Leadville 100, etc.
Blogging from the Buckaroo Beanery in Crested Butte. Yesterday I had a cup of "Guatemala" coffee that was pretty good. Today, my choices were French Roast or some blend. So I chose to get an americano. It tastes a little like tea. If it were tea, I'd say it's not very good tea. That reminds me of something Abraham Lincoln once said...
Anyway, I ran in the Leadville 100 again this past weekend. It's a 100 mile run through the mountains, starting at 10,000 feet and going up and down and up and down and up and down, over and over and over again. This year felt a little different for me than the last two years. The first year I had no idea what to expect. Last year I had a lot of pressure on myself to finish, since I only did 50 the first year. This year, I didn't really think I could finish the race. I thought there was a long-shot that something could happen and I could somehow pull it out. But I didn't feel any real pressure to finish, just to run as far as I could (or they would let me). That feeling didn't last.
As I toed the starting line, I felt a little nervous and a little sick. Anticipating the pain that was to come. I have been saying since I signed up for it that this would be my last 100 mile run. So in some sense I felt pressure to finish, knowing this was the last. And I wanted that belt buckle.
The race went along as usual. The first 13.5 miles of rolling terrain got me into a bit of a rhythm. The next 10 miles went up and back down Sugarloaf Pass. I felt pretty good going up (not as fast as usual, but that's probably because I'm out of shape) and took the downhill pretty fast. Felt good coming into the second aid station. The next 7 miles were a slight uphill grade, half on the pavement and half on dirt road. Ran most of that and probably made up a little time. Uphill again out of the third aid station, and up and flat and down a little and up some more and flat and up and up and up. This is the point where some people start looking bad. I was still feeling really good. The downhill into the fourth aid station is steep and again I got my legs under me and took it like a pro. Coming out of the fourth aid station, we run through some standing water and then through a stream that was almost waist deep. And cold. And then up the hardest section of the race- Hope Pass. It goes from 9,300 feet to 12,600 feet in 4 miles. And it is brutal. Steep, mudddy, never-ending. And then back down the other side of the pass to the far aid station (at 50 miles), where we turn around and run back on the same trail. I usually say I'm not a good downhiller, but I think I've finally turned into one. The run down Hope Pass was really fast. My footwork is really good from running at Turkey Mountain, so it was all about letting it roll and picking good foot placements. I made the descent about 30 minutes faster than I was supposed to.
The only problem was, by this time my legs were trashed, my body was full of drugs (ibuprofen, electrolytes, sugar, caffeine), and my mind was starting to go a little cloudy. I guess pain will do that to you. And I knew I was only half way done.
So I ran back down the road to the base of Hope Pass, trying to get my energy systems to cooperate (I was to the point of going anaerobic at the slightest increase in energy use). And then I turned in and started the big climb on the return trip. And a few steps later, I stopped. Squatted down and thought, "I'm not sure I can make it." This is a point of no return. Once you commit to the pass, you have to keep going. You have to get to the top and you have to have enough legs left to get down. Believe it or not, sometimes your legs can get so trashed that you can't go downhill safely. I was chasing cutoff times again, and I knew I'd either miss the next aid station cutoff or the following one. I just didn't have it in me to run that fast any more. And so I walked back down and withdrew from the race.
It's disappointing, mostly because I feel like I let other people down. A lot of people want me to finish and a couple of my friends came out (much to my surprise) and crewed me at the race. I hate to stop short because of the sacrifice and disappointment that these people face. But for me, I said I'd run as far as I could. I'm disappointed in myself that I can't finish this race, but that's just how it is. This may be the hardest 100 mile run in the country, and I'm just not fast enough to make the cutoffs (without trashing my legs in the process). And so, like I said before, from now on (at least until I have time to start training) I'm going to start running 50 mile races and doing mountain bike races.
Speaking of mountain biking. I'm in Crested Butte- one of my two favorite places to ride. Today, my legs were still sore and my body still tired, but I got out of my tent (pictured) and went for a ride (after I made coffee, of course- but more on that later). I rode a trail called 401. It is one of the most enjoyable trails I've ever ridden. It's a tough climb up a jeep road and then more climbing on singletrack and then fun fun fun on the downhill. The scenery is so incredibly beautiful that it's really hard to stay on the 15-inch singletrack without being distracted (and at the high-speeds I was going, that could be painful). it was the first REAL trail my (relatively) new bike has been on. She took it wonderfully. Yay for disc brakes and smoooooth shifting.
I'm hoping to recover enough to ride a lot more this week. Stay tuned.
Oh, a couple more things. I know I need to get out and train some more so I can achieve the fitness level god intended me to have. So I can be prepared to help if/when a situation arises. It struck me funny that just before this Leadville 100, there was a huge earthquake in Peru and lots of people died. There are a lot of isolated towns and people, and they probably still don't know the toll this natural disaster took. There were 592 people in Leadville who could've grabbed some food and supplies and run in different directions up into the mountains in Peru and probably saved many lives. But we were all somewhat-selfishly running around the rockies trying to prove something to ourselves. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, but I feel guilty NOT being in Peru.
Lastly, I received an email from my friend Brad, who is a medic in the Army, currently stationed in Iraq. Every now and then, I ship coffee to Brad's unit, so they can at least have something good to look forward to. His email put some perspective on life and running and the importance of taking time to reflect. What is the definition of success? Survival?
Here's a line from his email:
"Two days ago I was walking to the aid station and rockets started coming in around me I was sprinting for my life, fucking insane, then I had some coffee and it was all good."
Makes the Leadville 100 seem fairly unimportant.
Anyway, I ran in the Leadville 100 again this past weekend. It's a 100 mile run through the mountains, starting at 10,000 feet and going up and down and up and down and up and down, over and over and over again. This year felt a little different for me than the last two years. The first year I had no idea what to expect. Last year I had a lot of pressure on myself to finish, since I only did 50 the first year. This year, I didn't really think I could finish the race. I thought there was a long-shot that something could happen and I could somehow pull it out. But I didn't feel any real pressure to finish, just to run as far as I could (or they would let me). That feeling didn't last.
As I toed the starting line, I felt a little nervous and a little sick. Anticipating the pain that was to come. I have been saying since I signed up for it that this would be my last 100 mile run. So in some sense I felt pressure to finish, knowing this was the last. And I wanted that belt buckle.
The race went along as usual. The first 13.5 miles of rolling terrain got me into a bit of a rhythm. The next 10 miles went up and back down Sugarloaf Pass. I felt pretty good going up (not as fast as usual, but that's probably because I'm out of shape) and took the downhill pretty fast. Felt good coming into the second aid station. The next 7 miles were a slight uphill grade, half on the pavement and half on dirt road. Ran most of that and probably made up a little time. Uphill again out of the third aid station, and up and flat and down a little and up some more and flat and up and up and up. This is the point where some people start looking bad. I was still feeling really good. The downhill into the fourth aid station is steep and again I got my legs under me and took it like a pro. Coming out of the fourth aid station, we run through some standing water and then through a stream that was almost waist deep. And cold. And then up the hardest section of the race- Hope Pass. It goes from 9,300 feet to 12,600 feet in 4 miles. And it is brutal. Steep, mudddy, never-ending. And then back down the other side of the pass to the far aid station (at 50 miles), where we turn around and run back on the same trail. I usually say I'm not a good downhiller, but I think I've finally turned into one. The run down Hope Pass was really fast. My footwork is really good from running at Turkey Mountain, so it was all about letting it roll and picking good foot placements. I made the descent about 30 minutes faster than I was supposed to.
The only problem was, by this time my legs were trashed, my body was full of drugs (ibuprofen, electrolytes, sugar, caffeine), and my mind was starting to go a little cloudy. I guess pain will do that to you. And I knew I was only half way done.
So I ran back down the road to the base of Hope Pass, trying to get my energy systems to cooperate (I was to the point of going anaerobic at the slightest increase in energy use). And then I turned in and started the big climb on the return trip. And a few steps later, I stopped. Squatted down and thought, "I'm not sure I can make it." This is a point of no return. Once you commit to the pass, you have to keep going. You have to get to the top and you have to have enough legs left to get down. Believe it or not, sometimes your legs can get so trashed that you can't go downhill safely. I was chasing cutoff times again, and I knew I'd either miss the next aid station cutoff or the following one. I just didn't have it in me to run that fast any more. And so I walked back down and withdrew from the race.
It's disappointing, mostly because I feel like I let other people down. A lot of people want me to finish and a couple of my friends came out (much to my surprise) and crewed me at the race. I hate to stop short because of the sacrifice and disappointment that these people face. But for me, I said I'd run as far as I could. I'm disappointed in myself that I can't finish this race, but that's just how it is. This may be the hardest 100 mile run in the country, and I'm just not fast enough to make the cutoffs (without trashing my legs in the process). And so, like I said before, from now on (at least until I have time to start training) I'm going to start running 50 mile races and doing mountain bike races.
Speaking of mountain biking. I'm in Crested Butte- one of my two favorite places to ride. Today, my legs were still sore and my body still tired, but I got out of my tent (pictured) and went for a ride (after I made coffee, of course- but more on that later). I rode a trail called 401. It is one of the most enjoyable trails I've ever ridden. It's a tough climb up a jeep road and then more climbing on singletrack and then fun fun fun on the downhill. The scenery is so incredibly beautiful that it's really hard to stay on the 15-inch singletrack without being distracted (and at the high-speeds I was going, that could be painful). it was the first REAL trail my (relatively) new bike has been on. She took it wonderfully. Yay for disc brakes and smoooooth shifting.
I'm hoping to recover enough to ride a lot more this week. Stay tuned.
Oh, a couple more things. I know I need to get out and train some more so I can achieve the fitness level god intended me to have. So I can be prepared to help if/when a situation arises. It struck me funny that just before this Leadville 100, there was a huge earthquake in Peru and lots of people died. There are a lot of isolated towns and people, and they probably still don't know the toll this natural disaster took. There were 592 people in Leadville who could've grabbed some food and supplies and run in different directions up into the mountains in Peru and probably saved many lives. But we were all somewhat-selfishly running around the rockies trying to prove something to ourselves. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, but I feel guilty NOT being in Peru.
Lastly, I received an email from my friend Brad, who is a medic in the Army, currently stationed in Iraq. Every now and then, I ship coffee to Brad's unit, so they can at least have something good to look forward to. His email put some perspective on life and running and the importance of taking time to reflect. What is the definition of success? Survival?
Here's a line from his email:
"Two days ago I was walking to the aid station and rockets started coming in around me I was sprinting for my life, fucking insane, then I had some coffee and it was all good."
Makes the Leadville 100 seem fairly unimportant.
posted by Brian at 3:54 PM
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