like I needed to yawn and relieve the pressure, but nothing seemed to work. I'd had this happen once before in the heat, so I knew that it would go away once I stopped moving for a while, but it really made the spacey fuzzy-headed feeling that much worse. Deanna had been keeping tabs on me via text, and when she offered to drive me home afterwards, I gladly accepted. I'd never needed a ride home from races or training runs before, but I really didn't know if I was mentally in the game enough to get behind the wheel. I'm so lucky to have folks looking out for me, thank you to everyone that helped me that day, I'd never have made it back without you!

So, what the hell happened? I believe that I got behind on electrolytes and wasn't able to catch back up because I wasn't eating/drinking enough in the heat, resulting in my epic bonk. I always start out drinking coconut water (with chia seeds mixed in) because it has a great balance of electrolytes, so it didn't occur to me that I might not be getting enough. Even though there are plenty of electrolytes in the coco water, there apparently aren't enough for me when I'm sweating profusely for 8-12 hours. So, my plan for the Hawk (especially if it's hot) is to eat a lot of Salt Stick caplets. They have all four of the main electrolytes (sodium, potassium, magnesium, calcium) in sufficient quantity for something as foolish as attempting to run one hundred miles in the heat. During the race, I really need to be in the mindset of always drinking/eating/taking in electrolytes. At shorter distances, I've gotten by with thinking "it's only X more miles, I can make it to the finish" without worrying too much about eating/drinking enough. I won't make it one hundred miles without taking care of my nutrition throughout the race, although I'm still curious how far I could go on just Funyuns and Diet Dr Pepper.

So, I'm glad that I tried for the 50 miles all in one run. I only made it to 47, but I learned a valuable lesson that I might not have if I'd spread the 50 miles out over two long runs. I now have a recent and painful reminder of what can happen if I'm not taking care of my nutrition, especially the electrolytes.

Hoping for another happy ending like at the Hawk 50 in 2016! (photo by Mile 90)

The last three weeks have been "taper time", which means drastically cutting back on training volume so that your tired legs have to time to refresh before the race. At this point, whether or not I'm able to finish this race will likely depend less on my physical ability, and more how I manage my nutrition, the heat (or rain), and any unforeseen challenges (mental and otherwise) that may pop up. I have the peace of mind of knowing that I've put in the work. I've checked off every training run on the calendar. Whatever happens on race day will happen, but I feel that I'm as prepared as I can possibly be. So, race day is finally here, I'm in the best shape of my life and I'm ready, let's do this!

Blanca Hawks

Pic taken from the car window near Blanca, CO

In October of 2017, I got an email that really rocked my world. A small group of folks in the Lawrence Trail Hawks were planning a trip to Colorado in August of 2018 to climb Blanca Peak, which at 14,345 feet is the 4th highest peak in the great state of Colorado, and they were inviting me to come along!

When discussing (pleading) with Deanna whether I should (could) take my first non spouse/family vacation since my 1999 trip with the dudes to Cooperstown, the best reason I could come up with was "It took 53 years before someone invited me to go climb a mountain with them, I may be too old next time".  Not the most convincing argument in retrospect, but it didn't get a solid "No" either. So............I'm in!

The only thing that I knew about camping/hiking at that point was that I know nothing at all about camping/hiking. I did spend many summer nights as a kid sleeping in tents, but the tents were set up in backyards. We didn't have to worry about bears, and if we got hungry or needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, the house was 20 feet away. So, I managed to borrow some of the expensive stuff (pack, sleeping bag, and pad), bought a few items (tent, down jacket, bear spray), and searched for a few others (boots, bucket hat, etc.) that I knew I had somewhere. We had a "practice" camp out at Clinton Lake about a month before the actual trip to test out the gear. We did that, and we went on a hike while wearing our loaded packs to see how hard it would be to hike with 30-40 lbs of gear (not too bad on flat ground), but mainly we drank beer, played bean bags, and told stories. Truthfully, aside from the bean bags, this was pretty applicable training.

So came the morning of Monday, August 6th. I drove to the Free State High parking lot in Lawrence at 6:00 AM to meet Al, Gary, and Paul. We would pick up Jeff in Colby. All went according to plan until we were going through Colorado Springs. We'd noticed some dark clouds going through the area, but a check of the radar on our phones looked like we'd miss the worst of it. As it turned out, we didn't miss it by much. After going through town on Highway 24 some pea-sized hail started to come down just as were entering the on-ramp to I-25. A few miles down the road we started to notice that cars were pulled over onto the shoulders in both the northbound and southbound lanes. In our southbound lane the cars rear windows were blown completely out by the hail, in the northbound lane, the windshields were blown out. We noticed some people walking in the ditches and taking pictures of the baseball sized hail. We felt really bad for the folks stranded roadside, but we didn't see anyone that was hurt, and emergency vehicles were coming onto the scene, so we continued on. If we'd been just a few minutes earlier, the trip would've likely been ruined, changed to a search for rental cars, glass repair shops and talking to insurance agents on the phone. We decided that the extra time we'd spent earlier that afternoon taking pictures next to the dinosaur at the Sinclair station provided just enough delay to avoid the worst of the storm. Always stop to smell the roses and selfie with the 'saurs, it may just save your trip.

Selfie with the Sinclair dinosaur in Limon, CO. Photobombing by Paul

We spent that night and the next at an AirBNB house in Alamosa named the Casa Azul. It was perfect, everyone had their own room, and we spent the time gathering the last of our supplies, reconning Lake Como Road (official Worst Road in Colorado), and attacking the buffet at Calvillo's Mexican Restaurant. During the recon mission, we found that Gary's truck could get our fully loaded packs up the road from 7,800 feet to approximately 10,000 feet. So, we would only have to hike with our fully loaded packs (around 40 lbs) less than a mile and a half, from 10,00 feet to 11,700 feet. It was still a challenging hike, but made so much easier by Gary's truck Lil' Red.

So, early on Wednesday morning, there we were hiking up Lake Como Road in front of Lil' Red, enjoying the mountain air and being thankful that we weren't lugging our packs (yet). Once we reached Lil' Red's limits (you should've seen the tricked out vehicles that were venturing further up the road, which got progressivley worse/scarier), we grabbed our packs out of the back and started hiking for real. Even though we're all runners, we were doing some real huffing and puffing up that steep winding road in the thin mountain air.

 Lil' Red on the "easy" part of Lake Como Road

Loaded up and ready to hike! (l-r Jeff, Al, Gary, Paul, Me)

Beautiful Lake Como, CO

We arrived at Lake Como a few hours later and were simply stunned by its beauty. Looking out across the lake, the view is ringed by a mountain ridge that includes Little Bear peak (14,035 feet) with only pine trees visible behind us. The only facilities provided were a few poles with pulley/cables attached to hoist your food out of the reach of any bears that might be close enough to smell it. The bear stories that I'd read from a few years back at Lake Como definitely got my attention. The first question that I had for any hiker that we met was "See any bears?". Luckily, everyone's answer was that they had seen no signs of bear anywhere in the area. We took every precaution that we could anyway (hanging food out of reach, using bear cannisters to hold the food, and burning/washing anything that might smell of food). Since we arrived midweek, we had our pick of the best places to setup our tents, as it got closer to the weekend, there were fewer spots available.

The next morning (Thursday) we got up and headed out towards the summit at daylight. I believe that the route from Lake Como to Blanca Peak is approximately 6 miles roundtrip, with an elevation gain just over 4,000 feet. Much like in Colorado Springs, our luck held and we were treated for spectacular weather (I'm told) for summiting a mountain. I'd say the temps varied from the mid 50's at Lake Como to mids 40's on the peak. The best part was no rain and nearly no wind.

The climb got progressively more technical as we neared the summit. About a half mile from the summit, I was nearing the edge of my comfort zone. My trekking poles which had been so useful the day before for balancing with a heavy pack became more of a liability as we went along. I found that I wanted my hands free to grab for any handhold that I could get on the rocks, and the poles were just tying up my hands. Luckily Jeff was able to stow them for me on the outside of his pack (Jeff also rescued me the day before by loaning me his old belt to keep my shorts from falling down). Gary also found that he had no use for his trusty walking stick at this point, so he left it in the rocks to be retrieved on the way down.

Up, up we go (Al leading, then Paul, Jeff, and Gary)

After a few hours of climbing we reached the saddle between the peaks (Ellingwood Point to the left, Blanca Peak to the right). This was a little scary as you could see the ridge that we'd be climbing to the peak, which looked very steep, but on the other side of the ridge..................was nothing. Well, it was a beautiful view, but it seemed to drop straight down forever. We got two great pieces of advice from some climbers who had just come down from the peak. First, "keep the ridge to your left" (meaning stay below the ridge), and "leave your packs here" on the saddle. Even though our packs were pretty light for this outing as we were essentially only carrying water, some food, and rain gear (with all of the heavy stuff back at the camp), it felt really great to be relieved of the extra weight. I believe that it also made a big difference in keeping my balance on some of the (to me) gnarly climbing to come.

Sitting on the saddle, Blanca Peak behind (and above) us.

A look back at the valley we just hiked out of, Lake Como is just out of sight around the bend beyond the trees.

So, we dropped our packs and headed up along the ridge towards the summit. This section for me, got pretty gnarly as my only previous mountain experience was driving up Pike's Peak about 8 years ago. There are cairns (little clusters of stacked rocks, obviously stacked by humans) all along the trail to point the way, but starting a few hundred yards below the summit, there seemed to be cairns everywhere and no real good route to follow. Al was in the lead and he seemed to be making good progress, but he disappeared behind a big outcropping of rock and we didn't see him again till he appeared on the peak. Not knowing for sure which route to take, we all kind of went into trail blazer mode and started scrambling whichever direction looked safest yet also headed towards the summit. Somehow we all made it though and wow, what a feeling, what a view!

l-r Gary and Paul ascending, Jeff sitting and Al standing on the summit 

I was soaking in the moment as much as possible, but in the back of my mind, I was really worried about going down. I kinda figured it would be like climbing a tree, all fun and games till you realize how high you are and then there doesn't seem to be any way to get back down. Once we started down though, Al found the route that we should've taken up. It was still a little scary at times, but nothing like the "let's take a brief terror break" moments I had on the way up. Somehow, I'd remembered to dig the Trail Hawks flag out of my pack before leaving the saddle, so we got lots of pics repping the only club that would have us as members.

Top of the world Ma! - James Cagney

The trip back down was wonderfully uneventful, until with about a mile to get back to camp it started hailing on us. This was only pea-sized hail, but we had seen what the baseball sized stuff could do, so we all donned our raingear and hung out under a stand of pine trees for a while before heading back to camp. Fortunately our raingear held up well and our tents were dry (with a few minor exceptions), so we all kept dry and mostly napped the rest of the afternoon away. The next day, we had no plans at all, so we just kind of hung out and hiked some, except for Paul, who free-styled his way almost to the top of Little Bear before hitting a dead end. Gary followed him part way up.

Both Gary and Paul are in this pic, somewhere.

I don't know if I'll ever do anything like this again, but I am so grateful that I got the chance. And to do it with this group of folks made it so special and so much fun. I have memories to last a lifetime from this trip, but two stand out right now. The first was looking up at the stars and seeing a shooting star streaking through the night sky. The second is this view, which I had each of the three mornings we were there, while standing on a rock in the middle of a stream brushing my teeth. What a way to start the day!

Sunrise over Lake Como

What Do You Think About Out There?

Words and imagined music by R. Miley

Headin' out to Clinton
Run away my blues
Out at Clinton, don't even need no shoes
Clinton
mmmmhmmmm Clinton Lake

Headin' out to Clinton
If I feel OK
Out at Clinton, might just run all day
Clinton
mmmmhmmmm Clinton Lake

I chased a white tail on the red trail
What I really need is a pale ale
Clinton
mmmmhmmmm Clinton Lake

Headin' out to Clinton
Fight the webs to a draw
Out at Clinton, might even have to crawl
Clinton
mmmmhmmmm Clinton Lake

Headin' out to Clinton
If I feel alright
Out at Clinton, might run all goddamn night
Clinton
mmmmhmmmm Clinton Lake

I chased a white tail on the red trail
What I really need is a pale ale
Clinton
mmmmhmmmm Clinton Lake

Headin' out to Clinton
Run away my blues
Out at Clinton, don't even need no shoes
Clinton
mmmmhmmmm Clinton Lake

Night Hawk 2018, Storms a Brewin'!

There's just something about the Night Hawk 50k! (10 mile, 20 mile, 50k race put on by the Lawrence Trail Hawks on the Clinton Lake North Shore Trails) Some crazy epic thing seems to happen every year. In just its first three years, the race has been run on roads due to muddy trails, there have been several ambulance rides for injured/dehydrated runners, near biblical swarms of bugs, lots of heat/humidity related DNFs (did not finish), and some standing by the fire pit to warm up post-race (in late June!), and this year, a crazy intense thunderstorm that blew through during the race.

I had been watching the forecast on wunderground.com all week to see if the late night chance of rain might diminish. Per it's name, the Night Hawk is run mostly at night, an 8 PM start. I assumed that the heat was a given, as it was forecast for mid 90's at start time and mid 70's around 2 AM with high humidity. On race day though (June 30), our weather radio at home went off, warning of possible severe thunderstorms for Douglas County through 11 PM. I checked the radar and everything looked clear, but we've all seen powerful storm cells just "pop up" when the conditions are right. About 45 minutes before race time, Deanna texted to ask me if we were getting wet at Clinton Lake. She said that at home in Baldwin (about 20 miles SE of Clinton) they were getting 60 mph winds and hail. At Clinton Lake, the sun was shining and all was still, although some ominous looking clouds were visible and the temp had dropped rather nicely.  A last look at the radar before the  race start showed some nasty weather down by Wichita that was headed our way. It was cool enough that I considered carrying just one handheld water bottle, but I opted to stick with my original plan and carry two.

There were around 150 runners signed up for all three races, and everyone starts at once. That meant we had about 50 yards to get sorted into single file as we ran across the open field to the trail head. Not wanting to get stuck in the middle of the conga line, I positioned myself towards the front of the pack. About 100 yards down the trail I realized that I was going WAY too fast and pulled off the trail to let some runners pass, hoping that the next group would be going slower. I repeated this maneuver a few more times before I slowed to a realistic pace. Even then, I felt I was going too fast for a 50k, but dammit, it was fun! This is what is known in certain circles as "going out like an asshole", the saying wasn't invented for me, but it may as well have been. I refer to it as irrational exuberance.

Fair skies and cooler temps for the start (pic by Mile 90 Photography) 

The 50k race consists of three 10 mile loops. Once I got settled into a decent pace, the rest of the loop was mostly uneventful. I had some fun conversations with folks running behind me, one a K-State professor and another a high school teacher from western Kansas (that's him behind me in both pics, in the green shoes). I had to wait for the race pics to go online before I found out what these people actually looked like as they were running behind me in the dark (likely thinking, why is this old dude trying to keep this pace?). The highlight of the loop was the Lands End aid station at the 6.5 mile mark (then 3.5 miles back to the start area), lots of familiar friendly faces cheering everyone on. I grabbed some water, coconut water, a handful of dates, said hello and thank you to as many volunteers as I could, and was back on the trail.

So relax! Let's have some fun out here! This game is fun, OK? It's fun goddamnit. - Crash Davis in Bull Durham (Photo by Mile 90 Photography)

Two things of note did happen towards the end of the loop. First, as I jumped over a log in the trail, I felt my calf cramp up in mid-air, likely from pulling my foot up behind me higher than on a normal stride. I reasoned that this was from running at too fast a pace in the high humidity. The next thing that happened was that Matt (the western Kansas teacher) asked, "was that thunder or fireworks?". It didn't take long to figure that one out. In the last 1/4 mile of the loop, the blue trail runs right along the shoreline of the lake. The temperature dropped and the wind really picked up, you could hear the waves rapidly crashing against the shore, about once per second. There's a section of dead and dying pine trees in this part of the trail, and the wind was whipping the dead needles off of the ground and pelting us as we ran through.

When we got out of the trail to the open area of the start/finish, the storm was going full bore. The rain was coming down sideways from the wind, and lightning was flashing. The volunteers at the aid station were frantically holding on to the pop-up shelter tent to keep it from blowing away, and trying to keep the food dry. I heard one of the runners that was heading back out for loop two mention something about cancelling the race. I was having too much fun to stop, so I filled up my water bottles, grabbed a handful of soggy potatoes and headed back out for my second loop, hoping to get started before the race directors could stop the race. I knew that the race was cleared by the Trails Council even in the event of rain, so I didn't think that the race would be called. There had been so little rain in the past month, that it would take a real downpour to really muddy up the trails. That theory was about to be tested.

Running back out for loop two was quite the experience. The lightning didn't seem very close, so I wasn't very worried about that. Heading out for a 10 mile loop in just shorts and a t-shirt in the middle of a roaring thunderstorm was one of the most frightening, exhilarating, funnest, craziest things that I can remember doing. I was actually laughing when I first hit the trail. That feeling didn't last too long though.

About a half mile along, things started getting sloppy. After a mile, there was a river running through the middle of the trail and I was slipping and sliding everywhere. Apparently wool socks make all the difference when wearing sandals on muddy trails. At the Psycho Wyco in February, while wearing my trusty Kakuetta Trail wool socks I managed to slog through 30 miles of mud and never came close to losing a sandal. But without the socks, my bare foot just slid right off the footbed of the sandals. As I slid laterally, my foot would pull on and shift the position of the straps until I simply couldn't keep the sandals on my feet. I would look down and the strap would be between the wrong toes, I would look down a few steps later and the sandal was hanging off the side of my foot. I'd do my best to step back into them but then the whole process would repeat. I managed to get to the two and a quarter mile mark before accepting the fact that I wasn't going to walk essentially barefoot through 8 miles of mud. I had shoes and socks in my car back at the start, so I turned around and started heading back. After a few minutes, I got to the marina road crossing and told the volunteers that I was done and was heading back in on the roads, and I started walking. Soon, enough mud had fallen off that I tried to run again. My sandals were staying on (barely) on the flat roadway, so I kept running, eventually at a pretty good pace.

By this time, the rain had stopped and I was toying with the idea that I still might be able to finish this race. Then, as I was going up the last big hill about a quarter mile from the start, the first round of leg cramps hit. The double whammy of running the first loop too fast plus slipping and sliding through a mile of mud was too much for me I guess. The change over to running on pavement probably didn't help either. One car stopped and asked if I needed a ride (they were helping with the race) as I was bent over trying to remain upright on the roadside near the top of the hill. I sort of grunted no thanks, that I was way too muddy to get into their car. The cramps started to subside and I made it a few more steps up the hill when a truck pulled up. It was Les, one of the volunteers from back at the marina road crossing. He had come to check on me (I found out later that he had strict orders from his wife Tesa to get me safely back to the start, we really do have the best folks in the world in our little tribe!). I tried to wave him on, but he wasn't going anywhere, he was either going to give me a ride or an escort back to the start. I was determined to walk it in when the second round of cramps hit. That's when Les stopped his truck and I allowed that I would ride in back if he would lower the tailgate. Thank you so much Tesa and Les, I might have just curled into a ball and rolled back down the hill if not for you!

My race was now officially over. Any thought of putting on shoes and starting loop two were quickly drowned out in a few cold beers. I just couldn't face 20 more miles of mud with sporadic stop-me-in-my-tracks leg cramps. There was also the ethical dilemna of having accepted the assistance of a ride in the back of a truck during a foot race. No rule specifically against that that I've read (as long as you run the entire course), and I would've just started loop two over again, but still, the beers sounded better than puzzling that question out.

So now I have about nine weeks left to train for the Hawk Hundred. Training is going great, but my racing hasn't been going too well. After 30 some races without a hitch, I now haven't finished my last two races. Yes, there are very good reasons for not finishing, but it's not exactly how I thought it would go. They say that you learn a lot more from failing than from finishing, and I think that's probably true. I've definitely learned a few things, and I plan to put all of those lessons to good use in September, see ya then if not sooner!

Night Hawk/Hawk Hundred Training

My ankle was pretty much healed and runnable by the beginning of May, but life was busy (graduations and grad parties!) so I got an extended break before really starting to train again. I took a vacation day on May 11 to (among other things) run a Lands End Loop at Clinton Lake, my first since late March. It seemed like it had been a long time since I'd been able to run my favorite trails and it was a great morning out to be out there. According to the calendar, I had seven weeks to get ready for the Nighthawk 50 on June 30, more than enough time.

A 50k, I know how to train for; training for the Hawk Hundred, I'm trying to figure that out. I thought that I was well trained for the 50 mile Rockin' K at the beginning of April, only to find out the hard way that I wasn't. I was in shape to run 50 miles at Clinton Lake or at Heartland (gravel roads), but the rugged terrain of the Rockin' K took more of a toll on my legs than I anticipated, and I was simply too slow for the cutoff times. I now feel that I have something to prove, so hopefully I will do well at Nighthawk and at the Hawk Hundred, then maybe return for a shot a redemption at next year's Rockin' K 50 (we'll see).

Things took a turn for the better in late May. I happened to reach out to a friend and fellow runner asking whether my peak 50 mile training run would be OK to run either 3 or 5 weeks before the Hawk (I have a scheduling conflict 4 weeks before). The response was some questions for me regarding my current mileage, training plan, injury, recovery, etc. Before I knew it, I had a coach working on a training plan for me! My Hawk Hundred coach (not something I thought I'd ever say) is someone I respect immensely with extensive training credentials and some 100 mile times on ultrasignup.com that I can't even dream of. This has really brought back a lot of my excitement/mojo for the Hawk that I lost when I DNF'ed  (did not finish) at Rockin' K. At least now I feel that my training is well thought out instead of just my best guess at it. If I can just put in the effort and stick to the plan (which I'm usually pretty reliable at doing), I feel that I have a very good chance at crossing that 100 mile finish line in September.

Night Hawk training is going well. I now have 5 more weeks to train, and my weekly mileage is increasing. I had one 45 mile week, but then some rains washed out my long weekend runs and I dropped down to a 28 mile week, so I added in some extra leg/core strength exercises. I'm hoping to get a trail run in when we go down to Arkansas next week, always fun to run new trails.

Lake Leatherwood, just outside of Eureka Springs, Arkansas

Aside from the mileage, my training plans always looks pretty much the same regardless of whether I'm getting prepared for a marathon, 50k, 50 miler, or now a 100 miler.  Every training book I've read breaks the days of the week down the same way, which just makes sense for us folks who work M-F. Generally, Mondays and Fridays are off days. Tuesday thru Thursday are relatively short runs in the 3-10 mile range (each day) with varying intensity (some easy runs, some speed work, hill repeats, etc.) Saturday is the long run, usually an easy to moderate pace anywhere from 10 to 50 miles. Sunday for me is generally an easy 10 miler on trails, but can be used as the 2nd half of a back-to-back long weekend run.

I'm now 2 1/2 weeks out from the Night Hawk, and things are going well. My weekly mileage has increased (50 last week) and so has the temperature. I know that it can get miserable for some folks this time of year, but I really feel my best when running in warm to hot temps. For the past several weeks, the high temps have been in the 90's with almost no rain, so the trails are dry and inviting. Unfortunately summer running also means spider webs in the face, snakes, covering your legs in DEET (and still getting bit by ticks), and carrying two water bottles instead of just one. Even with all of that though, I get some weird sense of satisfaction from having sweat dripping off of my soaking clothes. Physical evidence of the effort I'm putting in I guess. I've got a few more 50 mile weeks before tapering a bit for the Night Hawk, currently all systems are go.

This is just the fourth year of the Night Hawk and I'm really looking forward to it. I've been lucky enough to have finished them all so far. The first year (2015), the race course was changed from all dirt trails to about 80% roads because the trails were too muddy from so much rain in June. It rained on us for most of the first loop, which made for some pretty great sky pics from Mile 90.

Stormy skies at the 2015 Night Hawk, photo by Mile 90 Photography

My main memory of 2015 is that I ran at least a 55k instead of a 50k. I zoned out on the 3rd loop and made a wrong turn into the campground by the cabins. The other side roads all return to the main road, but that particular road just circles back on itself. Being tired and unfamiliar with that area, I just kept looping in circles. I finally found someone to ask and they pointed me in the right direction. It should have been obvious, but I was too tired and frustrated to figure it out (hint, just running harder doesn't help).

The 2016 Night Hawk was a war of attrition. The heat/humidity combined to take out a lot of runners. I don't remember the numbers, but I'm guessing that five to ten 50k runners DNFed because of the conditions. I normally don't cramp during races, but my legs completely locked up on me several times that night. The cramps were in my quads and my calves in both legs, sometimes all at the same time. When I felt them coming on, I would grab onto the nearest tree and hold on until they subsided enough to get going again. I adopted the tree hugging strategy after dropping to the ground from the cramping pain and then not being able to get back up. When I finally did get back up, there was a copperhead in the trail about 20 feet onwards. I also tripped and fell a lot that night, likely from all of the cramping. I must've tripped and hit the ground at least 5 times and every time the water bottles would launch from my pack and I'd have to fish them out of the brush. It was a great race (really, I'd do it again)!

The weather for the 2017 Night Hawk was surprisingly cool. I was able to run with just one handheld bottle that night and it worked well. I held back a bit too much on my first loop, but overall was pretty pleased with my time. I don't know whether it was the cooler temps or the sandals (my first race wearing Luna sandals), but I didn't fall once.

The weather looks kinda iffy for the 2018 Night Hawk, it may be another great night for cramps and DNFs. It is forecast to be about 90 degrees at the 8:00 PM start time, dropping down to the upper 70's around 2:00 AM. Unfortunately rain is also forecast (50-60% chance) to move in around 11:00 PM and to last throughout the rest of the race. It's still a few days away though, so the forecast may improve. As a runner I don't really mind the rain and mud (to a point), but it really makes the volunteers and race directors jobs a lot harder. Either way, I can't wait. Here's to bugs, sweat, and beers!!

Rolling a Fat One on 4/20

Ever wash your car and somehow blame yourself for making it rain the next day? Imagine the following words coming out of your mouth during a long run. "I've been running these rooty/rocky trails (at Clinton Lake) so much and its made my feet and ankles so strong that I don't think it's even possible for me to roll an ankle anymore." Yeah, I said that at some point in the past year. Yeah, it came back to bite me.
On Friday (4/20), my running buddy Al and I were about a mile and a half into a planned 10 mile loop on the North Shore Trails at Clinton Lake. I was negotiating a portion of the trail that I've probably run a hundred times before. The trail takes an abrupt left turn as it drops about 3 feet with a little water crossing at the bottom. As I was stepping down, I planted my right foot in position to push off and to the left to jump over the water. I either didn't see the root or just planted my foot in the wrong place because as my weight shifted onto my foot, my ankle rolled completely over to the outside with that root under my foot.
I thought that I heard a snap, but it was likely a stick crunching somewhere because there were no bones broken and though the tendons were really stretched, none of them snapped. I was a little freaked out for the first 30 seconds or so as I assessed the damage, but once I determined that the pain wasn't too bad and my ankle seemed to still be attached, I relaxed. After discovering that I could put my weight on it without any adverse affects, I was able to take a few exploratory steps and then walk carefully back to the trailhead. Thankfully a concerned Al was along for company. I briefly decided that it was OK to run on, and tried for about 20 yards before I thought better of it as the ankle just didn't seem very stable.

About 20 minutes after I rolled it (golf ball) 

After a 3 mile run 4 days later

I've joked that it was really the best kind of injury as I was able to post some really gnarly looking photos showing the swelling and discoloration, but aside from the first few minutes, the pain was negligible, which (for better or worse is yet to be determined) allowed me to go about my usual pursuits while it healed.
I know that common wisdom says to RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevate), but I did none of those things, unless going up and down a ladder for the next few days counts as 'elevate' or an awesome pair of Skyline Shuffle socks counts as compression. I certainly would've gone the RICE route if there was much pain (I need full anesthesia for hangnails/splinters), but since it didn't hurt and I was in the middle of an interior painting project, I kept on painting, although I was very cautious of where I stepped.
As noted above, I ran 3 very cautious miles on it 4 days after the injury, and another 5 miles a few days after that. I've since ran several 10 mile sessions all on roads, the levee, or the river trails. I hope to test it out tomorrow (5/11) on the rooty/rocky Clinton Lake trails, I plan to be slow and verrrrrry careful.

A few random thoughts/observations:

I was immediately relieved that I had someone with me and also that I had my phone. My worst running fear (aside from bears, dogs, mountain lions, and clowns) is to be out on the trails somewhere in freezing temps and snap an ankle. Without anyone around or a cell phone handy, things like lives and limbs could be at stake. I think the temps were in the 40's when I rolled it, so I was in no danger, but I did have to put a few layers back on as I definitely got chilly walking back to the trailhead. Pay heed winter runners!

Inflammation happens for a reason. For the first week or so, the swelling in my foot was not only cool to look at, but it seemed to hold everything in place so that my range of motion was severely limited. It was only after most of the swelling had gone away that I could accidentally or intentionally move my foot in such a way as to cause pain. I didn't take any anti-inflammatories or ice the area as the swelling seemed to be doing a pretty good job of protecting me from myself.

In the first week after the injury, I soaked my foot/ankle in a turkey roasting pan filled with hot water and epsom salt probably four times. I don't think there's any sound medical reason for using epsom salt, but it's what my Mom would've suggested so I did it. It was also a way to force me to sit down for 45 minutes or so. There's no way to tell if it actually sped up the healing, but I do think that the heat helped carry away some of the fluid that had gathered in my foot. My thinking was to keep everything moving and as warm/loose as possible to let the circulation aid in removing all the nasty stuff. I'm also thinking of playing a doctor on television (ba da dum).

I managed to get my hands on some CBD (cannabidiol) oil. It's a marijuana extract (no THC) and it's legal status is Kansas is unclear, but it's available in Ohio (and many other states), plus it ties in neatly with the 4/20 theme of this post. I rubbed it into my foot/ankle for several days and noticed significant improvement in my ankle's range of motion. Whether this was causitive or just happened to coincide with the normal healing process is impossible to know, but many people swear by it's effectiveness. I hopefully won't need it again, but will definitely try it again if needed.

My next race is the Nighthawk 50k on June 30 at Clinton Lake. Between a trip to Cleveland, end of the school year events, and the injury, I haven't been running much lately. That should change soon though and I'm looking forward to getting Nighthawk ready!