Race Recap: The Kiawah Island Half Marathon, take 3

Regular readers of this blog (are there any regular readers of this blog?) will recall that I've been trying to qualify for the New York Marathon for over 8 years. Yes, you can get into the NY Marathon via lottery as well, but since I've gotten REALLY close to qualifying three times, it's now a quest for me. I don't want to run NY unless I qualify.

This time around, I changed up my training strategy and focused on high mileage to the exclusion of nearly everything else. During the 8 weeks prior to the my taper, I averaged 62 miles per week. I peaked out at 75 miles in a week. That's just over two miles short of a half marathon, EVERY DAY. So running a half shouldn't be too hard, right? In the month of November, I ran 294 miles, my biggest month ever.

Fast forward to December 14, the day of the Kiawah Island Marathon. I needed a sub-1:32 half to attain my goal. That's a 7:01/mile pace. The plan was to run 7:05s for the first two miles, then get as close as possible to 7:00/mile through Mile 11, then pick up the pace at the end if I had anything left.

Lots of friends were running this race, including Mike and Dawn, who had both just run the Philadelphia Marathon and crushed it, Mike using a similar training plan to me. Mike said if he had anything left in his legs, he would try to pace me for the first 5 or 6 miles, but he didn't think he could maintain a 7:00 pace the whole distance. Dawn said she'd be behind Mike for sure.

As the race started, Mike was nowhere near me, so I looked for other runners to follow who were running a similar pace. Unfortunately I didn't manage to lock in to anyone running a consistent pace. Or maybe I wasn't consistent. There was a familiar group in my general area, but no one who I felt like I could just get behind and just run without thinking.

Still, my paces for the first miles were pretty solid, and the running felt pretty comfortable. The temperature was in the lower 50s and the road was wet from overnight rains, so the only real issue was a slight lack of traction in my two-year-old Nike Vaporfly 4% shoes -- the ones Kipchoge used for his first (failed) attempt to run a sub-2-hour marathon. 

Miles 1 and 2: 6:53, 7:00. A little faster than planned but not terrible.

Miles 3 and 4: 6:56, 6:59. Still a little too fast but I was running comfortably, so no big deal

Miles 5 and 6: 7:03, 7:08. Starting to slow down a bit, but no big deal, especially since I had banked a little time. Now all I needed to do was keep a consistent pace to the end.

Then about a quarter mile in to Mile 7, I looked down at my watch and saw I was running a 7:58 pace. What? It didn't feel like I'd slowed down. I picked up the pace, just trying to get into a rhythm again. A minute later I looked down again. 7:35. Still too slow! Argh! I gave everything I had and looked down again a minute later. 7:25. Push it, Munger! Somehow all I could manage was a 7:21 for the mile. Maybe I could pick it up again in Mile 8. 

A quarter mile into Mile 8 I peeked at my watch again and for the first time saw a pace that started with "8". Really? This is my "easy" training pace. Runners were starting to pass me. I really was going that slow. I simply couldn't will my legs to work faster. By the end of the mile I was able, barely, to get my pace back down into the 7s, with a pathetic 7:39. 5 miles to go.

Mile 9 is my least-favorite mile of the race, when the course follows a dirt access road to the beach, then passes in front of a luxury hotel for about 200 yards, and takes another dirt access road back to the pavement. This is the only part of the race where you get to see the beach at all, which, I suppose, is why they do it. None of the roads are on beachfront -- why put a road where you can build a $6 million home? The rest of the course is on lovely oak-lined streets, but not on beachfront. For me, the quick view of the beach isn't worth it slogging up a muddy road during a race. If you want to see the beach, take a walk on it before or after the race. Anyways, in front of the hotel there's an announcer who calls out your name and hometown. A few seconds after I passed the announcer I heard "Dawn from Davidson North Carolina." Uh-oh. Dawn was supposed to be way behind me! In no time, Mike and Dawn both passed me, urging me to join them. But I had nothing, and I had to let them run ahead without me. Mile 9 was my first mile in the 8s, 8:00.

After that things just went from bad to worse.

Mile 10 and 11: 8:03, 8:12. Ugh.

Mile 12: 8:21. Maybe I'd be able to pick it up for the final mile.

I did pick it up, but only barely, with an 8:17. I couldn't even muster a sprint up the finish chute, and several runners passed me on the way to the line. I plodded through, stopping my watch at 1:38:30. Officially my time was 1:38:27, worse than I had done in this race two years ago on a warm, muggy morning. Today the weather had been fine and I still hadn't managed a decent race. 

I can't really say why I wasn't able to perform. My training had gone well, I think I tapered sufficiently, and I had no injuries. Sometimes you just have a bad day. It was a very different training protocol from what I'd used in the past and maybe it's just not the right type of training for me. Next year I'm going to take a break from my pursuit of a NY qualifying time and focus on duathlon and triathlon, with the year culminating (if all goes well) in my first Ironman in November. Stay tuned!

Below is my Strava summary of the race.

The Four Pass Loop

Note to self: When planning to do a 27-mile trail run in Colorado, at elevations mostly above 10,000, you probably want to do a little more training than running trails once a week at basically sea-level.

That said, I'm in Colorado for two weeks this summer, and I was determined to do an epic trail run. A friend had done the Four Pass Loop near Aspen a couple years ago. I was going to be near Aspen! Why not try that? The Four Pass Loop is pretty much what it sounds like -- a run (or, for sane people, a hike) of 27 miles circumnavigating the Maroon Bells while crossing four passes, each over 12,000 feet. This map of the route from The Hiking Project makes it seem quite reasonable:

The hills are barely noticeable! Until you realize the elevation starts at zero. You're over 10,000 feet for nearly the entire route. Here's an elevation profile that gives a better sense of what you're up against:

That's from my Strava record of the loop. The hills are steep, and they get steeper as you get closer to the top.

I was warned about Colorado afternoon thundershowers (and I'd experienced a few of them in my 6 days in Colorado prior to my trip), so I started early: 4:51 a.m. to be exact. If I completed the loop in 10 hours, I should be well ahead of any storms. As it turned out, that would be a very big "if"!

Things started out pretty well and I made good time on my way to the first of four passes, Buckskin pass. It was topped with a massive cornice and I took a detour to make my way around it.

Beautiful views abounded

Atop Buckskin Pass - the first of four 12000+ passes

Now it was down a steep but manageable trail before starting the climb to the next pass. Even this early in the run, the passes were starting to blur together in my mind...what was this one called? I had to look it up just now to report that it was "Trail Rider." On the way up to Trail Rider, I passed a huge, reflecting lake -- Snowmass Lake.

Postcard-perfect reflection on Snowmass Lake

It was a bit more of a grind to make it up to the pass, probably mostly owing to my not being properly trained / acclimatized for this adventure. I ate an Uncrustable while chatting with the 20-somethings on the summit. When I explained my plan, a woman asked how old I was. When I told her I was 52, she said "you are a BADASS!" I didn't feel very badass at the moment -- especially since I was still only 10 miles in to my 27-mile day. A lot can happen in Miles 10-27. And it did.

Obligatory selfie near Pass #2

The descent from Trail Rider was seemingly never-ending. I was maybe halfway down and hikers on the way up were asking if they were almost there. Uh, no. Finally I made it to the bottom and forced myself to run on the runnable sections of the trail, which were much more common here at the valley bottom. This would be pretty much the last running I did on the loop.

I was running along a fairly big creek at the valley bottom and figured eventually I'd have to cross it. Soon I was knee-deep in water. Not a terrible ford, but I knew this meant I'd be starting to climb again soon. Sure enough, the trail began winding up into the forest. I'd checked my elevation at the river -- about 10,100 feet -- which meant I'd have over a 2,000-foot climb to pass #3. At least along the way there was some spectacular scenery:

Massive waterfall at Mile 13.5 -- a nice sign that I was halfway through the loop!

Stunning vistas -- and foreboding clouds

After I passed the waterfall I came to an avalanche-damaged area. Here the snow had broken trees like toothpicks and compacted to rock-hard. The trail was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately there were some footprints and broken branches to guide my way, and eventually I found the track. I passed through another avalanche area, and then some steep snowfields. Fortunately footprints were cut into the snow and I could make my way past. Then it was up, up, up through meadows with dense foliage. I scanned the ridge ahead of me but could neither spot a pass nor figure out the trail crossed it. Eventually as I got closer to the top, I saw some hikers above making their way around a snowfield. I slowly made my way up the steep slope, cutting switchbacks on occasion to avoid snowfields, making my path even steeper. I had to stop a few times just to catch my breath. Finally I was at the top of Frigid Air Pass, 12,400 feet up. It wasn't so much a pass as just the spot where the trail crossed the ridge. Some hikers there assured me that my descent would be steep as well. Great.

Pass #3!

I knew I would need to stop for water between Frigid Air and Maroon West pass, so as I descended I looked for a good stream. I found one after about a mile and sat down to pump water. I was hungry but none of my food sounded good. I was also getting bitten by mosquitos. And was that thunder I heard in the distance? I decided to force down an Uncrustable as I started hiking again. My stomach didn't appreciate it, but at least I had fresh, cold spring water to wash it down. The trail "only" descended 1,000 feet between Pass #3 and 4, which meant I would have one last climb, 1,000 feet, and then I'd be finished with climbing for the day. As the thunder grew nearer and I began my final ascent, I checked my mileage on the watch. 19.7 miles, 7.3 to go. Assuming the watch was accurate.

As with all the climbs, the hike up West Maroon Pass grew steeper and steeper as I neared the top. I found myself stopping for breath twice every switchback. Running was a distant memory; I would have to hike this one out. I did some calculations and figured out that if I could average 30 minutes / mile I would finish in 13.5 hours, just before 6:30 pm. At least it would still be light!

The rain started to fall during my final approach to West Maroon. I was wearing a short-sleeve shirt and had a water-resistant jacket and gloves in my pack. I decided not to stop to put on the jacket until I started getting cold. If it rained hard, it would soak through the jacket anyways, so I didn't need to worry about getting wet; the jacket would just be for warmth. My rest breaks got closer and closer together. It felt like I was just inching my way towards the summit. I could see people lingering at the top. I wondered why they would hang out there when thunderstorms were approaching.

Finally, I crested West Maroon Pass. I had kept telling myself I'd be "sofa king glad" when I got there, and now I was finally there. I barely stopped to check the view, only allowing myself 30 seconds to take the final selfie of the trip.

The one and only Sofa King atop Pass #4!

The rainfall gradually increased in intensity as I made my way down the trail. A boy and his mom were hiking down ahead of me and didn't seem to know they should let me pass, so I decided to take the time to throw on my jacket. I caught up with them as they reached a steep snowfield. I could tell they were going to be a train wreck heading down the precipitous slope, so I cut down a rocky slope next to the snowfield and was finally able to pass them.

I had chosen to do the hike counter-clockwise because the trail down from West Maroon wasn't as steep as it was on the way down from Buckskin. While this was true, the trail was very rocky and overgrown with bushes. And the rain fell harder and harder. I approached a raging creek and hoped I wouldn't have to ford it. No luck. I plunged across the icy rapids, using my poles to steady myself. The current was so strong that the poles were vibrating from the force of the water. I sank in above my knees on the uneven creek-bottom, and leaned into the current to stay upright. The water wasn't quite icy cold, but it still chilled my skin quickly. I pushed through and hoped I wouldn't have to cross that creek again! Nothing to do but keep going. I felt hungry but nothing sounded good to eat. Plus I'd have to stop to get food out of my pack, and then I'd be even colder. I looked at my watch -- 22 miles down, 5 to go. Assuming my watch was accurate.

At one point, the trail leveled off and I thought about putting my poles away. Maybe it would be easier from here on out. As if to mock me, the trail got rougher and muddier. Then I hit another avalanche area -- the worst one of the trip. Somehow I made my way through and found the trail on the other side. 23 miles down, 4 to go. The usual assumptions apply.

Next the trail veered left and I saw that I was going to have to ford the raging creek again. What else could this day bring? As if to answer me, it started raining harder. I was definitely cold now, and I'd have to ford the creek again, getting even colder. Somehow I made it through that and clicked through Mile 24. Just 3 miles left. I hoped.

More mud, more rain, more slips and slides ensued. Mile 25. I was starting to doubt whether I could really be 2 miles from the trailhead. I caught up to a couple who had been moving quite quickly ahead of me despite wearing backpacks. The man turned to me as I passed and said "Are you by chance going to Aspen?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you could give us a ride? We missed the shuttle."

"Sure," I said. I couldn't imagine someone finishing a hike like this and then having no way to get home from the trailhead. "By the way, do you know how far it is to the parking lot"?

"I think it's 1.4 miles from Crater Lake."

We were actually in sight of Crater Lake, which buoyed my spirits. Then there was a lively discussion among the three of us as to what point, exactly, on Crater Lake the mileage was measured from. Having company made the time pass quicker, and we plunged forward, getting closer and closer to the parking lot, and dry clothes, and a heater, and home.

As we approached the end of the trail, we started to see tourists in flip-flops making their way up the trail. I guess Dad had decided this was the day they were going to see Maroon Bells, and DAMMIT, they were going to SEE them!

Finally we were off the rough trail and onto the smooth, pebbled path alongside Maroon Lake. It couldn't be far now! And then I was unlocking my car, and letting my new friends in, and grabbing my dry clothes, and changing into them. I was shaking with hunger. I was driving down the mountain, glad that the hardest thing left in my day would be deciding what to have for dinner.

After I dropped my new friends off at their hostel in Aspen, I decided on pizza. I had a 30-minute drive to our rental house, so I called Greta to ask her to order pizza. In 30 minutes, I'd be home, and warm, and eating hot pizza and drinking cold beer. It was a good day.

It wasn't a great run, though. I had been hoping to finish in around 10 hours. It took 13 and a half. I hadn't run at all after about 15 miles. I think the elevation got to me, and the technical nature of the trails. Yes, the rain and avalanches and fords slowed me down too, but not by 3 and a half hours. In the end, none of the numbers mattered much. I had an epic experience, got to see some spectacular scenery, and came back in one piece. That said, here's the Strava record of the run.

Race Recap: The National Sprint Du—Er, the National Supersprint Duathlon Championships

The National Sprint Duathlon Championships has been my "A" race for the spring. All my training efforts have been directed to doing well in this one event. So as the race approached, naturally I began keeping tabs on the weather—and the weather looked bleak. Thunderstorms all day on Sunday the 14th, with the worst of them at around 2 pm, just an hour after the race was scheduled to start.

But I knew that things could change, and it was still possible that a window would open up during which we could race, so I packed my bike up Saturday and drove down to Greenville, SC where the race was to be held. My main goal was just to improve on my performance from 2018, where I had finished 11th in my age group. To that end, I had resolved to lose 10 pounds so I'd be faster on the run, and work on transitions and starting the second run quickly off the bike.

Well, the 10 pounds never did come off, but my run training had gone well and I was feeling good about transitions and running faster after hard rides. So maybe I'd have a chance to improve on last year.

On Sunday morning the forecast for the afternoon was still looking grim. While many participants (including, hopefully, me) might be able to finish before the worst of the storms rolled in, my event included age-groupers as old as their late 80s, who might take more than three hours to finish. Soon we all learned that our already-short sprint was going to be made even shorter, effectively a supersprint, to ensure everyone could finish before the thunderstorms arrived. Instead of a 5k run, 11-mile ride, and 2-mile run, we'd be doing 2k, 4 miles, and 1.375k. A very short race indeed! Now transitions would take on an even greater importance in the event, so I decided to not even change into my biking shoes for the ride; I'd wear my racing flats throughout. This meant I wouldn't have to run on wet ground in stocking feet for over 50 yards from my bike rack to the mount point, and I wouldn't have to try to slide wet shoes onto my feet while I rode onto the course.

Getting ready to go near the start

Before the race started, a squall whipped through the transition area, knocking several bikes (including mine) off the racks. All the athletes (including me) poured back into the transition area to re-load their bikes. In the end I managed to balance it on there, and fortunately there wasn't another squall before we got going.

I got some strides in before the start, and then everyone lined up to race. I was in wave 3 (men age 50+), behind the younger male and female athletes. There was only a light drizzle during the run, but we sloshed through puddles to get to the start, and had to run through a small drainage stream once we got started. I felt okay, but probably hadn't warmed up quite enough for the short run, and so was only able to manage a 6:29 pace for the run. I should be able to do better than that for such a short distance. I whipped through the transition zone, slid my helmet on, and ran to the bike mount line. I was on my bike in 1:01 -- a big improvement over my 1:35 transition from last year!

My strategy of staying in my running shoes began to pay off almost instantly, as I passed 4 or 5 riders who were trying to slide their feet into their shoes on our way out of the park. We turned onto a highway that had been closed off for the race and I picked up the pace, passing several riders as I went. There was a nasty headwind, but not too much rain. I could only manage 15 mph or so on the uphill sections, but picked it up to the mid-20s on downhills. So many hills in just 2.1 miles! I was passing quite a few riders in this section, and was only passed once. Finally we arrived at the turnaround, after which we'd have a tailwind all the way back. We'd been warned that our brakes wouldn't be very responsive, so to be extra careful on the turnaround. Result: I was probably too careful and had a hard time getting back up to speed. Also, I forgot to downshift and took a second to find the right gear. All these mistakes add up when you're only riding 4.2 miles!

Eventually I got back on track and was able to maintain a faster pace on the way back -- in the 30s on downhills and high teens on uphills. I was giving it an all-out effort, gasping for breath at every moment. Then we turned back into the park and once again I was able to pass several riders fiddling with their shoes. I averaged 21.3 mph for the ride, which was slower than the 21.7 average I had managed the previous year on a much longer ride. The rainy and windy conditions probably had something to do with this, but I also think it's due to the slower section inside the park, which constitutes a proportionately longer part of the ride on the shortened course. If you exclude that section, my speed for the ride jumps to 22.3 mph (compared to 22.2 mph last year in better conditions).

I executed a perfect flying dismount and headed for my bike rack. I threw down my helmet and took off, again saving time because I didn't need to put my running shoes on. T2 was 51 seconds, compared to 1:17 last year.

On the final run, I felt quite a bit stronger than I had last year, and was able to run pretty quickly right out of the gate. It wasn't quite as fast as Run 1, but I was doing a solid 6:40 pace. We climbed a tough hill to get out of the park, and a runner passed me. I looked down at his calf and saw a "53"—he was in my age group! I couldn't let him pull away! So I picked up the pace and hung right behind him, gasping for every breath. About 200 yards from the finish, he seemed to slow a bit, so I tried to pass him with authority. I turned into the park and ran as fast as I could down the hill. There was just one sharp right-hand corner and maybe 50 yards of chute left in the race. As I rounded the corner, "53" whipped past me on the inside. DAMMIT! I tried to keep pace with him but it was no use; he beat me across the line by one second!

I ended up in ninth place in my age group -- two placings better than last year. It's hard to compare the two performances, though, because the distances and conditions were so different. I had saved a full minute in transition -- there's no question of the improvement there -- but I was technically slower on the ride (even though I was faster on the "real" section on the open road). I was hoping for a better performance, but I'm still pretty happy with what I did. 

At the finish after the race. You can see it has been partially destroyed by the winds!

I've got another duathlon in two weeks, in Cary, NC. Assuming the race goes as planned, that might be a better place to assess where I am compared to last year.

Oh, and one more thing: Apparently my performance in this race means that I have qualified to be on Team USA in the world championships in the Netherlands in 2020. I'm seriously considering joining the team and trying my hand at an international championship. Stay tuned!

Details from yesterday's race are below: