I think my favorite part about running in the winter are the picture possibilities.
Friday, December 23, 2016
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Turkey Day at the Races.
In what may be at risk of becoming a Thanksgiving tradition, I again ran the 1 mile Tough Turkey race and the 5k Gobble Gallop up in Duluth on Thanksgiving. The difference this year is that I actually intended to run both of them.
As usual, this is a bit of an off-season time for me, so I’m never quite sure how I will feel or how well the races will go when I sign up for these. I was feeling a bit flat the day before, and had pretty well thrown away any real hope of doing well in either race by the time Thursday morning came around.
As she did last year, G had signed up for the 5k only, so I took the opportunity provided by staying with my parents and headed down solo to check in and do my mile warm up routine. It was just above freezing this year, with a tiny bit of moisture in the air. Not ideal conditions by any means for a mile race, but better than last year.
The advantage and disadvantage of racing in your home town, especially when you’re fourth generation in a town of 85,000, is you know a lot of people. There is no hiding in Duluth for me. Prior to the race, I ran into my brother’s best friend and his two kids, as well as his parents and brother (who was also running both races that morning). As I went through my dynamic warm up, I heard an occasional “hi Jamie” from the crowd, not knowing who was saying it. And, of course, I know the RD for this race, so I took a brief second to say hi to him before I finished my warmups.
G and my parents showed up before race time (I think my dad has been on a bit of a nostalgia trip this year, watching me race for the first time since high school) and in time to watch the 1/4 mile kid’s race at 9AM. This is usually a highlight, as all the kids chase a guy dressed up in a turkey costume down the road, and many of them run with their parents. And since it’s a children’s race, they all get to wear bibs with the number “1” on them.
The mile went off at 9:10 on the dot. As usual, it was a much smaller field than the 5k, with only 100 or so runners on the start line. The mile usually has a large number of kids and, as they do, they all took off at an almost absurd pace. I let them sprint their hearts out, taking it out in a quick pace (4:45 or so according to my watch). I don’t know that I could have done anything near a 4:45, but I wanted to see if anybody would make a race of it.
Nobody did, and I eased off to about 5:30 pace or so, and, looking back every hundred meters to make sure nobody was closing, crossed the line in a surprisingly easy 5:40 to win by eight seconds. Unless I am forgetting something, this may be my first overall win since I was a sprinter in high school. The fact that if I had run the 5k at that pace, I would still have been 3 minutes out of first place diminished the elation not one bit. That was the first time I feel like I’ve executed a solid race strategy in a long time.
Of course, the start time of 9:30 for the 5k meant that I now had less than 15 minutes before the start of my next race. I had just enough time to catch my breath (while running to my car), swap out my number, and say hi to my parents before the 5k started. I missed seeing G between the races. And due to apparent blindness on my part, I missed seeing her finish the 5k as well.
As usual, the start of a 5k with 2,200 runners was chaotic. I put myself in the front line, and in the dash from the line got caught heading out a little faster than I intended. This time, though, I quickly sorted myself out and slowed to what I thought would be a sustainable pace.
I actually felt really good throughout this race, countering my feeling at the beginning of the day. I looked at my watch less often than I sometimes do during races, running more by feel than by the watch, and that seemed to work really well. I found myself running with a group of maybe 5 runners taking a similar pace, which made the whole experience easier.
When I did check my watch, for the most part I was surprised by how fast I was running. I was consistently between 6:05 and 6:15 pace throughout the race, only slipping lower than that on the uphill from downtown Duluth up to Fitger’s. Despite the faster pace than last year, I ended up with a lot of gas left in the last half mile, and pushed it in a little faster
I’m actually a little disappointed that I didn’t look at my watch a little more often for the actual time I was running. I finished the race in 19:05 for 27th place over all, and 4th in my age group, but I am quite sure that I could have run a good deal faster if I had pushed a little more. I think in this case I just didn’t have enough faith in my fitness.
I am quite happy over all with the result of these two races. I finished each race faster than I did last year, and finished 40 second up on my combined 1 mile and 5k times from last year.
That said, I got left in the dust by G, who improved on her time by a full 10 minutes. She improved so much that I missed her finish, thinking I would have to run back in the pack a ways to see her . . .
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Bucket List Race
Well, it happened.
A couple weeks back, I signed up for the lottery to get into the Garry Bjorklund half marathon. I'd tried once before, and didn't make it in, so I'm happy to make it in this time.
I grew up watching this and Grandma's Marathon every year, walking down the hill four blocks from my house to cheer on the runners at the top of the largest "hill" (Lemondrop) on the course. I always figured that if I ever ran a half or a full on roads, this would be the one to choose. I will pass my sister's house at exactly the halfway point, and pass my parents at Lemondrop, and see from there how I can finish.
It will be interesting to see what I can do on a road at sea level. My fastest half to date was run up near Boulder on the trails, so as long as I pace myself reasonably well I can pretty well bank on a PR.
It will be interesting. I hope it's fun as well.
A couple weeks back, I signed up for the lottery to get into the Garry Bjorklund half marathon. I'd tried once before, and didn't make it in, so I'm happy to make it in this time.
I grew up watching this and Grandma's Marathon every year, walking down the hill four blocks from my house to cheer on the runners at the top of the largest "hill" (Lemondrop) on the course. I always figured that if I ever ran a half or a full on roads, this would be the one to choose. I will pass my sister's house at exactly the halfway point, and pass my parents at Lemondrop, and see from there how I can finish.
It will be interesting to see what I can do on a road at sea level. My fastest half to date was run up near Boulder on the trails, so as long as I pace myself reasonably well I can pretty well bank on a PR.
It will be interesting. I hope it's fun as well.
Monday, October 3, 2016
Back on the Wagon
The training plan wagon that is. As ever, I am already feeling more fit than I was before (even though I'm only on week three). There are a few things I'd forgotten about jumping on a training plan, though.
- The metabolic implication: I eat constantly again.
- Physically, I am more tired on a training plan than off of it. I sleep better, but am occasionally tired at odd times.
- Mentally, I find it easier to get out for a run if I have the raw numbers of a training plan staring me in the face.
- It's a whole lot easier going off of somebody else's training plan (I"m using Eric Orton's plan from "The Cool Impossible" again. It has worked for me in the past.), than trying to create my own. This one offers enough flexibility that I can easily alter it to my own needs.
- Training by heart rate works well for me.
I also found that my breathing methods (mentioned in my last post) match pretty well to my heart rate zones. If anything, I was running faster than I should have been when I was using rhythmic breathing alone.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
A Focus on Breath
In my race report for the Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon, I went on a bit about my strategy of focusing on my breath for the race. I didn't go into much detail, but it definitely helped me out during the really difficult portions of the race (read, the last 15 miles).
Since the relative success of that race, despite the cramping, I have been continuing my experiments in rhythmic breathing, and I thought it worthwhile to write a post about it.
First, a general primer on rhythmic breathing, as I learned it. I believe I read about it first in an article on Competitor.com or a similar website. The basic theory is this: your core naturally contracts and activates on an inhalation, and relaxes and collapses on an exhalation. Most people run in an even pattern (2 steps in, 2 steps out, or a 3-3 or 4-4 pattern). This leads to the collapse always happening on the same foot, which can cause greater fatigue.
If, instead, you run on an odd pattern (3-2 or 4-3, or even 2-1 if you're running particularly quickly), you can even out the fatigue a little bit. It also provides a rough gauge of how hard you're working.
Additionally, the theory suggests that you should be breathing from your stomach and diaphragm rather than your lungs, as that gives you a fuller breath.
After a month or so of this, I have found quite a few advantages, and one disadvantage to this technique.
Advantages
Since the relative success of that race, despite the cramping, I have been continuing my experiments in rhythmic breathing, and I thought it worthwhile to write a post about it.
First, a general primer on rhythmic breathing, as I learned it. I believe I read about it first in an article on Competitor.com or a similar website. The basic theory is this: your core naturally contracts and activates on an inhalation, and relaxes and collapses on an exhalation. Most people run in an even pattern (2 steps in, 2 steps out, or a 3-3 or 4-4 pattern). This leads to the collapse always happening on the same foot, which can cause greater fatigue.
If, instead, you run on an odd pattern (3-2 or 4-3, or even 2-1 if you're running particularly quickly), you can even out the fatigue a little bit. It also provides a rough gauge of how hard you're working.
Additionally, the theory suggests that you should be breathing from your stomach and diaphragm rather than your lungs, as that gives you a fuller breath.
After a month or so of this, I have found quite a few advantages, and one disadvantage to this technique.
Advantages
- Fatigue: I have not gotten a single side stitch since trying, and sticking with this technique.
- Focus: as I said in my Eugene Curnow report, I found that this technique gave me a focus on when I was tired and cramping, and my mind was going dark places. I could focus on my breath and, despite my fatigue and cramping, I could still maintain a solid running pace.
- Meditation: On another note, I have found that I enter a more meditative state, since focusing on your breath is a central tenant of meditation, a practice I have recently taken up. I often end the run feeling much more mentally refreshed than I have in the past.
- Pacing: breath gives you an idea of where your pace is. 4/3 is generally very easy. 3/2 is getting into a harder, but sustainable pace. 2/1, well, that's hard.
Disadvantages
- I find it hard to actually get 4 steps on my inhale. And I sometimes have difficulty fully expelling on the exhale. It is something that's getting easer the more I practice, but it is a disadvantage.
- I know only 1 song with a 7/4 (or 7/8) beat. And I know 1 song with a 5/4 beat. This is an issue.
Has anybody else tried rhythmic breathing? I'd be curious to hear your thoughts and/or advice.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Eugene Curnow Race Report
That was one for the books.
Let's start with a little background. As you know, if you read this blog, I haven't been posting for a rather long time. That is because, between a move and a couple trips, I haven't been running all that much yet this summer. As a result, I came into this race underprepared, without a suitable long run, and having not trained seriously in a month or so. I had managed to get a couple solid runs in while I was on a trip to Colorado the week (!) before, and I think the move qualifies as good training (our entry is on the third floor).
Even so, I felt cautiously optimistic about my chances on the day. I thought that, if things went ok, I would run around 4 hours. If they went well, I could probably do 3:50 or 3:45. If they went poorly, I figured it would be around 4:15. Spoiler alert: I ran 4:11. Things went poorly.
The short version for those who want it: I started fast. I went for it from the start, taking advice from others who noted that the trail got more technical at parts as you went along. Despite some insole issues (I ended up taking them out entirely), I ran well through the first three aid stations. I averaged 8:30 pace or so through those sections, even with stops to take out my insoles, but then the wheels fell off. Right at mile 11, the cramps set in, and they didn't quit the rest of the race.
I considered dropping out. I didn't.
A more detailed description:
Pre Race:
I drove up from the Cities the night before. My dad was driving the same route as well, so we met up in Carlton, giving me the chance to leave my car there, and thereby get an extra hour of sleep. They had buses from the finish to the start leaving at 4:45AM. I wanted to avoid that.
It was somewhat surprising to me that my dad offered to get up early and drive me to the start. It should not have surprised me, as he has always jumped at the opportunity to watch any of the three siblings race or compete in any sporting event. His schedule for the day allowed him to come to the start and at least a couple aid stations, depending on how I was moving.
I can't think of a better motivation to move quickly than the chance to see your father at an extra aid station.
Start to Skyline: Cruising in the Early Morning Light
The low-key start was typical of trail races: a non-line in the dirt (seriously, there wasn't any indication of where the start line was), a few brief instructions, and "Go."
The likely race leaders sped off up the hill. I settled in with the following group. I had inklings already that the day might not go well. My legs didn't feel any spring from my taper. Nonetheless, I cruised this section easily, settling into the 3-2 breathing pattern (3 steps inhale, 2 steps exhale) that I would return to again and again over the course of the day.
Out of the dirt road and across the Spirit Mountain ski hill, the sun's rays still seemed almost parallel, and I reveled in the cool, clear morning. The forecast was for a pleasantly cool day for Minnesota in July, but I still wanted to take full advantage of the coolness of the early morning. On to Skyline Parkway, and I remarked to another runner how easy it seemed so far, to which a runner farther up the road said "Just wait, it's a little early to be saying that."
I cruised into the Skyline aid station at sub-6 minute pace, 3.5 miles into the race, 400+ up from the start, and 26 minutes into the race.
Skyline to Becks: Jarrow's Beach
Out of Skyline we took a turn uphill into the Magney-Snively nordic ski area. The trails here were deceptively smooth, but with the recent rains there were many low, swampy spots.
Partway through, still feeling good, I came up behind and older runner who had evidently started the race early. He was moving well, and I asked if he was the one runner who'd finished the race all 24 prior runnings. He was not, but was still inspiring.
I almost missed the turn for Jarrow's beach, but fortunately (I believe) Jarrow himself directed me down the hill and into the "beach." This was the first, and most, technical section of the course. It was an ugly mix of soccer ball-sized rocks, roots, water, and mud, and I picked my way more carefully than sometimes, not wanting to turn an ankle so early. I also took the opportunity to tighten my shoelaces.
Some more technical-minded runners passed me at this point. I don't often get passed, in Minnesota, on technical downhills, and I admit to being a little annoyed. But with new shoes (they were a week old) and uncertain training, I opted for discretion over valor. Soon enough, we came out onto the old railroad bed, where I again dropped the pace and passed the technical guys right back.
(One of the guys who passed me on Jarrow's beach mentioned that he would be running The Rut 50k in the fall, a race I hope to run myself some day)
This is where my left insole started causing me problems. My shoes were already soaked at this point, and the higher pace on the railroad grade caused my insole to bunch up in the front of my shoe. I've had this trouble with Altras before, but hadn't had ample time to test these shoes to see if they had the same issue.
At Becks, after seeing my dad for the second time in the race, and while getting my water bottle filled, I untied my shoe, adjusted my insole, and kept on running down the old dirt road, 7.5 miles and almost exactly 1 hour elapsed.
Becks to Fon-du-Lac: Speeding in frustration.
Not 100 yards from the aid station, my insole had already started bunching up again. In frustration, I knelt down to take off my shoe and remove it for good, to find my shoe was too tightly tied and I couldn't undo it. Fortunately, an angel of a spectator ran over and not only helped me take my shoe off, but took my insole to the lost and found for me.
Thank you!
Frustrated, I took off. I later found out on Strava that I had my third-fastest times (on Strava) for both the 1 mile and the 1 kilometer distance on this road(ish) stretch. I again passed those who had passed me at the aid station before we dropped off the road and into the woods to what was probably my favorite part of the trail.
Off the road, we stepped into a pine forest and a soft, gentle single track weaving along a ridge. I admit, these are my favorite trails: smooth, gliding, and gentle on your feet (especially when one foot is sans insole). There were parts along the ridge that were rather exposed, making me slow down lest I stumble to one side or the other and tumble down the hill. Then, at the end, it dumps you down the only section of ropes on the course. I admit to almost running straight into a log that sat at about chest height right at the bottom of the ropes.
My right insole started bunching up in this section, and I decided that at the next aid station, it would go. 10.7 miles in, 1:27 elapsed, remaining insoles: 0.
Fon-du-Lac to Seven Bridges: Cursing my Calves.
Much to my surprise, my dad was waiting again at this aid station. I figured he'd be gone by that point, but as he said I was "moving well."
And I was. I was feeling great about how the race was going so far. I was pushing, but it felt sustainable I was sticking to my 3-2 rhythmic breathing. I'd covered almost 11 miles in under an hour and a half. I was moving well, despite my insole issues.
Out of the aid station, and on the first climb, the wheels started to come off: I felt the beginnings of cramps in my calves. I tried to get on top of them: I immediately popped (and bit, and coughed on) an electrolyte tab, and upped my consumption of these from every 45 minutes to every half hour. In the past, that was enough to stave off cramps. Today not so much. I upped my intake of gels and tabs to every half hour, and hoped that would be enough.
Even with the cramping, I managed to hold my own through here and not get passed. But I knew the rest of the morning would be difficult. 12.7 miles in, 1:46 elapsed, properly functioning calves: 0.
Seven Bridges to Grand Portage: The Power Lines
I'd heard, of course, of the infamous power lines. I knew of the 9 brutal hills, the lack of shade, and the brambles. I found them to be both better and worse than I expected.
Not for the first time, nor the last, I was glad I was in the first 20-30 runners. With the wet weather, the power lines were muddy, the creeks were high, and the footing was difficult. I can only imagine that it got much, much worse as the day went on and more people scrambled these hills. Gradients of up to 40% don't make for swift going on the best days.
Even so, I found these less difficult than I anticipated. The steep uphills let do some dynamic stretching on my calves, and the steep downhills were reckless and fun. The descents were steep, short, and muddy enough that I knew I could slide if I got out of control. Save for grabbing a raspberry bush at one point (ow) this section went better than I had feared.
Two hills of purgatory (not nearly as bad as they suggest) and into Grand Portage. 15.5 miles in, 2:17 elapsed, 3 steps in, 2 steps out.
Grand Portage to Petersen's: Quads are Gone
This section just got hard. My quads started cramping up at this point. People started passing me. I could run for a little while, at a slowish pace, but then my quads would seize up and I would be forced to walk for a while as I tried to loosen them up.
Even so, the trails were beautiful double track. If I am calculating correctly, it was about 8:30 in the morning: a little before the time I usually start running in the morning. Despite the condition of my legs and the difficulties I was having, I was still grateful to be out, even as I was debating dropping.
It's not a true race unless you consider dropping out, right?
17.5 miles in, 2:39 on the clock, functioning quads:0.
Petersen's to Forbay: Still Cramping.
I'll be honest, it's Wednesday now while I'm writing this section (I started on Monday) and I don't recall this section all that well. It was difficult again, but I managed to keep going and push through.
And I began to notice something interesting in this section: there were still times where I just didn't feel like I could move. My quads and calves were still cramping horribly. Even so, I found that if I could just focus on three steps in, two steps out, I could actually move at a decent pace. In fact, it was almost as quick a pace as I maintained during the first part of the race. I also found that, as is the case with meditation, focusing on my breath is an excellent way to pull my focus away from anything else.
I could still feel the discomfort and seizing, it just didn't matter as much.
Out onto the Munger trail, and I knew I should really be pushing it again. I managed a solid 7:30-7:45 pace. Even so, I was passed on this section.
"How's it going?"
"Cramping"
"Oh, that's a tough way to run."
"Well, I've been running on it for 10 miles, so I'm used to it."
"Ha. Good luck!"
20.5 miles in, 3:09 Elapsed. No 4 hour marathon likely.
Forbay to Jay Cooke: Flat Trails.
Not much to say on this section. I knew I could finish at this point. All thoughts of dropping out were behind me. Now it was just a matter of keeping on. I hit a very decent pace on the dam, after devouring a pickle at the aid station. The cramps soon caught up again, and I stepped to the side of the double track cross country ski trail (to relieve myself) as another person passed.
At this point, I was out of all competition except the one with my self. Or so I thought.
During one particularly agonizing stretch of cramp-induced walking, a runner I had been swapping back and forth with the entire race passed me again.
"You're gonna pass me one more time, aren't you?"
I wasn't so sure, but he turned out to be prophetic.
22.9 miles in. 3:34 elapsed. Pickles consumed: 1.
Jay Cooke to Finish: Enter the Gnar.
Another aid station meant another pickle.
Across the Swinging Bridge! I'd been waiting for this the entire race, and now I found myself a little seasick, to be honest.
A brief bit of smooth, easy trail quickly gave way to remarkably gnarly single track along the St. Louis River. I slowed to a walk often in these last three miles, now counting down the tenths of a mile rather than focusing as much on my breath. When I did, though, I still managed to run at a normal pace, which is still remarkable to me.
I was passed by a couple runners in this section, though fewer than I expected. And I did, indeed, pass my trail buddy for a last time shortly before popping out to the Munger Trail again for the finishing "sprint."
26.2 miles completed, 4:11 elapsed. Marathons completed (total, not including ultras): 4.
Let's start with a little background. As you know, if you read this blog, I haven't been posting for a rather long time. That is because, between a move and a couple trips, I haven't been running all that much yet this summer. As a result, I came into this race underprepared, without a suitable long run, and having not trained seriously in a month or so. I had managed to get a couple solid runs in while I was on a trip to Colorado the week (!) before, and I think the move qualifies as good training (our entry is on the third floor).
Even so, I felt cautiously optimistic about my chances on the day. I thought that, if things went ok, I would run around 4 hours. If they went well, I could probably do 3:50 or 3:45. If they went poorly, I figured it would be around 4:15. Spoiler alert: I ran 4:11. Things went poorly.
The short version for those who want it: I started fast. I went for it from the start, taking advice from others who noted that the trail got more technical at parts as you went along. Despite some insole issues (I ended up taking them out entirely), I ran well through the first three aid stations. I averaged 8:30 pace or so through those sections, even with stops to take out my insoles, but then the wheels fell off. Right at mile 11, the cramps set in, and they didn't quit the rest of the race.
I considered dropping out. I didn't.
A more detailed description:
Pre Race:
I drove up from the Cities the night before. My dad was driving the same route as well, so we met up in Carlton, giving me the chance to leave my car there, and thereby get an extra hour of sleep. They had buses from the finish to the start leaving at 4:45AM. I wanted to avoid that.
It was somewhat surprising to me that my dad offered to get up early and drive me to the start. It should not have surprised me, as he has always jumped at the opportunity to watch any of the three siblings race or compete in any sporting event. His schedule for the day allowed him to come to the start and at least a couple aid stations, depending on how I was moving.
I can't think of a better motivation to move quickly than the chance to see your father at an extra aid station.
Start to Skyline: Cruising in the Early Morning Light
The low-key start was typical of trail races: a non-line in the dirt (seriously, there wasn't any indication of where the start line was), a few brief instructions, and "Go."
The likely race leaders sped off up the hill. I settled in with the following group. I had inklings already that the day might not go well. My legs didn't feel any spring from my taper. Nonetheless, I cruised this section easily, settling into the 3-2 breathing pattern (3 steps inhale, 2 steps exhale) that I would return to again and again over the course of the day.
Out of the dirt road and across the Spirit Mountain ski hill, the sun's rays still seemed almost parallel, and I reveled in the cool, clear morning. The forecast was for a pleasantly cool day for Minnesota in July, but I still wanted to take full advantage of the coolness of the early morning. On to Skyline Parkway, and I remarked to another runner how easy it seemed so far, to which a runner farther up the road said "Just wait, it's a little early to be saying that."
I cruised into the Skyline aid station at sub-6 minute pace, 3.5 miles into the race, 400+ up from the start, and 26 minutes into the race.
Skyline to Becks: Jarrow's Beach
Out of Skyline we took a turn uphill into the Magney-Snively nordic ski area. The trails here were deceptively smooth, but with the recent rains there were many low, swampy spots.
Partway through, still feeling good, I came up behind and older runner who had evidently started the race early. He was moving well, and I asked if he was the one runner who'd finished the race all 24 prior runnings. He was not, but was still inspiring.
I almost missed the turn for Jarrow's beach, but fortunately (I believe) Jarrow himself directed me down the hill and into the "beach." This was the first, and most, technical section of the course. It was an ugly mix of soccer ball-sized rocks, roots, water, and mud, and I picked my way more carefully than sometimes, not wanting to turn an ankle so early. I also took the opportunity to tighten my shoelaces.
Some more technical-minded runners passed me at this point. I don't often get passed, in Minnesota, on technical downhills, and I admit to being a little annoyed. But with new shoes (they were a week old) and uncertain training, I opted for discretion over valor. Soon enough, we came out onto the old railroad bed, where I again dropped the pace and passed the technical guys right back.
(One of the guys who passed me on Jarrow's beach mentioned that he would be running The Rut 50k in the fall, a race I hope to run myself some day)
This is where my left insole started causing me problems. My shoes were already soaked at this point, and the higher pace on the railroad grade caused my insole to bunch up in the front of my shoe. I've had this trouble with Altras before, but hadn't had ample time to test these shoes to see if they had the same issue.
At Becks, after seeing my dad for the second time in the race, and while getting my water bottle filled, I untied my shoe, adjusted my insole, and kept on running down the old dirt road, 7.5 miles and almost exactly 1 hour elapsed.
Becks to Fon-du-Lac: Speeding in frustration.
Not 100 yards from the aid station, my insole had already started bunching up again. In frustration, I knelt down to take off my shoe and remove it for good, to find my shoe was too tightly tied and I couldn't undo it. Fortunately, an angel of a spectator ran over and not only helped me take my shoe off, but took my insole to the lost and found for me.
Thank you!
Frustrated, I took off. I later found out on Strava that I had my third-fastest times (on Strava) for both the 1 mile and the 1 kilometer distance on this road(ish) stretch. I again passed those who had passed me at the aid station before we dropped off the road and into the woods to what was probably my favorite part of the trail.
Off the road, we stepped into a pine forest and a soft, gentle single track weaving along a ridge. I admit, these are my favorite trails: smooth, gliding, and gentle on your feet (especially when one foot is sans insole). There were parts along the ridge that were rather exposed, making me slow down lest I stumble to one side or the other and tumble down the hill. Then, at the end, it dumps you down the only section of ropes on the course. I admit to almost running straight into a log that sat at about chest height right at the bottom of the ropes.
My right insole started bunching up in this section, and I decided that at the next aid station, it would go. 10.7 miles in, 1:27 elapsed, remaining insoles: 0.
Fon-du-Lac to Seven Bridges: Cursing my Calves.
Much to my surprise, my dad was waiting again at this aid station. I figured he'd be gone by that point, but as he said I was "moving well."
And I was. I was feeling great about how the race was going so far. I was pushing, but it felt sustainable I was sticking to my 3-2 rhythmic breathing. I'd covered almost 11 miles in under an hour and a half. I was moving well, despite my insole issues.
Out of the aid station, and on the first climb, the wheels started to come off: I felt the beginnings of cramps in my calves. I tried to get on top of them: I immediately popped (and bit, and coughed on) an electrolyte tab, and upped my consumption of these from every 45 minutes to every half hour. In the past, that was enough to stave off cramps. Today not so much. I upped my intake of gels and tabs to every half hour, and hoped that would be enough.
Even with the cramping, I managed to hold my own through here and not get passed. But I knew the rest of the morning would be difficult. 12.7 miles in, 1:46 elapsed, properly functioning calves: 0.
Seven Bridges to Grand Portage: The Power Lines
I'd heard, of course, of the infamous power lines. I knew of the 9 brutal hills, the lack of shade, and the brambles. I found them to be both better and worse than I expected.
Not for the first time, nor the last, I was glad I was in the first 20-30 runners. With the wet weather, the power lines were muddy, the creeks were high, and the footing was difficult. I can only imagine that it got much, much worse as the day went on and more people scrambled these hills. Gradients of up to 40% don't make for swift going on the best days.
Even so, I found these less difficult than I anticipated. The steep uphills let do some dynamic stretching on my calves, and the steep downhills were reckless and fun. The descents were steep, short, and muddy enough that I knew I could slide if I got out of control. Save for grabbing a raspberry bush at one point (ow) this section went better than I had feared.
Two hills of purgatory (not nearly as bad as they suggest) and into Grand Portage. 15.5 miles in, 2:17 elapsed, 3 steps in, 2 steps out.
Grand Portage to Petersen's: Quads are Gone
This section just got hard. My quads started cramping up at this point. People started passing me. I could run for a little while, at a slowish pace, but then my quads would seize up and I would be forced to walk for a while as I tried to loosen them up.
Even so, the trails were beautiful double track. If I am calculating correctly, it was about 8:30 in the morning: a little before the time I usually start running in the morning. Despite the condition of my legs and the difficulties I was having, I was still grateful to be out, even as I was debating dropping.
It's not a true race unless you consider dropping out, right?
17.5 miles in, 2:39 on the clock, functioning quads:0.
Petersen's to Forbay: Still Cramping.
I'll be honest, it's Wednesday now while I'm writing this section (I started on Monday) and I don't recall this section all that well. It was difficult again, but I managed to keep going and push through.
And I began to notice something interesting in this section: there were still times where I just didn't feel like I could move. My quads and calves were still cramping horribly. Even so, I found that if I could just focus on three steps in, two steps out, I could actually move at a decent pace. In fact, it was almost as quick a pace as I maintained during the first part of the race. I also found that, as is the case with meditation, focusing on my breath is an excellent way to pull my focus away from anything else.
I could still feel the discomfort and seizing, it just didn't matter as much.
Out onto the Munger trail, and I knew I should really be pushing it again. I managed a solid 7:30-7:45 pace. Even so, I was passed on this section.
"How's it going?"
"Cramping"
"Oh, that's a tough way to run."
"Well, I've been running on it for 10 miles, so I'm used to it."
"Ha. Good luck!"
20.5 miles in, 3:09 Elapsed. No 4 hour marathon likely.
Forbay to Jay Cooke: Flat Trails.
Not much to say on this section. I knew I could finish at this point. All thoughts of dropping out were behind me. Now it was just a matter of keeping on. I hit a very decent pace on the dam, after devouring a pickle at the aid station. The cramps soon caught up again, and I stepped to the side of the double track cross country ski trail (to relieve myself) as another person passed.
At this point, I was out of all competition except the one with my self. Or so I thought.
During one particularly agonizing stretch of cramp-induced walking, a runner I had been swapping back and forth with the entire race passed me again.
"You're gonna pass me one more time, aren't you?"
I wasn't so sure, but he turned out to be prophetic.
22.9 miles in. 3:34 elapsed. Pickles consumed: 1.
Jay Cooke to Finish: Enter the Gnar.
Another aid station meant another pickle.
Across the Swinging Bridge! I'd been waiting for this the entire race, and now I found myself a little seasick, to be honest.
A brief bit of smooth, easy trail quickly gave way to remarkably gnarly single track along the St. Louis River. I slowed to a walk often in these last three miles, now counting down the tenths of a mile rather than focusing as much on my breath. When I did, though, I still managed to run at a normal pace, which is still remarkable to me.
I was passed by a couple runners in this section, though fewer than I expected. And I did, indeed, pass my trail buddy for a last time shortly before popping out to the Munger Trail again for the finishing "sprint."
26.2 miles completed, 4:11 elapsed. Marathons completed (total, not including ultras): 4.
Monday, June 6, 2016
Parkour and Trail Running: A Training Update
It's been a while. My posting always comes in waves.
I am coming off two very solid weeks of training for me, of 40 and 45 miles, respectively. I added in four honest workouts in those two weeks as well, along with two solid long runs. I can already tell that this week is likely to be much less intensive. I'm off to Duluth tomorrow, and I went for an hour-long bike ride (with a bit of a misadventure in the middle) instead of running today.
At the same time, I have, with my fiancee, been getting more into Parkour again. Lately this involves going to the local Parkour gym, which we are fortunate to have, three times a week. This gives us two classes per week, and one open gym session on Saturdays. We have been adding a short (15-minute) strength workout before or after each gym session as well, which in the short week and a half we have been doing it has already made a huge difference in our overall Parkour ability.
Better still, I've done two long runs in the last two weeks, each a bit over 15 miles. I ran at Afton a week ago, and ran from home this past weekend to cut down on the overall time my long run took. After all, I had to get to the Parkour gym by 1PM.
All in all, training has been going well. So well, in fact, that I have had less time to pause and take pictures, but I will post the few I've taken in any case.
I am coming off two very solid weeks of training for me, of 40 and 45 miles, respectively. I added in four honest workouts in those two weeks as well, along with two solid long runs. I can already tell that this week is likely to be much less intensive. I'm off to Duluth tomorrow, and I went for an hour-long bike ride (with a bit of a misadventure in the middle) instead of running today.
At the same time, I have, with my fiancee, been getting more into Parkour again. Lately this involves going to the local Parkour gym, which we are fortunate to have, three times a week. This gives us two classes per week, and one open gym session on Saturdays. We have been adding a short (15-minute) strength workout before or after each gym session as well, which in the short week and a half we have been doing it has already made a huge difference in our overall Parkour ability.
Better still, I've done two long runs in the last two weeks, each a bit over 15 miles. I ran at Afton a week ago, and ran from home this past weekend to cut down on the overall time my long run took. After all, I had to get to the Parkour gym by 1PM.
All in all, training has been going well. So well, in fact, that I have had less time to pause and take pictures, but I will post the few I've taken in any case.
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| A humid day at Minnehaha |
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| Happy Place |
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| Oh yeah, I took a trip up to Duluth in there too. |
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| Good morning, hometown. |
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
The Importance of Slowing Down
I like going fast.
I'm a runner: it goes with the territory.
But this past week, I was forced to slow down for two reasons. The first is that I was increasing my mileage rather drastically over my average for the past few weeks (about 25% or so). That necessitated me slowing down, particularly on my long run Saturday. The second happened today. I took my car in for service. When I do that, I walk back and forth (forth and back?) to the service station, about a mile and a half total, over streets I run on a daily basis.
There are a number of indications that slowing down has beneficial effects for runners. Running about 80% easy and 20% fast seems to be a solid ratio. Matt Fitzgerald has a book on the subject: 80/20 Running. I don't feel any need to go into that here.
For me, slowing down on Saturday meant I felt more open to slowing my pace, and even stopping, so that I could take pictures. The slower pace also meant that I noticed more minute details to take pictures of. All of a sudden, I noticed deer prints all over the forest floor.
I paused to take a picture of the trail's end.
I'm a runner: it goes with the territory.
But this past week, I was forced to slow down for two reasons. The first is that I was increasing my mileage rather drastically over my average for the past few weeks (about 25% or so). That necessitated me slowing down, particularly on my long run Saturday. The second happened today. I took my car in for service. When I do that, I walk back and forth (forth and back?) to the service station, about a mile and a half total, over streets I run on a daily basis.
There are a number of indications that slowing down has beneficial effects for runners. Running about 80% easy and 20% fast seems to be a solid ratio. Matt Fitzgerald has a book on the subject: 80/20 Running. I don't feel any need to go into that here.
For me, slowing down on Saturday meant I felt more open to slowing my pace, and even stopping, so that I could take pictures. The slower pace also meant that I noticed more minute details to take pictures of. All of a sudden, I noticed deer prints all over the forest floor.
I paused to take a picture of the trail's end.
I spotted growths of some sort of mushroom, I think they may be oyster mushrooms or a similar variety.
There had been a number of controlled burns in the area of Battle Creek Park, mostly burning downed trees. They were clearly recent, and had not been there the last time I ran in the area, but small flowers were already blooming in the burn scars.
Later on, in Battle Creek Park proper, I saw a large number of columbines leaning over the path.
As the run went on, my legs actually felt better. I ran more, and took fewer pictures. But I am glad I started off slowly.
Today, walking along sidewalks I normally run. This was somewhat of a re-revelation to me. I realized again what a beautiful neighborhood I live in. I stopped and listened to the birds. I stopped and looked at the churches. I gloried in the bluebird skies and cool morning temperatures.
I and I moved slowly home.
Monday, May 9, 2016
GoSpring Trail 10k
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| Looks like I'm excited. I'm really more apprehensive. Photo credit Jamison Swift. |
Once again, I was standing at the start line of a race, with my legs still somewhat shot from the week before. Once again, this was the idea.
This time, though, I was on familiar ground. While I wouldn't say I know the Battle Creek trails like the back of my hand yet, I run them fairly often, and know their character if nothing else. The primary aspects of that character are 1) double track XC ski trails and 2) lots of short, steep uphills and downhills.
As always, I had a few goals for this race. I always want to negative split, and it rarely happens, particularly in trail races. This time, I had an A goal of running splits of around 7 minutes or a bit under. My B goal was to finish in under 45 minutes (not generally a tall order for 10k for me, but this course creeps up on you). And, as always, my C goal was to finish. As it turns out, I did all three, finishing in just under 43 minutes, at 6:54 pace.
My warmup jogs let me know that my legs were not exactly fresh. I'd done a typical amount of running the week leading up to this one, including hills and surges with a fair number of miles thrown in. I had also done a strength workout on Thursday. Not the best way to prep for a race, but I was hoping it was a good way to get the most training benefit out of it.
As is typical in Minnesota races (or so I've noticed) nobody wanted to start out at the front, but as the countdown started, a pack moved up and I got swept up in the lead group. I stuck with them for, oh, 400 meters before realizing that probably wasn't a good idea and I let them go. I let the chase pack catch me up, and proceeded to chat my way up the first (and as it turns out biggest) hill of the 5k loop.
On the second mile, I swapped the lead in the chase group with a couple other runners, usually losing ground on the uphill and gaining it back as I recklessly through myself into the downhills and coasted the flats (I've gotten to the point where I can call 6:30s "coasting!"). But as we entered the third mile and the biggest downhill of the course, I left them behind for the last time.
I made a mistake here: I had anticipated that the course would be the same as the course for the 5 and 10k races that take place in October. In those, there had been a huge, steep hill around mile 3. They changed the course this time, leaving that hill out. Had I known, I might have gone harder on the uphills. But given the later stages of this race, I think it's a good thing I assumed the hill was still coming.
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| Cruising down a nicely woodchipped hill. Photo credit Jamison Swift |
I rolled through the lap at a tiny bit over 21 minutes, right where I was ideally hoping to be. The 5k runners gave a solid cheer as I passed by the start line (thanks!), and even better, I could see the runner in front of me. He must have dropped the pace a lot to come back to me, so I thought I could focus on reeling him in for the remainder of the race.
My pace lagged a bit in the second mile of the second lap, but the guy in front of me was still visible for the most part. I was, however, beginning to feel the race in my legs. Keeping the tempo up started to be a struggle, and I occasionally glanced over my shoulder to see if anybody was catching up.
Nobody was.
Entering the final mile, I was hurting, breathing hard. But I still thought I could catch the runner in front of me. I focused again on reeling him in, letting that pull me through the last section.
I think, though, that I must have been breathing loudly by this point, because he resisted all my efforts to close the remaining 8 second difference. I came in at 42:50 for 7th place over all, and 3rd in my age group.
All in all, another solid, early season race for me. I think these short (ish) races are helping my mental toughness. In my opinion, the 10k is one of the most difficult race distances from a mental standpoint. It's got nearly the speed of a 5k, but double the distance. All in all, a great test.
Monday, May 2, 2016
Embracing the Urban
After two full years, and a little more, trying to avoid the fact, I have this week decided to embrace that I am now an urban trail runner.
I cut my teeth running on trails in Duluth, Minnesota; Waterville, Maine: and Boulder, Colorado. Running trails in those smaller towns is easy. Duluth has literally hundreds of miles of trails in the city limits. Waterville is a town of 16,000 people, full of wilderness and trails to explore, and not too far from some of the best trails in New England. And Boulder is, well, Boulder. The trails their just begged you to run on them. They were steep, challenging, rocky, and majestic.
The trails around the Twin Cities, while respectable, tend to be a little more quirky and a little less continuous. Most days, the "trail" I run on is a path down the middle of Summit Avenue. It's only a trail in the sense that it is not paved.
My go-to weekend trails are the Mississippi River Gorge and Battle Creek Park.
The trails on the gorge are single track, very often technical, and periodically terrifying. They also tend to end with little or no warning. If you're lucky, they don't dead-end, and you can get back up to the bike path to continue on your run. The first time I ran these was in the dead of the coldest winter in recent memory, which made it easier and harder at the same time (easier because I could just run on the river if necessary, harder because, well, snow).
Battle Creek Park has a lot of double track, which is groomed for cross country skiing in the winter, and single track, which is maintained for mountain bikes. You can get more elevation gain there than you can just about anywhere else in the Cities, but the trails loop in small circles and it is easy to get disoriented. There are great views of the river and the St Paul skyline (such as it is) to be had from certain points in the run, but as anywhere in the Cities, it's hard to gain more than 125 feet at any one time.
Trails in the city: usually compact, often fairly arbitrary, generally quirky.
But they're fun. And you never know what you might see on them. So I'm going to start featuring some of the more interesting sights I see on my daily urban trails. Hopefully they will at least interest, and possibly even amuse.
My first selections come from this past Saturday:
I cut my teeth running on trails in Duluth, Minnesota; Waterville, Maine: and Boulder, Colorado. Running trails in those smaller towns is easy. Duluth has literally hundreds of miles of trails in the city limits. Waterville is a town of 16,000 people, full of wilderness and trails to explore, and not too far from some of the best trails in New England. And Boulder is, well, Boulder. The trails their just begged you to run on them. They were steep, challenging, rocky, and majestic.
The trails around the Twin Cities, while respectable, tend to be a little more quirky and a little less continuous. Most days, the "trail" I run on is a path down the middle of Summit Avenue. It's only a trail in the sense that it is not paved.
My go-to weekend trails are the Mississippi River Gorge and Battle Creek Park.
The trails on the gorge are single track, very often technical, and periodically terrifying. They also tend to end with little or no warning. If you're lucky, they don't dead-end, and you can get back up to the bike path to continue on your run. The first time I ran these was in the dead of the coldest winter in recent memory, which made it easier and harder at the same time (easier because I could just run on the river if necessary, harder because, well, snow).
Battle Creek Park has a lot of double track, which is groomed for cross country skiing in the winter, and single track, which is maintained for mountain bikes. You can get more elevation gain there than you can just about anywhere else in the Cities, but the trails loop in small circles and it is easy to get disoriented. There are great views of the river and the St Paul skyline (such as it is) to be had from certain points in the run, but as anywhere in the Cities, it's hard to gain more than 125 feet at any one time.
Trails in the city: usually compact, often fairly arbitrary, generally quirky.
But they're fun. And you never know what you might see on them. So I'm going to start featuring some of the more interesting sights I see on my daily urban trails. Hopefully they will at least interest, and possibly even amuse.
My first selections come from this past Saturday:
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| Sometimes (yearly in this case) you run into a race. The guy in first seemed to be wondering if anybody was going to go with him. |
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| Luckily found a heron. It didn't catch anything while I was watching. |
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| And geese. |
Sunday, April 24, 2016
A Reaction to Prince from a Minnesotan
I went for a run Friday.
This, by itself, is nothing unusual. In fact it would be far more unusual were I to not go for a run on a Friday. But of course it was an unusual Friday.
I had "Purple Rain" stuck in my head.
This is no surprise either: Prince had died the day before. Along with several thousand others, my fiancee and I had gone down to First Ave for The Current's impromptu tribute concert featuring local artists performing covers of their favorite Prince songs. Basically, it was the "Purple Rain" album plus a couple other tracks.
I noticed a lot of purple flowers. In fact, I was literally running through fields of purple flowers.
This is not unusual either. It's spring in the Twin Cities, and many, many spring flowers just so happen to be purple. This is true from the flowers planted in gardens to the ones that spring up of their own accord in lawns and parkland.
I will admit to being surprised, in fact stunned, by how much Prince's unexpected death affected me. Neither my parents nor my siblings were Prince fans. Sometimes we thought of him as a bit of a joke (particularly during his Symbol phase, though we did not know the why of it at the time).
But I do remember the first time I really, truly, heard Prince. My friend's sister, truthfully my friend herself, as she was only a year older, put on "Seven" and walked into the room singing it along with the CD. I was floored. I'd never heard anything quite like it.
It wasn't until I had left Minnesota for a decade or so and subsequently moved back that I really appreciated Prince. Living in the Cities, you always had this sense that Prince might just magically appear wherever you happened to be. You had this sense because it happened. He'd show up at Record Store Day, or at a club, or a show. He threw regular concerts at Paisley Park.
We always had plans to go to one of those, but it had not worked out so far.
When it comes down to it, that's the essence of why Prince's death had such an effect on us: Prince was unabashedly, proudly Minnesotan. In a state that is so often considered "flyover country," where the celebrities we produce so often flee, Prince came back and lived here. He supported the community in more ways than I probably know. He made donations, anonymously or semi-anonymously, to local organizations. He debuted his music on The Current, and was a member of the station himself.
He was present.
And in Minnesota, that means something.
So as I ran through the purple flowers, I thought "thank you, Prince. Thank you for the music. Thank you for the community. But most of all, thank you for being a Minnesotan."
We will miss you.
This, by itself, is nothing unusual. In fact it would be far more unusual were I to not go for a run on a Friday. But of course it was an unusual Friday.
I had "Purple Rain" stuck in my head.
This is no surprise either: Prince had died the day before. Along with several thousand others, my fiancee and I had gone down to First Ave for The Current's impromptu tribute concert featuring local artists performing covers of their favorite Prince songs. Basically, it was the "Purple Rain" album plus a couple other tracks.
I noticed a lot of purple flowers. In fact, I was literally running through fields of purple flowers.
This is not unusual either. It's spring in the Twin Cities, and many, many spring flowers just so happen to be purple. This is true from the flowers planted in gardens to the ones that spring up of their own accord in lawns and parkland.
I will admit to being surprised, in fact stunned, by how much Prince's unexpected death affected me. Neither my parents nor my siblings were Prince fans. Sometimes we thought of him as a bit of a joke (particularly during his Symbol phase, though we did not know the why of it at the time).
But I do remember the first time I really, truly, heard Prince. My friend's sister, truthfully my friend herself, as she was only a year older, put on "Seven" and walked into the room singing it along with the CD. I was floored. I'd never heard anything quite like it.
It wasn't until I had left Minnesota for a decade or so and subsequently moved back that I really appreciated Prince. Living in the Cities, you always had this sense that Prince might just magically appear wherever you happened to be. You had this sense because it happened. He'd show up at Record Store Day, or at a club, or a show. He threw regular concerts at Paisley Park.
We always had plans to go to one of those, but it had not worked out so far.
When it comes down to it, that's the essence of why Prince's death had such an effect on us: Prince was unabashedly, proudly Minnesotan. In a state that is so often considered "flyover country," where the celebrities we produce so often flee, Prince came back and lived here. He supported the community in more ways than I probably know. He made donations, anonymously or semi-anonymously, to local organizations. He debuted his music on The Current, and was a member of the station himself.
He was present.
And in Minnesota, that means something.
So as I ran through the purple flowers, I thought "thank you, Prince. Thank you for the music. Thank you for the community. But most of all, thank you for being a Minnesotan."
We will miss you.
Monday, April 18, 2016
Trail Mix 25k
I signed up for this race when I realized that, unfortunately, I had missed the window to sign up for the Zumbro 17 and it had filled up. I had heard the Trail Mix was a good, fast race. With the strength work I've been doing due to "Training for the New Alpinism" and our Parkour process, I found my pace increasing in my workouts and was curious what I could do for a 25k.
This was not any sort of goal race for me, so I trained straight through it. Tuesday, I ran a hill workout and did Parkour. Wednesday, I ran 7 miles, did a strength workout, and went to Parkour. I ran shorter the next couple days in the lead up to the race, but still wasn't exactly rested by the time race day arrived. A 50 hour workweek and a difficult week in other ways didn't help anything.
I did, though, have a plan for the race itself. I figured I could run around 7:40 pace for the first 12.5k lap, then speed up gradually through the second lap and see if I couldn't finish in under two hours. I chose 7:40 because that's about what I've been running on my easy runs down Summit lately. I knew this was going to be a difficult run for me, because I hadn't done many long runs to this point, and I hadn't even run the full distance yet (something I like to do before a run this short).
The race itself went pretty well.
After the initial blast off the start line, I quickly settled in to a slightly faster pace than I had anticipated. I fell in with a couple high-schoolers out for a long run, and talked for a few miles until they fell off the pace. 3.5 miles in, I hit the second aid station, having run 7:33 pace for the first section.
The second aid station was also the high point of the lap, and I took up with a group of runners at a slightly faster pace (7:20 or so) for this section. I still felt really strong and smooth, so I decided to go with it. It started to get hot by this point (I'd already taken my shirt off in the first 3 miles), and I was dousing myself in water at each aid station once I'd had a little (flat) coke and water.
I ran by the half-way aid station at a little over 58 minutes.
As you recall, my plan was to up the pace a little bit the second half of the race, but I started faster than I planned. I opted to try and push the pace just a bit, but not as much as I had originally planned, then hit it hard from the second aid station. For the first 3.5 miles of the second lap, I managed exactly 1 second per mile faster than the first time through this section.
I attempted to go hard from the second aid station again, managing the low-7s and high-6s for a short while. But once I got to about 12 miles, I started to really feel the training earlier in the week and the fact that I'd been running pretty hard for an hour and a half. At that point, it became a matter of just maintaining speed and trying not to fall off too much.
I pulled in to the finish in 1:56:23, for a significant PR and a slight negative split (or so the pace on my watch said).
All told, I'm pretty happy with it. For a start of the season test, off a relatively hard week of training, it went remarkably well. I made my goal of negative splits for each lap (again, barely), and I PRed in the 25k by something like 20 minutes.
I wish I'd had a little more time to hang out after the race, as I met some interesting other runners there that I would have liked to chat with more. But the day was just beginning, so I was off and on my way within 10 minutes of finishing.
Between that, and testing for Parkour the next day (yesterday as I write this), I'm beat.
This was not any sort of goal race for me, so I trained straight through it. Tuesday, I ran a hill workout and did Parkour. Wednesday, I ran 7 miles, did a strength workout, and went to Parkour. I ran shorter the next couple days in the lead up to the race, but still wasn't exactly rested by the time race day arrived. A 50 hour workweek and a difficult week in other ways didn't help anything.
I did, though, have a plan for the race itself. I figured I could run around 7:40 pace for the first 12.5k lap, then speed up gradually through the second lap and see if I couldn't finish in under two hours. I chose 7:40 because that's about what I've been running on my easy runs down Summit lately. I knew this was going to be a difficult run for me, because I hadn't done many long runs to this point, and I hadn't even run the full distance yet (something I like to do before a run this short).
The race itself went pretty well.
After the initial blast off the start line, I quickly settled in to a slightly faster pace than I had anticipated. I fell in with a couple high-schoolers out for a long run, and talked for a few miles until they fell off the pace. 3.5 miles in, I hit the second aid station, having run 7:33 pace for the first section.
The second aid station was also the high point of the lap, and I took up with a group of runners at a slightly faster pace (7:20 or so) for this section. I still felt really strong and smooth, so I decided to go with it. It started to get hot by this point (I'd already taken my shirt off in the first 3 miles), and I was dousing myself in water at each aid station once I'd had a little (flat) coke and water.
I ran by the half-way aid station at a little over 58 minutes.
As you recall, my plan was to up the pace a little bit the second half of the race, but I started faster than I planned. I opted to try and push the pace just a bit, but not as much as I had originally planned, then hit it hard from the second aid station. For the first 3.5 miles of the second lap, I managed exactly 1 second per mile faster than the first time through this section.
I attempted to go hard from the second aid station again, managing the low-7s and high-6s for a short while. But once I got to about 12 miles, I started to really feel the training earlier in the week and the fact that I'd been running pretty hard for an hour and a half. At that point, it became a matter of just maintaining speed and trying not to fall off too much.
I pulled in to the finish in 1:56:23, for a significant PR and a slight negative split (or so the pace on my watch said).
All told, I'm pretty happy with it. For a start of the season test, off a relatively hard week of training, it went remarkably well. I made my goal of negative splits for each lap (again, barely), and I PRed in the 25k by something like 20 minutes.
I wish I'd had a little more time to hang out after the race, as I met some interesting other runners there that I would have liked to chat with more. But the day was just beginning, so I was off and on my way within 10 minutes of finishing.
Between that, and testing for Parkour the next day (yesterday as I write this), I'm beat.
Saturday, March 19, 2016
Epic Phone Fail
Last week, G and I decided to take a last-minute trip up the Shore to get a relaxing weekend in. The family was busy, so we opted to stay in a lodge/resort a little north of Two Harbors and really treat ourselves for once. With the forecast calling for highs in the 50s-60s, I figured it would be a good weekend to get a few miles in on the Superior Hiking Trail.
Despite warnings of ice and deep snow over the ridge, I figured I'd be all right with some screws in my shoes. I always had been before. So Saturday morning, I packed up my water, phone, and a couple snacks in my UD AK Race Vest, drove the mile or so up the road to Gooseberry (start of the Superior 100), and took off up the trail.
I realized early on that this was not going to be a fast run, and that there was no avoiding picking my way around the ice patches that covered the trail. But it was a gorgeous blue-bird day in March in Minnesota, I was getting warm in my long sleeves and capris, and there was no way I was going to turn around even if my pace was hovering around the 12 minute mile area.
A mile or so in, I reached an area where the meltwater had completely covered the trail, which was cambered sideways towards the river, and had frozen the night before.
I grabbed on to a small tree on the uphill side of the trail, planning to pick my way from tree to tree across the short stretch of ice. But the second tree was just inches out of my reach. I decided to go for it, only to have the second tree move, landing my flat on my back.
That second "tree" was actually a tree branch that had improbably fallen at a straight vertical angle, flush to the ice. When I grabbed for it, it swung out of the way, leaving me sliding down the ice on my back before I knew what was happening. It was one of those "wait, the sky's not supposed to be there" moments of utter confusion.
Picking myself up, and checking my elbow to be sure there wasn't any significant injury, I continued up the trail to the Upper Falls.
The Falls were beautiful, but the light wasn't right for a picture.
Which, as it turns out, I would not have been able to take any way. Another mile up the road, I opened my pack to take out my phone, planning to take a picture of the Lake, and it crunched, audibly.
The screen on my 3-week-old phone was, in a word, powdered.
That sucked the joy and the wind out of my run. I opted to head back down to the main falls area and finish the run, which ended up being about 3 miles.
The rest of the day was fantastic: we walked the breakwater in Two Harbors, got a massage, toured Castle Danger Brewery, and ended out with a fire, which we somehow managed to light in the middle of a two-inch deep puddle.
The phone itself was a complete loss, but Apple replaced it for 40% of the cost of a new phone, which is better than it could be.
Still, it set the record for my most expensive run ever.
Despite warnings of ice and deep snow over the ridge, I figured I'd be all right with some screws in my shoes. I always had been before. So Saturday morning, I packed up my water, phone, and a couple snacks in my UD AK Race Vest, drove the mile or so up the road to Gooseberry (start of the Superior 100), and took off up the trail.
I realized early on that this was not going to be a fast run, and that there was no avoiding picking my way around the ice patches that covered the trail. But it was a gorgeous blue-bird day in March in Minnesota, I was getting warm in my long sleeves and capris, and there was no way I was going to turn around even if my pace was hovering around the 12 minute mile area.
A mile or so in, I reached an area where the meltwater had completely covered the trail, which was cambered sideways towards the river, and had frozen the night before.
I grabbed on to a small tree on the uphill side of the trail, planning to pick my way from tree to tree across the short stretch of ice. But the second tree was just inches out of my reach. I decided to go for it, only to have the second tree move, landing my flat on my back.
That second "tree" was actually a tree branch that had improbably fallen at a straight vertical angle, flush to the ice. When I grabbed for it, it swung out of the way, leaving me sliding down the ice on my back before I knew what was happening. It was one of those "wait, the sky's not supposed to be there" moments of utter confusion.
Picking myself up, and checking my elbow to be sure there wasn't any significant injury, I continued up the trail to the Upper Falls.
The Falls were beautiful, but the light wasn't right for a picture.
Which, as it turns out, I would not have been able to take any way. Another mile up the road, I opened my pack to take out my phone, planning to take a picture of the Lake, and it crunched, audibly.
The screen on my 3-week-old phone was, in a word, powdered.
That sucked the joy and the wind out of my run. I opted to head back down to the main falls area and finish the run, which ended up being about 3 miles.
The rest of the day was fantastic: we walked the breakwater in Two Harbors, got a massage, toured Castle Danger Brewery, and ended out with a fire, which we somehow managed to light in the middle of a two-inch deep puddle.
The phone itself was a complete loss, but Apple replaced it for 40% of the cost of a new phone, which is better than it could be.
Still, it set the record for my most expensive run ever.
Friday, March 4, 2016
An Average, Everyday Run
This morning, while getting ready to go out for yet another base mileage run, I realized something: while I often write about my big runs, the long runs and the races, I have never written about an average, everyday base run unless something extraordinary happens. These runs make up probably three-quarters of my daily runs, but I have never written about one from start to finish, with all the little quirks and nuances that go with them. On thinking of this, I realized that this would fit my general goal for the year of practicing mindfulness, being present and aware in the moment. So I set out this morning with the goal of doing just that.
The irony, of course, is that by focusing so much on what I might write in this post I was probably more distracted and less mindful on this run that usual. I hope it was worth it.
Today was like many days, running-wise. I had a little more trouble waking up than usual. My training has again kicked up (it seems like that's always the case), and I have stayed up later than usual several times in the last week. After my normal morning rituals of meditation, writing, and catching up on the morning work details, my thoughts turn to my run.
With the additional mileage, the strength workouts, and the addition of Parkour to my workout routine, I am carrying some residual fatigue this morning. I've already run a hill workout and a longer base miles run this week, and my legs can feel it, so I leave the length of this run open-ended. It's about 30 degrees out and gloomy, chilly but not too cold, and typical for March in Minnesota. Almost two decades of running has my clothing dialed in. Tights, wool socks, a single, light layer on top, gloves, a thin hat, and the most recent addition: arm warmers. I have had one too many runs where my arms end up numb to leave these behind any more.
The ritual begins: start the GPS on my watch, grab the key, tie the shoes. Head out the back door and out the gate onto the streets.
From my house, the first mile or so of my run is always on sidewalks. Wherever I live, this is always the case. I use these minutes as a warm up, though they are actually one of the fastest-paced portions of my run. However tired my legs may be, within 5 minutes or so they start to loosen up as I take a route I've run half a thousand times before. Turn on to Summit, where the houses are massive. Past the Governor's mansion ("Does he actually live there?" I wonder for the hundredth time), and, finally, on to the path.
The "path" is in reality the strip of grass and trees that runs down the center of Summit. It's my bread-and-butter route, and the first section is my favorite: dual rows of lilac trees, a bane of mine when they bloom, but now bare, line the way, occasionally forcing me to duck a branch as I run between them. In the winter, cardinals use this as a roosting spot, and the flash of their red feathers lends a spark of color in an otherwise drab winter world.
Today, the path between the trees is icy, and I have to pick my way down the trail. I could wear my winter shoes, which have sheet metal screws in their soles for traction, but I know from yesterday that this is the only section of ice on the run. That, and a winter's worth of running has worn the screws to the point of irrelevance.
Only one cardinal today.
On down the center of Summit, and up a shallow hill beneath some evergreen trees. The stoplights on this road come exactly every half mile, a fact I use to my advantage when I am doing interval workouts, but today is an irritant. My pace, which sits between 7:20 and 7:40 on the pavement, has dropped to around 8 minutes per mile, a comfortable, natural pace that I can sustain for hours.
I check worriedly for my house key. It feel out of my pocket a few months ago, on a cold, rainy run on this same route. Ever since then, I have been somewhat paranoid. Whew, it's there. But my drawstring has come untied. Fix that, without breaking stride. Continue running.
Summit is one of the most popular running routes in the Cities, and I can count on one hand the runs that I have not seen another runner. I wonder, though, why so many run on the sidewalks when this strip in the center is so much more pleasant. This is especially pronounced in the winter, where I will often find my footprints from the day before undisturbed in the snow. Today, though, the first runner I see (older, wearing a yellow windbreaker and flannel pajama pants) comes towards me on the same center path.
"Morning."
And on we go.
I have had people ask me, more than a few times, "do you run with music?"
It seems a silly question to me. I presume they are asking "do you run while listening to music, on headphones?" The answer to that is unequivocally "No." But why should that mean I don't run with music. I always have a song going through my head when I run. Today, it's "Bouncin Round the Room," by Phish. It's a song I haven't listened to since college, and I have no clue where it came from today. But there it is: the never-ending round running through my head.
Another stoplight, and then it's on with my run. The path takes a downhill slant, past the college where my parents and my brother went to school. Where my parents got married. Where I almost went. Not for the first time, I wonder if I made the right decision.
I decide to turn around at the next stoplight. No matter if my run is an out-and-back, I always make a tiny loop when I turn around. Sometimes it's around a tree, others a post. Even a man-hole cover will suffice if there's no other landmark. Here, there's a young evergreen that provides a nice looping point to head back up the hill.
Going back the other way, I see differently than I do on the way out. I notice different things. The hill seems a lot steeper on the way back up, though it would not even qualify as a hill in Colorado. I run in a slightly different track, just to mix things up.
I pass my favorite tree. I only really notice it on the way back. It's a big evergreen, with conveniently-large, and sparse, branches poking out at all angles. Some days, I'll stop and do a mini strength workout. I'll do pull-ups on one branch, rows on another, or if I'm ambitious, I'll scramble up as high as I can go. In this tree, I can make it 25 feet or so before the branches start to taper to questionable thickness. Today, though, I already have a strength workout planned for later, so I keep running.
Back towards the lilacs, I decide to skip the ice, and run between the trees and the street. It's off-camber, but preferable to slipping and possible injury. At yet another stoplight, I jump, grab a crossbar, and do pull-ups until the light turns green. I never used to do this, but it has recently become a ritual for me. It gets some odd looks, but I get a lot of those.
On the sidewalks again, I turn off Summit sooner than I need to. I don't know why I started doing this. I probably just did so one day, to avoid an obstruction on the sidewalk, and I got stuck. I simply jog over one block and back onto the same heading.
In the last mile, I decide to throw in some surges. Form intervals. For 15-30 seconds, I drop the pace to a near-sprint, stretching out my legs and covering ground. These are not to get a workout, just to work on my running efficiency and keep the spring in my legs. Three to four of those, and I'm almost home.
I have a rock stuck in the treads of my shoe. Every other step is accompanied by a small, sharp grating sound. I last a half-block before I have to stop and dig it out. Stubborn little thing requires a stick to pry it out of there. But I am back.
Stop the GPS, walk through the gate, and move on with the day.
And, that's an average, every day run. Stylistically, that's a lot like how my mind works during a run. Sometimes, it goes on long, abstract ramblings. Other times, it's short at to the point.
I hope you enjoyed it, or at least found it interesting.
The irony, of course, is that by focusing so much on what I might write in this post I was probably more distracted and less mindful on this run that usual. I hope it was worth it.
Today was like many days, running-wise. I had a little more trouble waking up than usual. My training has again kicked up (it seems like that's always the case), and I have stayed up later than usual several times in the last week. After my normal morning rituals of meditation, writing, and catching up on the morning work details, my thoughts turn to my run.
With the additional mileage, the strength workouts, and the addition of Parkour to my workout routine, I am carrying some residual fatigue this morning. I've already run a hill workout and a longer base miles run this week, and my legs can feel it, so I leave the length of this run open-ended. It's about 30 degrees out and gloomy, chilly but not too cold, and typical for March in Minnesota. Almost two decades of running has my clothing dialed in. Tights, wool socks, a single, light layer on top, gloves, a thin hat, and the most recent addition: arm warmers. I have had one too many runs where my arms end up numb to leave these behind any more.
The ritual begins: start the GPS on my watch, grab the key, tie the shoes. Head out the back door and out the gate onto the streets.
From my house, the first mile or so of my run is always on sidewalks. Wherever I live, this is always the case. I use these minutes as a warm up, though they are actually one of the fastest-paced portions of my run. However tired my legs may be, within 5 minutes or so they start to loosen up as I take a route I've run half a thousand times before. Turn on to Summit, where the houses are massive. Past the Governor's mansion ("Does he actually live there?" I wonder for the hundredth time), and, finally, on to the path.
 |
| The ice patch in the lilacs. |
Today, the path between the trees is icy, and I have to pick my way down the trail. I could wear my winter shoes, which have sheet metal screws in their soles for traction, but I know from yesterday that this is the only section of ice on the run. That, and a winter's worth of running has worn the screws to the point of irrelevance.
Only one cardinal today.
On down the center of Summit, and up a shallow hill beneath some evergreen trees. The stoplights on this road come exactly every half mile, a fact I use to my advantage when I am doing interval workouts, but today is an irritant. My pace, which sits between 7:20 and 7:40 on the pavement, has dropped to around 8 minutes per mile, a comfortable, natural pace that I can sustain for hours.
I check worriedly for my house key. It feel out of my pocket a few months ago, on a cold, rainy run on this same route. Ever since then, I have been somewhat paranoid. Whew, it's there. But my drawstring has come untied. Fix that, without breaking stride. Continue running.
Summit is one of the most popular running routes in the Cities, and I can count on one hand the runs that I have not seen another runner. I wonder, though, why so many run on the sidewalks when this strip in the center is so much more pleasant. This is especially pronounced in the winter, where I will often find my footprints from the day before undisturbed in the snow. Today, though, the first runner I see (older, wearing a yellow windbreaker and flannel pajama pants) comes towards me on the same center path."Morning."
And on we go.
I have had people ask me, more than a few times, "do you run with music?"
It seems a silly question to me. I presume they are asking "do you run while listening to music, on headphones?" The answer to that is unequivocally "No." But why should that mean I don't run with music. I always have a song going through my head when I run. Today, it's "Bouncin Round the Room," by Phish. It's a song I haven't listened to since college, and I have no clue where it came from today. But there it is: the never-ending round running through my head.
Another stoplight, and then it's on with my run. The path takes a downhill slant, past the college where my parents and my brother went to school. Where my parents got married. Where I almost went. Not for the first time, I wonder if I made the right decision.
I decide to turn around at the next stoplight. No matter if my run is an out-and-back, I always make a tiny loop when I turn around. Sometimes it's around a tree, others a post. Even a man-hole cover will suffice if there's no other landmark. Here, there's a young evergreen that provides a nice looping point to head back up the hill.
Going back the other way, I see differently than I do on the way out. I notice different things. The hill seems a lot steeper on the way back up, though it would not even qualify as a hill in Colorado. I run in a slightly different track, just to mix things up.
I pass my favorite tree. I only really notice it on the way back. It's a big evergreen, with conveniently-large, and sparse, branches poking out at all angles. Some days, I'll stop and do a mini strength workout. I'll do pull-ups on one branch, rows on another, or if I'm ambitious, I'll scramble up as high as I can go. In this tree, I can make it 25 feet or so before the branches start to taper to questionable thickness. Today, though, I already have a strength workout planned for later, so I keep running.
Back towards the lilacs, I decide to skip the ice, and run between the trees and the street. It's off-camber, but preferable to slipping and possible injury. At yet another stoplight, I jump, grab a crossbar, and do pull-ups until the light turns green. I never used to do this, but it has recently become a ritual for me. It gets some odd looks, but I get a lot of those.
On the sidewalks again, I turn off Summit sooner than I need to. I don't know why I started doing this. I probably just did so one day, to avoid an obstruction on the sidewalk, and I got stuck. I simply jog over one block and back onto the same heading.
In the last mile, I decide to throw in some surges. Form intervals. For 15-30 seconds, I drop the pace to a near-sprint, stretching out my legs and covering ground. These are not to get a workout, just to work on my running efficiency and keep the spring in my legs. Three to four of those, and I'm almost home.
I have a rock stuck in the treads of my shoe. Every other step is accompanied by a small, sharp grating sound. I last a half-block before I have to stop and dig it out. Stubborn little thing requires a stick to pry it out of there. But I am back.
Stop the GPS, walk through the gate, and move on with the day.
And, that's an average, every day run. Stylistically, that's a lot like how my mind works during a run. Sometimes, it goes on long, abstract ramblings. Other times, it's short at to the point.
I hope you enjoyed it, or at least found it interesting.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Transitions
 |
| I saw this poor crow on Summit one morning. I wonder how he ended up sitting so perfectly. |
The last two months have been a transition period for me.
First, it has literally been the transition period of my training. I have been using the training log from "Training for the New Alpinism." While not specifically running-oriented, there are a number of aspects I like about it. First, it breaks everything down into sections (Transition, Base, Specific, and Peak). There is an annual training plan involved, but it is flexible enough that I feel that I can adapt it to whatever situation comes up in my training.
The transition period has been one of general strength and general fitness. I have gotten noticeably stronger, and trimmer, since starting the transition period. I don't think that I have lost weight, but I certainly have lost the (admittedly limited) fat around my waist. I have not upped my running volume as much as I had originally planned, only reaching 30 or so miles per week, but I have increased it by about 50% over the coasting training I had been doing up until January. And this is with a hiatus at the beginning of February when I pulled my groin (apparently).
The second transition has been into Parkour again. For the month of January, we went once a week, for an hour or so. Into February, we entered a new class level, and started going twice a week, and occasionally for longer periods of time. Now, with the class schedule changing a little, it looks like we might push that up again to three times per week, depending on how we feel. Again, I fully believe that Parkour makes me a better, or at least more injury-proof, trail runner. It increases my strength and agility, and at the same time gives me more options to get around any obstacles that may come up.
I may have to do some obstacle races this year.
Moving on into base training, it's time to focus more on time on my feet, and getting 1-2 specific workouts in each week. I think Fartlek runs and LT runs are again going to be my staples. And I will certainly be throwing some hill workouts into the mix.
More to come, certainly. I hope to have more pictures, and maybe a video or two, in the coming months.
Friday, February 19, 2016
An Update
 |
| Last Ice Beard of the season (probably) |
I have been quite awful about keeping up with this blog lately. Not surprisingly, this has coincided with a bit of a reduction in my running, due to several factors.
The primary motivating factor happened several weeks ago now. I recently started in on Parkour training again, in addition to my running and climbing (climbing has fallen off lately, but that's ok). After a few weeks of this, I got a sudden, sharp pain in my groin that would not go away. Knowing my family history, I assumed it was a hernia and stopped running.
Sure enough, I went to the doctor, and he found a (small) hernia. He said it was tiny, and didn't necessarily need any surgery, or even a reduction in my current workout routine. Nonetheless, running was pretty uncomfortable for a week or so, and I dropped off considerably for a while.
I made an appointment with a surgeon, to see what the benefits and drawbacks of getting surgery immediately (read: in the off-season) might be. Lo and behold, at the appointment, the surgeon found no sign of a hernia at all! I was feeling better, and so tried to get back into running a full schedule again.
 |
| Pike Island Skiing. Snow's gone now. |
Even if it doesn't, I enjoy Parkour too much to quit.
Did I mention I also do two strength workouts a week?
With all of that, my running workouts have suffered a bit, both in distance and in intensity. But now my body seems to be adjusting to the increased workload, and I'm hoping that in the next few weeks I can begin to up my running time again. At the very least, I need to start getting in a longish run on Saturday morning, and a fartlek or similar sometime during the week.
 |
| As is this snow. |
Monday, January 25, 2016
The Value of Adversity
By just about anybody's definition, this week has been cold. Monday through Wednesday, my runs took place in below zero temperatures. After a brief respite on Thursday and Friday, it dropped again this morning, with a 1:45 run in 0 degree temperatures with a 15 mph wind.
I ran outside every day this week. It took a bit of mental effort each day to get out the door into the cold, but I didn't regret it once.
Part of that is simply that I know how to dress for this weather. As my friend's dad, and others, have said: "There's no such thing as bad weather, just insufficient clothing." I've heard it with "preparation" in place of "clothing" as well, but the sentiment remains the same. As long as you're ready for it, cold weather doesn't have to force you indoors.
Besides that mental push to get out the door, though, I have always found that I thrive in this sort of weather. Once I get out the door, the cold ceases to be a barrier and becomes more of an adversary. It gives me something to run against, and I always feel great when I come back in from the cold.
The other aspect of it is, for me, the cold is beautiful Wednesday morning, in 0-degree temperatures, in the space of ten steps, I saw three bright red male cardinals and a brilliant Blue Jay in a stretch of Lilac trees I run through most days.
Today was arguably the biggest test. I woke up to 0 degree temperatures with -20 windchill, with my longest run yet of the training cycle scheduled for the morning. I will admit to being a little apprehensive, despite the successful week of training in the cold. My prior cold outings had been less than 45 minutes. Extending that out by an hour seemed daunting at best. I gave myself the option of cutting the run short if I decided it was too much.
Quite the opposite happened. Today was my best run so far. While I was initially sore from the week, and from ice skating the night before (those stabilizer muscles are getting a workout), I felt stronger as the run went on. A bit more than an hour in, I had fully honed in on the elusive "zone," and was actually picking up the pace at the end of the run.
Sometimes that happens. And sometimes life throws a wrench your way, as it would later in the week.
I ran outside every day this week. It took a bit of mental effort each day to get out the door into the cold, but I didn't regret it once.
Part of that is simply that I know how to dress for this weather. As my friend's dad, and others, have said: "There's no such thing as bad weather, just insufficient clothing." I've heard it with "preparation" in place of "clothing" as well, but the sentiment remains the same. As long as you're ready for it, cold weather doesn't have to force you indoors.
Besides that mental push to get out the door, though, I have always found that I thrive in this sort of weather. Once I get out the door, the cold ceases to be a barrier and becomes more of an adversary. It gives me something to run against, and I always feel great when I come back in from the cold.
The other aspect of it is, for me, the cold is beautiful Wednesday morning, in 0-degree temperatures, in the space of ten steps, I saw three bright red male cardinals and a brilliant Blue Jay in a stretch of Lilac trees I run through most days.
Today was arguably the biggest test. I woke up to 0 degree temperatures with -20 windchill, with my longest run yet of the training cycle scheduled for the morning. I will admit to being a little apprehensive, despite the successful week of training in the cold. My prior cold outings had been less than 45 minutes. Extending that out by an hour seemed daunting at best. I gave myself the option of cutting the run short if I decided it was too much.
Quite the opposite happened. Today was my best run so far. While I was initially sore from the week, and from ice skating the night before (those stabilizer muscles are getting a workout), I felt stronger as the run went on. A bit more than an hour in, I had fully honed in on the elusive "zone," and was actually picking up the pace at the end of the run.
Sometimes that happens. And sometimes life throws a wrench your way, as it would later in the week.
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