When you just know…

No other landscape has had such a profound impact on me.  Nothing calms my soul, bringing up a welling in the eyes of just being.  The quietness, the calmness, the supposedly thin air that always fills me full of energy.  The aroma of the forest as the temperature rises in the early afternoon.  I have never felt so complete, calm, happy, in the moment.  That’s what occurred two weekends ago and always has been that way from the first time I set foot in them as a child.  Although enjoyment is found in all landscapes, none can compare when I’m in the mountains.

I’ve ran, hiked, backpacked, driven, and even just sat from a perch looking down on an alpine lake encircled by firs.  Alone…  Alpenglow enhancing the morning landscape.  The distant sound of a rock free of its once icy embrace, tumbling down a steep slope as rays of sunshine warm the air.  It’s not about what I do while I’m there, but just about being “there”.  Nothing else matters.  Nothing.

John Muir once said, “Going to the mountains is going home.”.  For me, truer words have never been spoken…

Live Life

It’s been a very long time, since I’ve put any words down.  But, that doesn’t mean the mind isn’t constantly flooded with thoughts about life—the most random an unrelated things. I think about where I’m at in my life and where I’ve been.  And, the future hangs closely and vividly in my dreams and has for what seems like most of my life.

The overriding image is of mountains—with abundant trees, crisp morning air, cold pre-dusk, blue skies during a clear late afternoon, the occasional damp, musty smell of freshly fallen leaves, floating crystals of snow drifting through the air in the low-angled sunlight of a new day, the crunch of old snow, the increasing tension that flows into the foot as one walks across snow and it compacts.  The thoughts never cease and become more prominent and frequent as the years pass by

.

A home surrounded by mountains with an east facing kitchen to catch the first bright rays of sunshine each morning.  A west facing porch to enjoy the fading light of each day as the last light of the day creates a silhouette of the mountain ridges.  Simply, a place to enjoy each day of life, to be enjoyed as slowly as a dripping faucet can fill an ocean.

These images have been etched into my mind over a lifetime as a chisel does to granite.

In my garage sit two large plastic tubs with climbing and backpacking gear.  Each time I open them up, the smells and the feel of each item take me to all the places traveled.  And, I’m going there again, soon, this time with my Son.  And, not a day goes by without the thoughts of being back in the wilderness fills my mind.

As I grew up, the prominent experiences were associated with vacations, whether it was with my Grandparents or my Mom.   I cannot recall one birthday gift after all of these years, but I can vividly recall every trip taken—experiences…

A few years ago, I made a commitment to myself to create a similar tradition with my Son.  We’ve backpacked together, ridden roller coasters, spent countless hours each day on the broad interstates and desolate state highways towards our next destination, and stood in the bottom of the Grand Canyon as I witnessed my Son’s desire to “touch the water” of the icy, cold waters of the Colorado River as the long-angled sun cast yellow and orange hues of light in every direction.  And, when asked about one particular trip where we traveled through New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado, he declares his favorite night was under a canopy of stars at 10,000 feet eating his first smores by a campfire—not in a hotel room.

Often, I mention how connected I feel to my own mortality.  Yes, it’s a morbid thought and I pray almost daily for the opportunity to endure another lifetime.  I’ve read that until a person has surrendered themselves to that simplistic, final outcome, one cannot, truly, begin to live.  Some refer to it as an awakening.  I prefer to just describe it no longer being asleep as many unfortunate souls tend to be blissfully unaware.  I feel more alive than ever.

And, those memories, those experiences created with my Son?  They’re more for him than for me.  Something for him to, hopefully, recall and reminisce when he has his own children and I no longer with him in this physical world.  Memories that no one can ever take from a person, but ones that keep us close to those we love. 

First few seconds...

Pulling Weeds

This past weekend was bittersweet.  Over the past few years, I have become less focused on ultra-running.  The only exception is when I trained for Ozark 100 when I went into the race in the absolute best shape of my life. Unfortunately, I experienced clouded vision after sunset, had to succumb to walking, and struggled to maintain a 3mph pace.  It was frustrating and, after several months of processing my thoughts, having a pacer to run directly in front of me for those remaining miles would have been ideal and extremely helpful.  But, I have a mindset of self-reliance in races which conflicts with what would have been an obvious solution.  And, although, there is definitely “unfinished business” on those trails driven mostly by ego, my heart tells me it may be time to let it go…

And, before this past weekend, I had a few talks with Olga about how this race may very well be my last ultra-distance event, although, barely, at 50k.  It wasn’t a race I trained for specifically, but, rather to be a methodical stepping stone as I worked my way up to a goal race in late April.  But, I recently decided against the April race simply because I would rather do something more personally meaningful—enjoying a long weekend with my wife on a non-running related vacation.  You see, when I first began running ultras, it seemed like a cool thing to do and was fun to watch the expressions on peoples’ faces when they realized just how many miles were involved.  And, I enjoyed that attention for many years.  But, during the last few years, I try to avoid those conversations.  Even this weekend during the race, I caught up to one of the lead 25k runners in the middle of my first loop and had a brief chat.  He asked what distance I was running and I told him—“50k”.  His response was, “have you run that distance before?”.   I paused and quietly responded with hesitance, “yeah.”.   And, then, I continued on my way.  A few years ago, I would have divulged all kinds of data and enumerated every distance category I’ve completed.  But, now, it doesn’t seem necessary or important.

When I crossed the finish line on Saturday, I had given my best and that’s what I told Olga—“that’s all I had…”.  Those moments when I just wanted to walk or slow down, I kept telling myself “you have to give an honest effort because this just might be your last ultra”.  I was more interested in talking to my son and having him tell me how well his first trail 10k had gone, talking to John Sharp and him sharing the colorful details of his race, and giving my wife a kiss.  That’s what was important.  And, this is exactly where I want to be right now.

I don’t want to wake up at 5am on almost every weekend to run 20 to 30 miles.  I’d rather be in my yard on my hands and knees in the flower beds pulling weeds for a few hours, which is exactly what I did on Sunday morning.  And, as strange as it sounds, it was meditative, similar to how running can be at times.  I will still run and enjoy the training process and ensuing race, but, most likely, just a lot smaller dose of the running part.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t get to enjoy those quiet mornings listening to the birds sing while I’m pulling weeds.

A Different Viewpoint

It's amazing what you notice when on a casual hike in the woods.  Today was one of those days...

Running through the Fog to Clarity

I was running in a westward direction, a faint sliver of orange hue could be seen through the trees on the distant horizon.  As I crossed a paved road, the final signs of the day quickly faded into the night and a never before experienced circumstance quickly consumed my thoughts.  Why did everything look so foggy?  It was as if I was wearing a pair of glasses covered in a faint tint of milky opaqueness.  The occasional reflective ribbons marking the trail were so bright that they were blinding and encapsulated in bright halos. What the hell was going on?

The few weeks leading up to the race were full of vivid dreams filled with anxiety filled nightmares. Mostly about not being able to find my way to the first aid station due to a train derailment.  Or, leading the race just a mile from the finish while I tried hopelessly to coax one of the runner's crew to give me the correct directions on the unmarked course.  I had never felt so much anxiety going into a race.  Maybe, it had to do with how well I trained, how honest I was with myself in training, only missing a few runs due to a bad virus that lasted a week during one of my peak weeks.  This was to be my last 100 mile race.  A means to put an exclamation point on this year's hard work and honest effort in training.  Why can't I discern the rocks from the leaves, or the boggy trail sections from hard ground?

I lay on the couch this evening, running scenarios through my head, conveniently forgetting about the inability to clearly see details on the trail.  Even the very powerful headlamp I wore couldn't cut through the "fog".  In fact, it had a similar effect of using bright headlamps while driving a car down a foggy highway.  My legs were slightly sore, but nothing concerning.  I expected this, I planned on this, I knew I must accept the discomfort and continue to run.  Running downhill wasn't an option on the treacherous trail, flat sections magnified my insecurity of face planting unexpectedly, running uphill at mile 65 was my only option to salvage the lack of forward progress--and so I ran uphill.

When I first began ultrarunning, my goal was to, eventually, run Western States.  Through various selection process changes ("2x Loser" rule, after I became a 2x Loser, being replaced with a lottery system), the goal was extended beyond my original expectations.  And, so, I bided my time by running more races and requalifying for the lottery each year. Last year, I purposefully didn't run a qualifier and made peace with the race.  Running Western States makes you no less of a trail runner than someone who hasn't run Boston.  No more than a mountain climber who has never sumitted Everest.  Or a backpacker that has never through-hiked the PCT or AT.  Somewhere along the way, I believe, I lost my way, my purpose, the motivation for running long distance races, namely 100 milers.  Maybe, once I get to the 6/10's of a mile road section leading into the aid station, I'll be able to run.

Over the past few years, I've struggled with running 100 milers.  Somewhere, in the back of my mind, my conscience was telling me I had to become successful at the distance to be validated as, not only a runner, but a person.  "Walking it in" isn't in my nature and I quit many races when that was the only choice.  Putting the human body through the stressors of 100 miles isn't healthy.  I find it abusive to the body.  No amount of discussion will change my mind.  From a psychological viewpoint, there seems to be a certain level of codependent cycle in the sport.  I see no "fun" in running 100 miles and it doesn't validate who I am as a person.  It doesn't make an individual superior to those that run lesser distances or even those who don't run at all.  Before you know it, you can spend many years chasing after a fools errand--"maybe if just did 'x' next time, I'll have a better race", "if I don't run these distances anymore who will be my friends?", "there's a race coming up and all my friends will be there, I need to sign up so I don't miss out on all the 'fun' ".

One thing is certain, however.  It has taught me what is important in life--my family, friends, relationships, hobbies, and the search for improving oneself as an individual--enlightenment, if you will.  The fog is getting thicker and now that I'm on the road section, my most trusted headlamp with fresh batteries in it is flickering and randomly dimming.  If it goes out, I'll just listen to my footfalls and if I hear leaves, I'll know I'm not on the road.

What will others think if I don't finish this race on my third attempt?  Why should I care?  This is my race, my life, my time, my reasons.  The voice quietens...

As I arrived within sight of the aid station, the volunteers began banging on pots and pans and ringing a cowbell, but I continued to walk, unmotivated.  The closer I got the the aid station, the more blinding the lights became.  Once there, I, litererally could only make out the silouettes of the several volunteers as I held my hand up in front of my face to block the blinding lights. And there was one gigantic halo surround the entire aid station.  I told them I could not see details and that my vision was cloudy and worsening.  One man looked at my eyes from afar and said there was a whitish haze on my eyes.  For the first time in 76 miles, I sat down.

It's time to break the cycle and it's far from easy.  There is ego involved.  The voice inside my head telling me "if only...".  Running 100 miles isn't my strength and I've tired of trying to convince myself, otherwise.  It's not easy and will be a process.  But, I'm grateful for the life lessons it has taught me in the process.  It is much more important to focus on the things in life that matter and bring me satisfaction.  Those recent weekend mornings during my taper when Olga and I, instead of dragging ourselves out of bed for a long run, went to a local coffee shop, sat outside under a big Oak tree, talked and watched the sunrise. A lot of life has passed chasing after these so-called running goals and it's time to begin enjoying the simple things, not necessarily "again", but with a renewed perspective.

I approached the cabin and saw the lights were on, meaning Olga was there.  I walked up to the door opened it and stuck my head inside, "please don't hate me...".  It was warm inside where Olga was sitting on the bed in her PJs.  She looked warmly at me and, in that instant, I knew everything would be ok.  Together, we have a life together and a great one at that, and, without the interference of an endeavor which has torn at us in recent years.  The best part of that weekend was a hot shower and a full night's sleep.  And, when I awoke the next morning, my vision had, finally, returned.  Again, it's the simple things and nothing else matters...

Contemplation of the Mind

Time is cheap.  Or, so we think in our younger years.  But, with the passage of time, we truly begin experiencing life and gaining priceless wisdom absent in our youth, although provided abundantly by our elders.  This Summer, another birthday passed—no fanfare, no cake with candles, a quiet dinner out with Olga.  And, maybe, that was the best way to experience it.  Instead of counting up the years, I find myself counting them down.  The math I crunch in my head gives me cause for concern.  Where did the time go?

This Fall, I’ll forego that important long trail run on a Saturday and, instead, take my son on our annual day road trip to the beach.  As the years pass by, I’ll remember that time at the beach and will soon forget that long trail run.  Our children grow up incredibly fast.  In what will seem like a week, he’ll be out on his own and forging his own path in life and experiencing that same delicate balance of time, which, at his age, will seem cheap.  I, always, worry if what I’m doing is enough and do my best to cautiously choose my words and actions with him.  Many times, it’s what we don’t say and the actions they witness which imbed into an individual’s memory.  That is how I remember learning the way of life as a child.  Thankfully, I had many good mentors to help me along: my Grandfather, Grandmother, Uncles, Aunts, and, of course, my Mom.  I feel blessed now, although, at the time, with the lack of a father in my life, I felt rather sorry for myself.

The most important thing in my life, though, is my wife.  She’s perfect for me.  We occasionally argue, have disagreements, but always, in the end, make amends and appreciate our stubbornness is an action to be understood as individuals—it’s that simple.  Like many individuals, she quietly sacrificed her own dreams and goals to the benefit of others.  It’s important for me to ensure she is happy.  And, although, each individual is responsible for their own happiness, I strive to do what I can to remove barriers so she can thrive.  In a way, I work to remove the clouds from the sky so the sunlight can shine down upon her and reveal the vastness of opportunities available to forge a fulfilling life. 

On the running front, training has gone quite well this year, namely this Summer.   I have an end-goal in early November and all the pieces of the puzzle are slowly falling into place.  I surprise myself on almost every run.   Earlier this Summer, another iPod died a slow, wet death, thanks to the Texas humidity and I’ve been running for almost two months without music blasting in my ears—it’s been quite nice.   I’ve become very self-aware of my body’s rhythms of breathing and cadence while I run and it’s very meditative.  And, now, there’s an unopened iPod Olga purchased for me that sits on my desk at home which I have no desire to open. That’s an uncommon response.  When I become focused on a goal that’s personally important, I have the ability to become extremely focused.  It’s rare with my running, but this, in a way, is the end-game.  This will be my last 100 miler and, for a change, I am giving an honest training effort—no self-sabotaging the required workouts so I’ll have a quiet excuse post-race why I didn’t do as well as expected.  I must cross the finish line knowing I gave myself every opportunity to do as well as possible leading up to the race, even if the finish time isn’t what I may prefer.  And, this is all tied back to the first sentence in this post—“Time is cheap.”.  It’s time to appreciate the value of each day, week, month, and year.  And, I am beginning to believe this is what has driven my solid training this year.  The realization there are other experiences I’d like to focus on in life besides just training for a race.

 

July 2013

I may be identified by many who believe I am a runner, but that is not who I, truly, am.  It’s just a minor part of myself.  There are so many experiences in life and it’s necessary to make room for those endeavors by letting go of some of the past.  I’ll still run, train, and participate in races, but let’s get realistic.  As we age, the body doesn’t recover as quickly as we’d like.  We become more confident in ourselves as we discover what is important in our lives.  At this point, devoting time and energy to 100 mile events is overburdening.  A nice long hike in the mountains with my wife is much more appealing and will continue to occur more often as time passes.  In the end, it’s the people in our lives that matter most, not the call to chase fleeting dreams of satisfying an ego in order to be identified as an ultra runner.  The only goal, short-term and long-term, is to get to the mountains as often as possible.  That is where I find my peace, where my soul thrives, and my heart soars.

An Uncomfortable Position

"If anyone wants around me, just let me know. I don't belong up here!". That was less than four miles into a 50k with 7.5k feet of vertical climb. The pace felt casual--not easy, not hard, but somewhere in between and what I refer to as "cruising". I was in the lead and, while I didn't know the runners around me, I knew there were always some damn good ones in the race from looking at past race results and it felt uncomfortable being in the front.

We all hit the second aid station at mile 7.5 just under the one hour mark and, while I didn't comprehend the pace at the time, it felt fine, especially considering we were running every climb. After that aid station, the guy in the speedo, yes, a speedo, no shirt with his bib folded neatly in his waistband took off. I told the guys I was running with that he planned on stopping to hang out with his friends at the next aid station so I wasn't going to chase him.  They appreciated the info and we all continued at the same pace. This section was the longest at 8.5 miles and more of the same--twisting trail with ups and downs. I settled into a comfortable rhythm. At least, now, I could tell myself I wasn't leading anymore. Slowly, we all began separating, and eventually I found myself alone on the trail. Within a mile of the next aid station, I caught up with the guy in the speedo and we ran into the 16 mile aid station (2:07 elapsed). I'm glad I can't do math in my head because knowing what that pace was would have freaked me out. I continued and speedo guy slapped my back and wished me the best. Off into the woods I continued.

Speedo Guy!

I could hear cheering and a cowbell shortly thereafter which told me the other guys weren't far behind. So, I decided to push a little--run the descents a little faster, push harder through the technical sections, run all the climbs. Until..., I came to a T-intersection with not a ribbon to be found. WTF! Did I miss a turn? Since I was wearing a GPS watch, I have a documented timeline (not necessarily a good thing) to look back on for post-race reference. I looked uphill to the left and downhill to the right.  Nothing!  Solid trail in both directions. I decided to run back towards the last ribbons thinking that I must have missed a turn and ran into the 2nd place guy (Ben Creehan) within 2 minutes. We went back up to the intersection and he began talking about trail names using colors (blue trail, green trail, etc.). Didn't mean a thing to me. We decided to go uphill, for 200 vertical. No ribbons at the next 2 intersections, so we turned around and headed back down to meet up with runner 3 and 4. More discussions ensued and we decided to head downhill. Total time figuring this out: 10 minutes, 9/10's mile. Eventually, I saw a ribbon about a mile down the trail before crossing the creek and highway. I had put a slight gap on the guys and blew through the knee deep, fairly wide creek crossing without slowing down and exited the other side soaked from all the splashing. But, in my head I told myself that, surely, no one else would run across that creek and I was trying to build a lead, if only by a few more seconds. I had no idea how long this dream I began having at mile 4 would last. I didn't belong here...

I continued pushing myself to run all the climbs, telling myself that if I don't and the guys behind me do, then the gap will close. I made it to Billy Simpson’s aid station at mile 23.8 in 3:23.  Billy was shocked to see me and so was I.  I explained, "this wasn't the plan". I was just coming out for a good run, not trying to win the damn thing and certainly not on a pace to break 5 hours on this course. I left, crossed the highway, ran through a wooded creek bottom, and, eventually, crossed the same creek (different locale) in the same fashion as before and headed up to what I knew was the biggest climb of the day.

I had begun doing a little walking, but kept pushing as much as possible and running the flatter portions of the climb. Also, I was experiencing some quad cramping, probably from my body not used to running up this much incline. But, I kept it in check for the most part. Funny thing was, when I walked the cramping would begin, but running made it go away.  This section seemed to go by quickly as I made it the 27.3 mile aid station at the 4:03 mark. I knew I had just 3.7 miles to go and considered just filling up one bottle, but decided to fill up both. I left quickly, just as I had at the other aid stations (just there long enough to fill bottles) and began a downhill on an old jeep road. Eventually, I would make a left turn and enter single track.  I was doing the math in my head and realized I was going to finish way under 5 hours, especially considering it was a downhill/flat finish with the 7.5k of vertical climbing basically done.  And, then, the trail dumped onto a large gravel parking lot with a trailhead sign—not a ribbon in sight and 4 choices on where to go.  I, immediately, let out a string of expletives.

A mountain biker got out of her SUV and asked me where I was trying to go. I told her ‘Blanchard Springs”.  She said, you’re WAY far from there and these trails don’t go that direction. I explained I was leading a 50k trail race and quizzed her on the trails and nearby roads and where they went. I didn’t like any of the answers because they definitely went in the wrong direction.  I did study the course map before the race (always do!), but at this moment all I could think is what I should do.  She said I needed to go back the way I came for over a mile to the jeep road. That was the last thing I wanted to do since it was all uphill.  But, eventually, I left and retraced my steps.  I ran into the 2^nd place guy, Damian, 12 minutes from when I first went off course and told him my predicament and he thought I had gone in the correct direction. So, we turned around and went back to the gravel parking area.  The mountain biker got out of her SUV, again, and we went through the same conversation I had with her earlier.  We decided to retrace our steps and ran into Ben Creehan (3^rd place guy) 20 minutes elapsed since I went off course.  He thought the way I had gone was correct so we turned around, again, and ran back down to the gravel parking lot (3^rd time for me!).  All I could think was “this girl must think we are nuts!).  This time, she stayed in her SUV, which I can appreciate.  I echoed to Ben what she had had already told me twice and we proceeded to do a little more aggressive recon on one of the trails. Ben turned around and went back to the gravel parking lot to look at the trailhead map trying to figure out where we were.  Eventually, we decided to retrace our steps (3^rd time for me!).  We ran into another runner coming our way and we had to strongly convince him to turn around and follow us.  Low and behold, we found the turn we missed.  There were ribbons marking the turn, but we missed them.  When I came down the trail the first time, which was 40 minutes prior, by the way, I hadn’t noticed the turn.  It was a downhill cutback turn going off into the woods on an all but a nonexistent, leaf covered trail.  I proceeded to bomb the next section on the most treacherous terrain of the day, leaving the guys behind.  There was a ribbon at what seemed like every few dozen yards and was the most heavily marked section of course (probably because if you walked across that trail in the woods you wouldn’t have thought it was a trail). During that 40 minute excursion, I covered an additional 2.5 miles, according to my Garmin.

As soon as the trail leveled out, it began running along Sylamore Creek, I wouldn’t see another ribbon for the next 3 miles until the finish line. I really didn’t know if I was on the correct trail, however. I passed a few runners and this led me to believe I was heading in the right direction, but I had no idea how many runners had made the original correct cutback turn during the 40 minute excursion.  Emotionally, I was done with the run and felt I had wasted the effort for nothing.  It wasn’t as much about trying to win it as it was running a solid time on a course with a lot of elevation gain. I did my share of walking through the last few miles as my bottles were empty (glad I filled them both at the last aid station).  I stopped a few times to wait for other runners behind me to come into view since I wasn’t certain I was on the correct trail.  As soon as I got a glance of a runner, I would begin running, again.  This continued until the finish line. Unspoken words were written across my face as I entered the open park area and headed towards the finish line chute. No eye contact made with Olga as I crossed the line. Nothing but complete disappointment and frustration in what had transpired over the last hour and thirty-five minutes covering the previous 3.7 miles (it was actually around 5 miles on the correct route from the last a/s to the finish, btw, which I don't mind) from the last aid station. In total, I covered around 34+ miles in the 50k.  Some did far more that day.

Finishing

I did learn a lot during the run and I will seriously consider carrying a map in future races, just in case.  Leading a race is a completely different experience than just running a race to finish or even in posting what each person would consider a good time for themselves.  Mentally, you can’t let your guard down.  Every decision needs to be methodical, sometimes surgical (at least that’s the way I normally operate), especially when your competitors are unknown or, worse, unseen.  It seems you have an entirely different level of expectation for yourself in that position.  Places I would have easily walked in past races were not an option.  I had to run the climbs when I would have gladly walked.  I had to push the downhill sections even if it meant risking burning out my quads.  The flats just meant I needed to run harder.  And, in a crazy sort of way, it was fun.  I tend to be too conservative and not take risks, fearing I may not have enough left in the tank to get me to the finish line.  And, that’s obviously a fine line and one requiring self-confidence, of which I tend to have very little.  When I decided to jump off that cliff and begin to push more and more as the miles clicked by, it was an exhilarating feeling and it kept snowballing.  Whether, or not, it will happen again is unlikely, and that is one of the reasons I like to document this stuff in a blog—so I can remember...

Finished w/ post-race soak in Sylamore Creek!

Life

Dick's Lake -- Desolation Wilderness 

Life. Raw. Real.

I’ve mentioned it before—discovering your own mortality.  It’s as if one has passed through a doorway into an entirely different world.  A world where everything looks anew, fresh, different.  There is still that child inside of me with the naivety that I still have my youth, but the body provides subtle signs of a different perspective.  Maybe, it’s a mid-life crisis, but I’d rather consider it an awakening into everything life has to offer.

Over the past several months, my training for races has waned and I find myself just satisfied to be out on a quiet, lonely trail with nothing but my thoughts to keep the mind occupied.  Sometimes, it’s many miles, and other times, it’s only just a few, very few.  Only time will tell if I can find the motivation to train again, which entails very tough runs that leave a person breathless and muscles sore.  Lacking this intensity would have bothered me just a few short years ago, but, now, I’ve begun to develop a trough deep with patience and a new found comfort in myself that it is…just running.

But, back to what is real—life.  Most things seems to be a delicate balance between work, family, friends, of whom I have very few, hobbies, of which are mostly long forgotten but constantly on my mind, and a multiplicity of discord containing everything else.

One of my biggest fears is a premature exit of this life before the completion of many tasks in my mind which have no definitive ending.  Being a Father to my Son is prevalent in my mind.  There are so many things I want to teach and guide him through—an experience absent in my own life since I have never met my still living father.  But, even without that experience, I had a Grandfather and a few Uncles whose lessons and guidance have been a priceless gift that have become more useful as the years pass.  In my youth, somehow, I had the foresight to realize they were my mentors and with opinions I respected and actions I’ve used as a guidepost for my own life.

And, life, has a way of providing an individual with the opportunity to become a better person.  A series of, at the time, divergent events and decisions led me to a lonesome trail on a mountainside to discover a woman who would not only challenge me, but plant a seed inside me to want to become a better person, not only for her, but for me.  I threw away the book on what I considered to be the correct path in life and the sequential nature and timing of how it should occur.  It hasn’t been without struggle and consequence for us both, but the fruits of our labor has begun to reveal itself and it comes at a more frequent rate as time passes.  She has granted me the ability and confidence to truly feel like a man and a deep, innate desire to continue a life of self discovery and improvement.  It’s an irreplaceable gift.

So, as each hour passes, there’s a motivation to appreciate how precious and forgettably short our time is on this little planet in a solar system part of a galaxy containing roughly 200 billion stars amongst a Universe with over 100 billion galaxies.

Focus

One thing I enjoy about long, uninterrupted trail runs, like the one yesterday morning for 27 miles, is the precious time spent thinking about life.  Thankfully, I was able to spend most of that time alone during the race, which is my preferred way to run. The darkness at the start of the run where, if you just let your mind relax, it's quite easy to see all the details of the trail (except when the guy 5 feet behind you thinks a headlamp is necessary). The rocks, the roots, the ledge drops, the twists and turns--it's all manageable if you just relax and trust your instincts and let the feet follow. I love running sans headlamp on trails in the dark, except during the Summer when I'm more concerned about stepping on a snake. The darkness heightens the senses. But, all of these words are just a distraction from where most of my thoughts have been lately while on those sometimes dark, twisty, rocky trails.

The last few months have been focused on training for a race.  A race that isn't a goal race, per se, but a necessity to provide an opportunity to, once again, go through a process that has been an emotional roller coaster for me the last five Decembers--2007 to be exact.  It's something which has been a conflict in my mind for the past several months and, finally, came to a crescendo yesterday morning while I was running in the pouring rain and hoping it would never stop during those 4+ hours.

I've talked, at length, with Olga about this and last evening came to a final decision it is time to let things go.  To realize I am not willing to sacrifice the first half of my year training like a madman for a race I have unfairly put on a pedestal.  Believing it is a requirement to run it in order to be viewed as an ultrarunner. That viewpoint is one from the past and not who I consider myself today.  It's similar to the mindset that to be a marathoner, you have to run Boston.  And, while I qualified for that race, I never had a desire to make that trip because it was unimportant to me.  There are things we do in life because we think it is what is expected and not necessarily right for us.

As we progress through life, things change, even if we try to ignore it and continue to live in the past.  I'm a different person than I was in the Fall of 2007 when I first entered the Western States lottery.  Today, there are obligations outside of training and races that take precedence--family, household projects, and work.  A few years ago, I believe training was a priority and was blinded by selfish desires to associate my self worth with how fast I could run or what others thought of me in regard to running.  That's a poor way to live.

Yes, I'm a runner, but that doesn't define who I truly am. I'm a husband, father, friend, someone who loves being out in nature, looks forward to the Fall season and gets a little depressed when I start thinking about how many more I will experience before I take my last breath. I love getting into the details of many things, especially when it's doing projects around the house. I consider myself a traveler, which is something I believe my grandfather instilled in me during my early childhood years when I went on vacations with my grandparents. There are so many places I want to see with my own eyes: the Dolomite's, high villages in the Alps, New Zealand, Lake Baikal, Patagonia, the Canadian Rockies, Montana, run all the way around Mount Rainier, visit a dear friend's grave in the Oklahoma panhandle whom I never got the chance to say goodbye to when he became ill with a still incurable disease.

My point is, I am much more than running. And, while I will still run races and "hunt" people down on the trail, it doesn't trump everything else in my life.  As each years passes, a person, hopefully, realizes just how precious and short our time is on this pale blue dot called Earth.  When you're young, time is cheap. But, now, there's a sense of urgency to prioritize what's truly important.  It's been a long process to slowly discover who I am as a person and what I want out my remaining years.  There's a certain level of impatience that has surfaced.  Impatience with not spending time or conversations on things which are unimportant to me and, instead, focusing on what will truly enhance each day, each week, each year.

Because, when you really think about it, no one really cares if I run a race in the Sierra Nevada mountains and I've, finally, realized I was caring too much about what everyone else thought and not enough time realizing there's a lot of life left to be lived.

A journey of the strong heart

What do you do when you DNF at a 100 mile race?  You sign up for another to finish what you started. At least, that is what I did.  And, what happens when you DNF for the second time?  You begin to doubt yourself, but you sign up, yet, again, because you know there is no way it's going to happen, again.  And, what if you DNF on the third try?  You really begin to question yourself. And, labels begin to stick.

So, three DNF's in a row later and another year without any luck in the Western States lottery, I sign up for Black Hills 100 miler.  Coincidentally, it was the same weekend as States and that worked out perfectly since training through an entire Austin summer in the heat and humidity isn't something I consider fun. Of course, a lot of things aren't considered "fun" in running, like hard effort hill repeats and mile repeats.  But, that's what you do to get better, or in my case, try to hold on to any sliver of strength or speed in an aging body.

DNFing as many times and in succession can play havoc with a person's psychology.  You can have all the best intentions and purpose going into a race, but it's what happens during the race with your body and mind that trumps everything. And, since I choose to go sans pacer and crew, it can turn into the equivalent of trying to conduct an operation on yourself in mind and body.  But, I choose this path.

The weather was predicted to be unseasonably hot, but I still packed a light jacket and a pair of arm sleeves in my running pack, just in case. I didn't want anything to provide for an easy excuse if conditions changed.

Before we began the race, a Lakotan medicine man offered a prayer, some wise words, and a song sung in his native language.  I relate to the native americans since I grew up in a part of the country where it is ingrained in local and regional history. Simply, I feel connected to it and it was a welcomed way to begin the race.  One of the phrases the medicine man mentioned was to run with a "strong heart".  This made a connection with me and I would say those words out loud during many parts of the race when doubt entered my mind.

It was obvious the conditions would be challenging, especially when you're not even a mile into a race, running on a concrete sidewalk to the trail, and the first drop of sweat beads up on the brim of one's visor.  I've never experienced this type of humidty in a mountain area and I would run drenched in sweat for almost every step of the race.

While I made a pace chart and taped it to one of my bottles, it was more of a guide to calculate caloric needs before the race and ensure I was carrying enough gels and, more importantly, electrolytes, during the race.  I didn't create an overly aggressive pace chart, mainly, because I wanted to minimize any discouragement that, inevitably, occurs when splits begin slipping away.  I had made a promise to myself that I would not get discouraged when, not "if", things didn't go as planned.  Of course, making plans and promises to oneself before a race is much easier than during the race.

One thing I have struggled with over the past few years is low back pain.  During an extended effort, it can be very uncomfortable and I have used low dosages of ibuprofen to counter it.  But, since the weather was expected to be hot, I told myself I would not take any unless the pain became unbearable and that happened just after mile 17.  I had packed some in the pocket of my handheld before the race, but, apparently, it had fallen out when I was pulling an electrolyte capsule out of the same pocket.  I had packed a few more ibuprofen in my mile 50 drop bag, but that was over seven hours away.  Thankfully, Olga caught me during a climb and I asked if she had any to spare--she gave me all she had.

When I arrived at the next drop bag aid station (Dalton Lake), I joked with the volunteers that I couldn't believe my wife had passed me since she knows I have a fragile ego.  They laughed, I laughed.  If you can't laugh at yourself...  I was, even, passed by a guy wearing a multi-colored running skirt who was slowly running up one of the climbs.  I just shook my head and thought, "well, I've been chicked by my wife and now I'm getting passed by a guy in a skirt"--priceless!  I would find out later it was Eric Clifton.  I got by him a few aid stations later as the heat was taking it's toll, even on him. 

My plan was to take it very easy after 10am and keep it that way until I could, eventually, hide behind the shadow of a mountain ridge as the sun descended lower into the evening sky.  That would be considerably past 7pm.  The day was very challenging, due to the heat.  But, I kept on top of hydration, religiously consumed electroylytes (but not too much!), and kept tossing down the gels at the rate of three per hour.  But, eventually, I was feeling the conditions.  At one point, I couldn't run downhill because of almost immediate bouts of nausea.  I was, also, feeling it on the flats, so I had to walk sections that I needed to run.  Thus far, I have never puked in a race. I'm not certain if I should be proud of that, but I think it has more to do with self preservation and the simple fact I hate puking.  You couldn't go through an aid station or go very far on the trail without seeing someone puking or, laid out on the side of the trail bent over.  Even I succumbed when I came across a huge table-sized rock and laid down for about 20 minutes in the shade of the abundant pine forest.  The top of the rock was just high enough (about 3 feet) that I could catch any breeze that passed through the forest.  I had been looking for a good spot to just rest beforehand.  I was dreaming of wandering into the forest far away from the trail and taking a long nap so no one would inevitably pass by and give the customary, "you ok?".

On my long descent into Silver City (mile 50), I saw Olga grinding up the tough climb with a smile on her face on her way back towards the finish (50 miles out, 50 miles back!).  Since I had been counting the runners coming towards me, I knew she was in 9th place overall and first female. We quickly exchanged a few words, a quick kiss, and were both onwards to our next aid stations.

Arriving at Silver City (mile 50)

I had been looking forward to sunset the entire day because that, typically, means a drastic temperature cool-off in the mountains, but that didn't happen.  I'm assuming the humidity had something to do with it.  After I had made it to the mile 50 turnaround and looked at the time (almost 7pm), I made some quick calculations and knew I would have to endure another day of heat and the most exposed portion of the course.  Additionally, the forecast was for even higher temps than Saturday.

Strong heart...

One thing I noticed when retracing my steps after mile 50, was the lack of runners on the course.  I kept a general count for the next 20 miles and realized there had to be a lot of drops--substantially over 50%.  It was very quiet in the darkness of night and about the only time I would see a runner was when I would pass one or see a few at the aid stations.  Otherwise, it was me, the noises in the forest, and complete darkness.  So dark, in fact, that, for fun I turned off my headlamp and put my hand in front of my face.  I couldn't see it!  Even, when I reached the 7/10ths mile gravel road before Nemo, I turned off my headlamp, again, going into what I call "stealth mode".  You'd think I would be able to see a white gravel road, but I couldn't.  So amazingly dark!

Although I packed my iPod and intended to use it after mile 70, I never did.  I didn't even have a desire to listen to music.  Often, when I really need to focus in a race, the music becomes a distraction and all my energies need to be at the disposal of my mind and body.  Around, 4am, just after I took a really bad fall (somersaulting and having my lower spine land on a sharp rock while my headlamp and both bottles catapulted into the tall, forest undergrowth, poison-ivy everywhere unfortunately), I began to hear the birds and heard an owl hooting in the dark, still night.  I thought that was really early, but considering the sunrise is around 5am, it made sense.  Nonetheless, if I had been listening to my iPod, I would have never heard the music of nature.

With the new dawn fastly approaching, all I could think about was how I needed to finish off the last big climb after Elk Creek aid station, mile 83, during the "coolness" of the early morning.  This would ensure I avoided the blazing sun and delay the eventual furnace that would soon entail.  Thankfully, I did just that and was fortunate to run in the shade of a mountain ridge until mile 90.  I had been dreaming of finishing before 10am that morning because, barring disaster, I knew that Olga had won the women's race.  But, I would fall just 41 minutes over that dream.

Eventually, I would leave the Black Hills proper behind with about 7 miles to go and running through an open fields and a few exposed ridges with temperatures already climbing close to 90 degrees was anything but enjoyable.  Upon arriving at the final aid station, I was quickly in and out and as I left, the emotional weight of the past 3 DNF's slowly lifted.  Although, I had what is considered the steepest "bitch climb" on the entire course I knew I would, eventually, finish. 

I walked a good portion of the remainder of the race and, finally, upon reaching the wide, concrete sidewalk that would lead me the last mile to the entrance to the track, I ran.  I knew I would finish.  I had broken a streak which began almost two years ago in Utah.  I could now stop thinking of how I seem to give up when things get tough.  And, while things definitely got tough, I had promised myself to not give up when things got challenging.  So, I embraced it--even loudly spoke at the aid stations during the first day to "bring on the heat!".  I have noticed there have been a lot of parallels between the 100 mile distance and life.  Finishing this race after so many consecutive failures a was monumental task.  There are times when we can let our thoughts rule our life no matter how biased they may be.  Was I overcome with joy when I crossed the finish line? Filled with elation?  No.  I was relieved to finish the task.  The buckle will just go into my nightstand drawer.  It was more than about running 100 miles.  The time is inconsequential. Runnng 100 miles means nothing. Everyone deals with their own challenges in life.   It was truly about winning a personal battle with a voice inside my head that was telling me I quit too easily when things get "interesting", whether it be running, but more importantly, life.  The Lakotan medicine man was right.  Running is tough and there is only one way to run.  And, that lesson can be used for things more important than running.

Strong heart...

Morning in the Mountains

The most amazing sight during the race was seeing the long, serpentine line of 200+ headlamps behind me in the pre-dawn light on an open rolling prairie.  All I could saw was, “wow!”.   This area holds a special meaning to me, since it would mean running on a few of the trails where I would complete my first “official” trail run in a mountain area.  Yes, I had run on trails, but until that previous day, I didn’t realize there was an organized sport known as trail running.

I love this area!  And, came very close several years ago to moving there until I read an article in a national magazine declaring the area one of the top places for retirees.  Ironically, it’s where I’d like to retire and spend my days exploring the trails.  Being in the mountains fuels my spirit and it’s been that way for as long as I can remember.  And, I don’t necessarily have to be running in the mountains.  Just sitting on a rock with a nice vista overwhelms me with peacefulness and nothing else creates that emotion like being in the mountains.

My goal was to finish the run in five hours.  It was an arbitrary goal with no thought given to the time other than it seemed like a reasonable goal.  I did run conservatively for the first half, similar to what I’d do for twice the distance, and having a heart rate monitor helped ensure I wasn’t redlining.  The climbs on the road were my favorite, mostly because I ran them and coming from sea level it seemed like quite an accomplishment.  And, although the views were obscured in clouds all day, I could use my imagination on what it must have looked like on a clear, blue-bird day.  The odd occurrence was during the top of the first climb when I fingers of one hand were frozen and numb, yet my visor brim was dripping with sweat.  Why I never thought to pack gloves is beyond me, especially considering how thorough I am in preparation.

Speaking of preparation, I didn’t study the aid station mileages before the race and, instead, just asked how far to the next one.  The only thing I did know was that there were three climbs, but didn’t realize we would finish the course on a descent, instead of a long flat.  It was unlike me not to know the details, but I had a cavalier attitude towards the shorter distance which was obvious from the leg cramping I experience in the last three miles—not enough fluids for certain considering my sweat rate on the climbs.  Flushed those electrolytes straight out of my system with nary a salt tablet taken until the last five miles. You can get away with quite a bit when it’s cold and cloudy.

I was amazed at the runners prancing up the climbs, which was most of them.  It makes you realize that we don’t really have an excuse not to run all the climbs in Austin because they are so short—nothing over five minutes that I can recall.  In Austin, I have developed multiple gears on local climbs, but in Colorado, I had one, besides a walk.

Now, it’s time to buckle down, tighten the belt, and make the next six weeks count.  My biggest fear is failure, which, for me, is mental, although I’d like to convince myself, otherwise.  There are only two words to describe my goal when things get tough in June.   “Just finish…”.

Random Musings

I don't miss the mochas. 

Finally, I've begun hydrating this year, due to the onset of warmer running weather. 

PR'd a climb yesterday evening on the trail, along with the overall loop--not lightning fast by any stretch, but improvement. 

Noticed on my run yesterday that there is a sweet spot where the discomfort settles in and I begin to embrace it and that, in turn, motivates me to keep pushing the pace.

Loud music on my iPod has become a distraction during quality runs--the volume has to be to the level where I can just hear the music and no louder. 

Not certain what I was thinking signing up for a 25 mile race in Colorado; it's going to hurt for a number of reasons--altitude, climbs, I have never pushed hard for that many miles at altitude (going slow when it will be over after 25 miles isn't an option), and the caliber of runners associated with this region means I'll be lucky to finish mid-pack.

Training with a heart rate monitor is a lot of fun and suits me best--didn't realize how much I had missed it.

My "injury" seems to respond better when my weekly mileage is higher and comes back fiercely when I slack on the miles.

I am trying to learn how to not be a quitter in races--the first true test will be in late June (I've DNF'd my last 3 100's:  Bear, Ozark, Ozark). Massanutten was my last 100m finish.

Running for me is mostly mental, once I get in decent physical shape.

The first 10 or 20 minutes of a run are the absolute worst--lethargy, soreness, feelings of a new-born fawn with wobbly legs, my mind telling me to stop running.  Magically, it disappears and all is good in the world.

Goodbye Mocha

Goodbye, Mocha!  We've been together for a long time now.  I've quit you many times, before.  Yet, I long for you so strongly as those roasted beans of which your elixir is made permeate every corner of my workplace building.  It was easy to quit you when I couldn't see you every day.  But when I moved within a few hundred feet of you, the desire welled up inside of me to the point of loss of control.

Those first few sips with that little white, plastic lid off were always the best.  The whipped cream with the occasional taste of chocolate kept me coming back for more, much to the demise of my wife. We can no longer be together.  The highs and lows of your caffeine decadence are too much for me to handle.  The 340 calories are full of nothing but emptiness.  My $4.10 is best used elsewhere, especially on those days when I want you twice.

So, it's by making this statement openly that I declare, it's time to bid you adieu...

The First Few Steps

It's those first few minutes that are the toughest.  In fact, many times, just putting on the running shoes and opening the door is even more challenging.  We're not talking about some huge run.  It can be 6 miles with the same thoughts racing through my mind.  Today, it was 15 road miles--easy pace, no less.  It wasn't a flat run, but with a heart rate monitor to keep the effort in check, 15 miles at an easy pace is just that--easy!  Or so it would seem...

After spending more time than I should have catching up on blogs, and such, I mustered up the energy to fill my bottles and head out the door.  It was 52 degrees outside and I was expecting a cold shot of air to hit my body as soon as I stepped onto the front porch, but it felt good, almost too good. Damn! I can't use the excuse that it's too "cold" outside.

I walked to the curb, looked down both ends of the street, took a sip out my bottle, and pushed the little red button on my watch and began to walk--a few moments later, a slow jog.  And, oh!, how I felt lethargic, achy, and slow. Before I get to the end of the street, which is six houses down, I'm ready to stop and walk back to the house.  I turn the corner, and my mind fights me with each small stride--but I keep moving forward.  Within 10 minutes, those thoughts and physical ailments are a distant memory and I settle in to a comfortable pace, feeling as if I have already accomplished nothing short of victory.

In the end, whether it's running or anything else in life, it's about taking that first step, even when our consciene is telling us to quit.  And, even when those first several steps still seem tough, before too long, the struggle is behind us and replaced with the satisfaction that we stayed with it long enough to accomplish what we initially thought was almost impossible.

Unknown peak in the San Juans

Cedro Peak 45m

Olga and I made the long drive out to Albuquerque this weekend to run in the debut Cedro Peak Ultramathon.  Several months ago, when I signed up for this event, my plan was to really put out a solid effort..  But, as the training progressed slower than expected, I soon realized just finishing should be the primary goal.

Pulling into Santa Rosa, NM for a lunch break on our Friday drive, I realized just how true "just finishing" would be.  I was short of breath just walking into a local truckstop Subway at the scant elevation of 4,700 feet.  That evening, a piercing headache would develop while hanging out at 7,200 feet and close to the 7,700 feet where the race would start.

The next morning, our friend Bobby, with whom we were staying, along with his wife Diane, stated "it's 23 degrees outside".  Thankfully, it would be a few degrees warmer at the start, which was just a few miles from his house.

The race began promptly at 6am in the dark with both the 45 mile and 45 kilometer runners beginning simultaneously.  I chose not to wear a headlamp since the darkness would give way to light in about 20 minutes. Thankfully, it worked out great as I tucked in behind a group of runners and used their lights to help me along the rocky trail.  It's funny how much racing goes on in the first few miles of an ultra and it was entertaining to watch.  I made a point to take it very easy early on since I had no clue who was running which race as the bibs didn't provide much of a clue.  The other interesting thing was how labored my breathing was, even on downhill sections.  I haven't done much LT work this year and it defnitely showed, although I just think I had troubles this time around at altitude. It was like trying to breath through a straw or even one of those tiny mixing straws, at times.

Early in the race, I made it a point to not pay attention to how many miles I had ran cumulatively and wanted it to stay that way. But, at the point where the 45 milers separated onto a different course than the 45k'ers, a volunteer said "14 miles down!".  I really didn't want to hear that.  Regardless, it was great to be away from the 45k race as it was becoming tiresome dealing with the cat and mouse "racing" that was going on.  I find peace in being out on the trail alone and that's basically where I was for much of the remainder of the race.

The crux of the race is the "powerline" and it lived up to it's billing, especially when we hit it the second time from the north side after the 25 mile (Coyote) aid station. It does a few rollers, at first, before the main climb. Then, it's about an 800 feet ascent in less than a mile on an aggressive line sraight up.  But, I enjoyed it as best I could as I put my head down and just focused on griding all the way up.  Even managed to pass two guys in this section. There would be six more to pass before the finish as I was pushed by the motivation to "hunt".  It's a game I play with myself during a few races to keep myself motivated.  I had gone out fairly slow for the first 25 miles since I wanted to have as much energy, as possible, to push up the powerline.

The remainder of the race was uneventful, thanks to staying completely on top of nutrition the entire day (that's 22 GU's folks!).  I had zero blisters, which has to be a first for me at this distance and makes recovery much more pleasurable.  The course was much tougher and rockier than would be expected in these mountains, compared to the nearby Sandias.  The rocks aren't an issue, thankfully, since I train on identical trail footing and it was at altitude and in the mountains, so "tougher" is to be expected from a flatlander.   

My finish time (9:26.50) was about as good as I could have expected, given the altitude and my current fitness level.  I would have preferred to run up more of the flat climbs, but wasn't confident that my endurance would have held up for the entire race--ergo, lack of fitness. My leg held up and gave me no problems, other than the first few warmup miles. Today, I have to keep reminding myself that the race was just about finishing and being able to have minimal recovery time before getting straight back into training because that is most important.  I'm still trying to get my head wrapped around going longer in a race right now. We'll see how it goes..., but it's heading in the right direction and that's what matters most.

Miles, Recovering Right, and Massage

Finally had a good week of running with a decent amount of mileage--one of my highest mileage weeks ever. And, that was a good confidence boost after delicately ramping up the mileage since the beginning of the year.  I'm grateful the legs are not sore, espcially this morning when I went out for close to 20 miles of road at recovery pace (after 27 miles of rocky trail, knarl trail yesterday morning).  But, overall, I was a little tired by the time I finished, but happy I dragged myself out the door this morning.

One of the keys, I believe, to feeling fresh after 7.5 hours of running this weekend is taking a good quality recovery drink.  I swear by Ultragen.  Taken immediately after a long run, or even a hard effort, makes a huge difference in how I feel on the next run.  This is especially crucial as I've gotten older and the body doesn't seem to recover as fast from hard efforts like it used to.

But, even with a good week, it is still one run at a time and focusing no further than the next race, although the one in a few weeks is merely about just finishing without becoming a captive in the pain cave.

The best part of this past week was having Olga give me a sports massage this evening.  She has a continuing education requirement to maintain her LMT license and took a class today in Sports Massage.  It's a very different type of massage than deep tissue.  Of course, I'm still waiting for that hot rocks and scented oil massage from her, but I think hell will freeze over, first.  :o)

Closure

This past week was the first true test determining if my body could handle a heavier training load.  And, although I didn't get all the miles in that were scheduled, it was far above what I thought I could finish and still walk. A few quality workouts with a good amount of road miles followed by a weekend on the trails.

And, while I sent out an all points bulletin and a follow-up where I even bribed people to buy breakfast tacos, I began my Saturday morning run alone, in the dark.  What's new?  Maybe, alone on the trail is how it's supposed to be.  That's how I am trying to run 100 milers, although I've failed at my last three attempts.  And, those of you who know realize having no crew or pacer and only a drop bag to look forward to can get fairly lonely on a long stretch of single-track, especially after sunset.  But, life goes on...

The run I looked forward to the most was yesterday's run.  I started out with Olga for a few miles before beginning a tempo session.  But, the one thing in the back of my mind was something else that mattered more than the miles or the pace--it was Rick.  Ever since the fateful night when he perished in early July 2007, I've never been able to finish a run on the Barton Creek Greenbelt without having thoughts running through my mind of him.  I've asked multiple people about the location of where he was found, but have never been able to find the location.

So, while I was nearing the end of the "out" portion of my out and back run yesterday, I came across a section of trail I have ran dozens of times since that fateful night and had an emotional up welling inside of me.  It happened instantaneously. This is the same section of trail where I've had a similar feeling before.  I continued on to the turnaround point and then began my run back.  But, as I approached the trail section where I had that strong emotional feeling, I began taking every side trail looking in earnest for the cross. And, after about ten minutes of searching, I came around a bend and there it was, after having these thoughts in my mind for almost five years. Finally, I was able to pay my respects and spend some time at the location letting my thoughts begin to process.

I remember talking to Rick at the trailhead that night before he smiled and entered the trail just before dusk.  That is how I will always remember him, although I didn't now him well--it was that calm smile.

Everybody's Shuffling

The "training" is coming along slowly.  Most of the time, I'm logging miles on the road--flat roads.  And, three times this year, I've been on the trails, with one of those being a strong reminder why the road is where my safe place will continue to be.  Just call me a road jogger and a part-time trail shuffler with last week's mileage totals of just under 27 miles. But, it's all good.

Several days ago, I was telling Olga that I really need running.  There have been times over the past few years where I hated running because it wasn't fun. But, perspectives appear to have changed and I'm really enjoying my time on the roads, albeit boring at times, and have missed only one scheduled run this year due to an eight mile trail fiasco that had me hobbling badly near the end. I took the following day off.  But, besides that, I continue to look forward to each run, although the only true "run" I've had occured last night and even that one was flirting with what I consider a jogging pace.

There are only 2 more months until my first ultra and while I had high expectations when I originally signed up a few months ago, the race will not be defined as a "race" for me, but rather a "finish".  That's all I want.  No need to even ponder anything beyond that "finish".

S L O W . . .

Did my first 60 minute continuous run today on the roads--flat roads. That's the farthest I have continuously ran since the 82 miles at the beginning of November. Thus far in 2012, there have been only 4 days where I haven't either cross-trained or ran and that's success in my mind.  The mileage has been added excruciately slow, but probably in the right amount.  And, when I finish each run, it seems like a huge victory!  I am officially off the "injured" training plan and on a normal plan, but it not like I'm going to go out and pop a 30/15 next Saturday and Sunday.  Those miles are still probably a long way off and that's ok since the 60 minutes today had me looking at the watch after 45 minutes wondering when it would be over. Regardless, everything seems to be holding up and I need to keep it that way.

It's amazing how much I really need running or just the associated methodic movement.  It's the best thing for the mind and keeps me sane.  I think it has more to do with being outside in nature and the more grandiose the scenery, the better. But, that's difficult to get in Austin, so one has to just take what they can get.  Tomorrow, the trail awaits and I am excited about it since it's been awhile.  Although the run will be very short compared to a typical weekend run, it will be a good test to see how the lateral movement affects my leg.

I'll leave you with a vid from one of the songs on my, ...gulp..., newly purchased iPod (hey! the road is extremely boring so a person has to entertain themselves somehow...). I went to school with the drummer in this band and he has worked his butt off to get where he is today. Overall, good guy.