Well, my Achilles seems to be on the mend. (Knock on wood.) This is good. I was a little nervous there for a while... I guess I still am, but no more so than I typically am prior to a big race. Some mysterious little niggle or ache always seems to surface every year during my final weeks of training. It gives me something to obsess over during my taper.
And, man, am I tapering. Holy crap. This is definitely the most I've ever tapered for a race. The first week I didn't run at all. Just two 50-minute bike rides around the Mineral Belt Trail during the week, and then a beautiful, 2-hour bike ride up Independence Pass on the weekend. I went for a 4-mile test run to start the second week. I could still feel my Achilles, which was a bit depressing. (I've never felt it on the bike.) I kept up with the twice daily calf stretches and strengthening routines, wore compression socks all the time, iced the tendon after workouts and before bed, and went to one more PT session. Finally, on Thursday I went for a 5-mile run during which I felt a big improvement. Barely any perceptible tightness. That was a huge relief. On Sunday I went for a short hike up an insanely windy Mt. Sherman and felt fine. I can still feel it occasionally when it stiffens up, but it's definitely trending in the right direction. This week all I have planned is one final, easy 2-mile flat run on Wednesday. Then it's go time.
|The view while climbing up Independence Pass. Leadville livin' at its finest.|
I will say this: tapering so thoroughly (and focusing so intently on one part of your body) really helps you diagnose how much you beat yourself up during training. As they say, exercise makes you weaker. And, it's rest that makes you stronger. During peak training, tired legs can be mistaken for normal. But when you stop, and really focus on something simple and easily quantifiable like the number of calf raises you can perform, you can see massive improvements after just a few days of recovery. You realize your legs were more trashed than you initially thought.
Better to show up at the starting line slightly under-trained than over-tired, right?
In my early years of running I don't think I would've had the discipline to shut things down so quickly and thoroughly for my taper. But now I realize that any minuscule improvements that I might have been able to make during the last three weeks are irrelevant when compared to the importance of addressing my injury. That's all that matters. Let's hope it works.
Besides taking it super easy, and trying to coax my Achilles back to health, the only other thing that I'm doing differently during my taper for Bighorn is some semi-serious heat training. Don't laugh, but the 80+ degree weather that's currently forecast for the race is waaay hotter than anything I've run in this year. (Hopefully it won't be quite that hot on the course itself-- except probably for the final stretch into town on the second day.) In previous years, I'd just try to run during the hottest part of the day. But this year, with my running being so limited, I've been biking over to the rec center everyday and jumping in the sauna. At first I could only tolerate 30 minutes at maximum heat (about 170 degrees, I think), but now I'm able to survive a full hour. I drink 60 oz of water while I'm in there and come out weighing exactly what I weighed when I entered! Damn. Supposedly you can see some results within a week-- specifically, increased blood plasma to help with cooling. I figure that, as far as sedentary activities go, there's not much more you can do than bake in a sauna at 10,000 ft to encourage your body to make more blood! We'll see if I notice any effect... If nothing else, I find it strangely relaxing. It provides a good opportunity for me to stretch, too.
The highlight of my taper has definitely been volunteering at the Venir Aid Station during the Leadville Marathon on Saturday. The wind was unrelenting, it was freezing just standing around at 11,500 ft, I got sunburned, chapped lips, hoarse from cheering, and a blister on my thumb from pouring water all day.
In short: It. Was. Awesome.
Really inspiring, and so fun to see so many friends running. Hanging out with the rest of the aid station crew was great. And I got to peek behind the curtain a bit. It really makes me appreciate the amount of effort it takes to organize a race of this size. It was also fascinating to witness firsthand the state of all the runners who passed through (twice). It didn't really matter if they were near the front, somewhere in the middle, or in the back. Some were pushing hard, looking serious, but hanging in there, some where laughing, talkative, and full of energy, and others were definitely in a dark place and staggered by with barely a glance or a grunt of acknowledgement. No matter their position, I tried my best to get folks to smile as they slogged up the hill. I saw 5-hour finishers who looked worse than than any 7-hour finisher, and 4-hour finishers who looked unbelievably fresh and happy. (Barefoot Alex, you are my hero, man!) Amazing. Oh, and then there's Michael Aish, the second place finisher, who's in a class by himself. He must've stood around the aid station for a full 5 minutes, cracking jokes, chatting, and casually snacking before the third place guy showed up and he finally took off. As he bounded gracefully down the trail, I noticed how crazy-strong his stride was-- with his heels practically hitting his butt. It was like he was on the track. Ridiculous. At least pretend like you're working, Mike! (Damn Olympians...)
|The view from Venir Aid Station. Not too shabby.|
My sincere congratulations to everyone who ran it!
After the race, I was looking at the results for a good 10 minutes before I noticed myself at the edge of the screen in the picture in the background! That must've been taken coming back around Ball Mountain during last year's race. Good times.
“A plan is worthless, but planning is everything.”
While I've talked to many previous racers, read numerous race reports, watched videos from the race, and crunched all the data I could from past results, I really don't know what to expect.
It's refreshing to be so ignorant.
Honestly, I'm happy that I have no idea how long it's going to take me to get to, say, the Upper Sheep aid station. There are too many variables and too many aid stations for me to keep track of. I've just got some rough estimates for the major aid stations: Dry Fork, Footbridge, and Jaws. That's where my drop bags will be. No crew. No pacers. This will be a major (and hopefully fun) departure from my hyper-planned big-buckle attempt last year at Leadville. Do I want to run as fast and as efficiently as possible? Yes, of course. But Bighorn will be all about making the proper adjustments on-the-fly.
I've got data on what the average splits were for all 24-28 hour finishers from '13 and '12. (Which is actually a pretty small sample size given the relatively small number of participants.) And, as I'm a big believer in trying to run even splits, I'll generally try to run the first half of the race about an hour slower, and the second half of the race an hour faster, than the typical finisher. I'd really, really, really like to be able to jog those final downhill/flat 10 miles to the finish. They will take an eternity if I can't.
(If you're curious about the historical split data, just let me know and I can share it. I've got it up on Google Docs in spreadsheet form, in all its color-coded glory.)
One of the bits of data that jumped out at me was that Footbridge to Jaws takes runners only a tiny bit longer on average than coming back down from Jaws to Footbridge. This confused me, as the first split has 4,500 ft of elevation gain and the reverse has 4,500 ft of elevation loss. That's significant. Shouldn't runners be much faster on the return? But, I guess that's when night sets in. You're running the entire second split in the dark. And, apparently the trail is just technical enough to slow you down so that your downhill trip is only a few minutes faster than your uphill trip. We'll see... I've given myself 5:30 to get up and 5:30 to get down. I would hope that I could run faster on the downhill, but I don't want to take anything for granted.
Gear-wise, I'm not doing too much different. I'll be rockin' the placebo, er... compression socks during the race, trying to baby my calves a bit. Wearing a small, lightweight vest to carry any extra supplies/warm layers, while carrying two handheld water bottles. Also carrying a bandanna to soak in streams to keep cool. No poles. I'll be wearing my trusty Montrail FluidFlexes, just like last year, with a spare pair in one of my drop bags. I might switch to my Bondi-B's for the final 18 miles. There will be extra socks in all my drop bags to help combat wet feet. I'm going to try wearing a waist-mounted headlamp-- in addition to a head-mounted one-- during the night to better light the trail. I apologize in advance to all the runners I blind as I pass by! I'll be using caffeine pills to try to stay awake, instead of Redbull or 5-Hour Energy-- that stuff is crap. I can't drink it anymore. Standing on a mountainside all day, volunteering at Venir, was certainly a good reminder of how damn cold it can get in the mountains. I swore to myself that I will not skimp on warm layers (to save weight) and end up freezing during the long, cold night in the canyon.
And, of course, I'll be drinking my patented, homemade concoction during race. Almost exclusively. Sure, I'll have some Coke and some soup, and maybe some melon-- I enjoy those aid station staples-- but 95% of all my calories will come from my energy drink: pure maltodextrin, Vitargo, Gatorade, BCAAs, and some salt. Nothing special. Basically, all the ingredients you'd find in a GU, but in liquid form (and a hell of a lot cheaper). 320 calories (combined with ~24 oz of water) an hour, for the entire race. Or as long as I can stand it. At Quad Rock, I had basically no stomach issues for 11 hours-- a PR for me. It'll certainly be harder to get everything right at Bighorn, since it'll be so much hotter and last so much longer. But, I'm confident that this is by far the best nutrition strategy for me. Nothing else has come close.
Grateful to be able to spend a weekend in the beautiful Bighorn mountains of Wyoming.
Grateful for my wife and family, who let me pursue crazy hobbies like ultra running!
It'll be great to hang out with my friends and fellow racers, Alex and Mike. And hopefully I'll make some new friends while I'm out on the course. I want to be the most positive, friendly runner out there.
Am I as fit as I was last August before the Leadville 100? Nope. I'm about 350 miles and 90,000 feet of vertical short. But... Am I more experienced? More grizzled? A little smarter? I'd like to think so!
I'm as ready as I'll ever be...
Let's do this!
|At the trailhead at the top of Iowa Gulch (on the 50 course).|
|Climbing up Mt. Sherman.|
|The summit, with the moon and the Sawatch in the distance. You can see Hope Pass, if you know what you're looking for...|
|Looking north, seeking shelter from the hurricane force winds. I love mountains!|