tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5090978476566072712024-03-13T16:20:29.571-04:00MungerrunsDave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.comBlogger385125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-91693815333821689812023-10-21T16:47:00.000-04:002023-10-21T16:47:00.356-04:00Race Recap: The Runway 5k, or "Did I Earn the Shoes?"<p>This season I've taken on a project -- get a new grandmaster PR in the 5k. My lifetime best in the 5k is 17:49, set in <a href="https://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2013/10/race-recap-runway-5k.html">2013</a> when I was 46 years old. Injuries and life caught up with me after that, and since I turned 50, I haven't even broken 20 minutes in a 5k (not for lack of <a href="https://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2021/05/race-report-5k-5k.html">trying</a>). My PR since I turned 50 and became a "grandmaster" is 20:20. I've lost quite a bit of speed since then by dabbling in <a href="https://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2023/06/race-recap-comrades-marathon.html">ultras</a>, so it's going to take quite a bit of work to get to that level. I ran a 5k in August and could only manage a 22:13. Since then I've dedicated more serious training to the 5k distance, so I decided to sign up for the Runway 5k in Charlotte on October 21.</p><p>As my speed and stamina improved, I naturally started looking to boost my chances by shopping for shoes online. But at $250+ for the latest and greatest technology, was it really worth it? And for what, maybe 3 or 4 seconds per mile improvement? I finally decided to postpone new shoes until I could legitimately run sub-21 again in a race.</p><p>As the race date approached, my training suggested a sub-21 5k was in reach. All that was needed was a 6:45 per mile pace, and I was feeling quite comfortable running that pace on the track, albeit over much shorter distances. </p><p>Fast-forward to race day. Getting to the start line was a bit of an ordeal, as there was a big lineup of cars outside the parking area. Then we had to get on a shuttle bus to ride to the start. With hundreds of runners still stuck in traffic, it seemed unlikely that the race would start on time. But surprisingly, the PA announcer came on 15 minutes before the scheduled start and said they would indeed be starting on time. I quickly got in my warmup mile, ran a few strides, and headed to the starting area.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2vRJVXLqIXlouTk5h75Is2d7i9VOZU37o74OpC-9SOn9nhn-MXcLzLR7sJ3fa9XYneCSKmWu0jOXMLKlsb0hKm1nkCnceXN8VN1Aw7FA9PP_sctfhXc1YcrbejXgZss9fUuS5o4jvAoG3TZNjWlhuqktdYoHOL9LGRSe3pkwq6MXwPdiYoI35fKCi2w/s4032/IMG_1966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2vRJVXLqIXlouTk5h75Is2d7i9VOZU37o74OpC-9SOn9nhn-MXcLzLR7sJ3fa9XYneCSKmWu0jOXMLKlsb0hKm1nkCnceXN8VN1Aw7FA9PP_sctfhXc1YcrbejXgZss9fUuS5o4jvAoG3TZNjWlhuqktdYoHOL9LGRSe3pkwq6MXwPdiYoI35fKCi2w/w300-h400/IMG_1966.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warming up. Did I mention this race was on a runway?</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Soon we were off and racing. I started off a little fast, but quickly settled in right around my target of 6:45 per mile. There were a good number of runners around me, and another group about 50 yards ahead. The first quarter-mile was a gradual uphill, and by the end I was laboring a bit. Fortunately it leveled off at that point and I could run fairly comfortably at target pace. My watch clicked through on Mile 1 at 6:44.<div><br /></div><div>Now I was starting to gain on a couple runners from the group ahead of us. Unconsciously I picked up the pace, and after a half mile or so I noticed I was running closer to 6:36 pace. I reminded myself to run my race and slowed just a bit. I clicked through Mile 2 at 6:39.</div><div><br /></div><div>I just needed to hang on for one more mile. We had turned back towards the starting area but it was still nowhere in sight. I tried to spot that giant airplane I had run past during warmups at the Mile 3 marker, but I could only see an endless line of runners ahead of me on the tarmac. My pace slowed ... 6:44, 6:45, 6:47. Hang on, Munger! I was laboring with every breath. Finally we turned off this runway and I could see the giant plane in the distance... at the top of a long hill. It was a gradual hill, to be sure, perhaps just a 2 percent grade, but now it felt like a 10% slog. I passed a runner who told me my loud breathing had been motivating him to keep running. Funny, it was motiving me to slow down. Slowly, slowly, I got closer to the plane, and the finish line beyond it. Finally my watch beeped Mile 3 just as I passed the marker. Just a tenth of a mile to go, Munger!</div><div><br /></div><div>I gave it everything I had. I watched the clock click 20:44, 45, 46... it seemed too far away to reach. It clicked 21:00 when I was still 20 yards away. I finally crossed the line and stopped my watch -- 21:03 by my measure. Not quite fast enough for shoes, but still a decent improvement on my 22:13 two months ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then I looked up my official results and I actually got credit for a 21:01... even closer, but no shoes!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo38sq1C6EML-8wYG_TIGIPTuFe-VRhgsLmd3MfUc-cBbzRee2WB0M-FN0BxDgoxCj91KIqla7vYg5haKhfwdFPraX2620KJ5R2sYInQj-EjKpCgps1Yot1YBtMOQiKI3TEZDI8EkcWN1OTLyuyI37s7Aatmv1IvoBDvzICvGLA9DV9ZfA8pqs1ohayxI/s2208/IMG_1963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="1244" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo38sq1C6EML-8wYG_TIGIPTuFe-VRhgsLmd3MfUc-cBbzRee2WB0M-FN0BxDgoxCj91KIqla7vYg5haKhfwdFPraX2620KJ5R2sYInQj-EjKpCgps1Yot1YBtMOQiKI3TEZDI8EkcWN1OTLyuyI37s7Aatmv1IvoBDvzICvGLA9DV9ZfA8pqs1ohayxI/w225-h400/IMG_1963.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Tara (who took the photos), and Mike after the race</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I posted the results -- and the shoe disappointment -- to Strava, and the verdict of the commenters on my effort was that I should still treat myself to the shoes. As one commenter noted, the actual mileage on my Strava was 3.12, so the course was technically a bit long. If the course had been exactly 5 kilometers, would I have made it? Well, 5k is actually 3.107 miles, so assuming my watch was exactly correct on the distance, the course was just 0.013 miles too long. Does that make up for my 1-second shortfall?</div><div><br /></div><div>If you do the math, at my average pace of 6:45 / mile, I travel 0.013 miles in 5 seconds, putting me well below 21 minutes for a precise 5k distance. So if we disregard the inherent error in a Garmin's data, I clearly earned myself a new pair of shoes. And if it gets me a new pair of supershoes, I'm certainly willing to ignore an error in my favor! Time to go shopping!</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10077372428/overview">Click here for the Strava record of my race</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-63303776105391762762023-06-12T14:41:00.002-04:002023-06-12T14:50:06.842-04:00Race recap: Comrades Marathon<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">The Comrades Marathon has one of the most storied histories in all of running. The race is so old that its distance, which varies a bit from year to year, is more than double the modern marathon distance of 26.2 miles. Comrades started in South Africa in 1921, and up to then there had been no official marathon distance. It was typically a long run of around 25 miles, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t call your much-longer run a marathon too. The distance of the race was simply the distance from Pietermaritzburg to Durban, around 90k. Despite the standardizing of the term “Marathon”, Comrades stuck with tradition and calls itself a marathon to this day. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div><div>I chose the race because for some reason I really wanted to run my age in miles. At age 56, that meant I needed to find a really long race, and Comrades was about that length, and has a wonderful history and tradition to boot. As it turned out, the official length of the course this year was only 87.7k, or 54.5 miles. But I only learned that fact a few weeks before the race. Flights and hotels were booked, so this would have to do!</div><div><br /></div><div>A few weeks later I was at the race expo collecting my swag and race bib, and Greta got this photo of me next to the Comrades logo. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1kCk8OxXt24amTAhMYuVkN5b9-7a0r9Ts" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1kCk8OxXt24amTAhMYuVkN5b9-7a0r9Ts" style="height: auto; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; width: auto;" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">With apologies to Princess Leia, I look a little chubby for an ultra runner, but I had definitely put in the miles of training, and I was pretty sure I could finish the race under the 12-hour cutoff. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The next day, the day before the race, I decided to do a little shakeout on the promenade in Durban. Turns out thousands of fellow runners had the same idea, and it was like a huge party out there, with teams running in their official gear, singing as they ran. I took a short video to try to capture the feeling. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced!</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><iframe src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hRtGoTdZNfk?modestbranding=1&title=&showinfo=0&rel=0&controls=0&disablekb=0&autohide=0&play=0&hidden=0&playsInline=1&iv_load_policy=3&mute=0&enablejsapi=1&background=1&html5=1" style="height: auto; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; width: auto;"></iframe><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wanted to explore this amazing place, to try exotic foods, but I knew that walking around too much before a long race was not a good idea, so I chilled at the hotel and found a pasta place for race-day dinner. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally, after a fitful (and short) sleep, I got up at 1:30 am to get ready for the race. I grabbed a quick breakfast, then walked from my hotel to the Durban Exposition Center, where buses would transport us to the race start. I recorded the <a href="https://strava.app.link/v5qTptgwzAb" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 12pt;" title="1-mile walk">1-mile walk</a> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">to the bus stop in case I would need to count it as part of my 56-mile day. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">There was a long, but orderly line for the buses, and soon we were on our way to Pietermaritzburg for the start of the race. We arrived at 4:15, in plenty of time for the 5:30 race start. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">At Comrades, the cutoff times are enforced from the starting gun, not the time you cross the start line. With 20,000 runners, folks at the back of the pack may take 10 minutes to cross the line, so naturally everyone wanted to get to their starting spot as quickly as possible. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">Unfortunately a critical sign was missing directing folks to the “F” corral, where I (and several thousand others) had qualified to start. We ended up in a log jam, with a big fence blocking our entry. Frustrated runners asked race officials to let us in, but we were told to wait, while others from corrals lower on the list (whose direction signs weren’t missing), were clearly getting in ahead of us. Eventually someone just pushed the temporary 8-foot-tall fence down, and we all poured into the starting area.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">Fortunately, once everyone was in the starting area, we all settled down and awaited the start, now only 20 minutes away. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At this point, the runners started breaking into song! I’ve been in dozens of races, and this is definitely the first time that’s ever happened. Here’s a little video clip of the moment. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><iframe src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/37T32Dgb8Mo?modestbranding=1&title=&showinfo=0&rel=0&controls=0&disablekb=0&autohide=0&play=0&hidden=0&playsInline=1&iv_load_policy=3&mute=0&enablejsapi=1&background=1&html5=1" style="height: auto; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; width: auto;"></iframe><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally, after more songs, the national anthem, and a bungled attempt by the DJ to get everyone energized for the race, the starting gun went off at exactly 5:30. And we slowly made our way to the start. After 8 excruciating minutes, we finally crossed the line, and the race began for real. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My plan for the first 20 miles was to limit my pace and make sure I didn’t try to run too fast. I was hoping to finish in under 11 hours, which requires an 11:45 per mile pace. I knew I could easily achieve that pace, even if I tossed in a few minutes of walking per mile. As it turned out, going slow enough over the first few miles wasn’t really a problem. The course was so crowded that you had little choice but to run the same pace as the people around you. Then there was a massive bottleneck in Mile 3 where the course narrowed from 4 traffic lanes to 2. My pace for Mile 3 ended up at 14:44. Combine that with the crowding during Mile 1, and my average pace for the first 3 miles was 14:30! Finally things started to open up a bit, and I refocused on keeping a steady, comfortable pace. This photo should give you a sense of just how crowded it was during those early miles. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1h7aSUjGu9DovF0JPG0TA1G5rIfagzqVj" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1h7aSUjGu9DovF0JPG0TA1G5rIfagzqVj" style="height: auto; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; width: auto;" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That said, we were being treated to some beautiful countryside at dawn, with a crowd of like-minded people who all just loved running. Things could be worse!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Comrades Marathon traditionally changes direction every year, alternating starting in Durban on the coast, or Pietermaritzburg in the mountains. When you start in Pietermaritzburg, it’s called a “down year” because the run is mostly downhill. So this was a down year, but if you take a look at the elevation profile, you’ll see that’s only half true: there is a whole lot of climbing too—adding up to over 3,800 feet!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1B1zpgN3u-T8VrLPw5H2hn68jKZmTaUb5" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1B1zpgN3u-T8VrLPw5H2hn68jKZmTaUb5" style="height: auto; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; width: auto;" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The downhill doesn’t really begin in earnest until you are more than halfway through the race. The accepted wisdom for Comrades in a down year is to not wear yourself out in the first part of the race; you will then be able to recover time in the second half. But I knew from my training that I would slow in the second half no matter what, and my legs would be trashed by then no matter what. I <i>had </i>to build a bit of a cushion at the start or I would be in jeopardy of not finishing. I wanted to at least be running that 11:45 pace, which would give me an hour of cushioning that I would almost certainly need!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I tried to pick up my pace a bit over the next few miles, a man passed me and told me my race number was falling off my hydration pack. At Comrades you are required to have a race number front and back, so I stopped to remove my pack and fix the problem.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I was able to fix the number and awkwardly re-seat the pack on my back, but it had cost me a precious minute of race time. I hastened to get back to running. After a few minutes I noticed something seemed wrong about my pack. I patted the side where my fuel gels should be and it was empty! They must have fallen out while I was adjusting my race number! I had lost at least 5 of the 20 gels I would need for the rest of the race. I had already adapted my fueling plan for the race because it wasn’t easy to get the water out of the floppy race-provided sachets into my flexible water bottles. I ditched my plan of mixing my own Tailwind during the race and would be relying on the official energy drink for the race, “Energade,” which I had only tried for the first time the night before. Now I would need to rely on Energade even more. I decided to load up early on Energade and save my remaining gels for later. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">At least now it wasn’t quite so crowded and I was able to run steadily without worrying too much about the other runners. I clicked off several miles in the 11-minute pace range and caught up to the 11-hour “bus,” which is what they call the pace teams at Comrades. I’m not usually one to stick with a pace group, but I figured that with all the hills in this race, it would probably be easier just to stick with a group than to try to plot my own plan. So I just got on the bus with these guys and ran.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">For the next 15 miles or so I was comfortably on the 11-hour bus. It was a little more crowded on a bus because perhaps 200 people were sticking with one pacer, but it meant I didn’t have to think and could just stay with a group. We walked a lot on the uphills and ran more on the downhills than I was comfortable with, but I didn’t have much trouble keeping up with this group. The only time it was a problem was at aid stations, when it was difficult to get what you wanted with 200 others grabbing for it at the same time. This little video gives you a sense of what it was like near aid stations with the 11-hour bus (I’m having trouble adding videos from my phone so you’ll have to follow this </span><a href="https://youtu.be/K9iYsLtVZtk" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 12pt;" title="link">link</a> to watch)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Otherwise things were going well. We were in a beautiful, hilly region, and it was quite a sight to see the seemingly infinite train of runners ahead and behind us:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1LE-JFB-_aXKyhrIfSwCwdHFkbkqXBpJ2" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1LE-JFB-_aXKyhrIfSwCwdHFkbkqXBpJ2" style="height: auto; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; width: auto;" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">I was through mile 25 and still feeling pretty good. But I was also beginning to wonder when our long descent out of the mountains would begin. I kicked myself for not doing a better job memorizing the course beforehand. We would crest a hilltop, then make a long descent. I would think surely we were done with the biggest hills, and then we’d start up another one. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">At some point in this section, I lost contact with the 11:00 bus and was again running on my own. It was nice to be out of the crowd for a bit but I was also bargaining with myself over when to take walk breaks, when to push a little harder. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">I was definitely slowing down, though, running more miles in the 12s and 13s and fewer in the 10s and 11s. But I did finally make it to the serious descent. When I did, I wished I hadn’t. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">Now, around Mile 33, pain shot through my legs with every step. I was supposed to be running faster on these downhills, but I just couldn’t, and my pace was stubbornly in the 13s. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">I slowed even more for the climbs, which became bigger and more frequent around Mile 43. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">I spent my time going over and over the paces I would need to finish. I had no shot at sub-11 hours, but what would I need to finish in 11:30? How much could I slow down and still be assured of finishing before the absolute 12-hour deadline?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">At Mile 48 the 11:30 bus caught up with me. Could I stick with them for the next 6+ miles? I decided to give it a shot. Once again I got into the rhythm of the group and was able to pick up my pace. I made a </span><a href="https://youtu.be/LYAmAboGARQ" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 12pt;" title="video">video</a> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">of them chanting, over 50 miles into the race. It definitely helped to be running with a group again. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">But after just a few miles, I could no longer keep up, the pain of running downhill was too great and I had to walk. I was walking everywhere now, up and down, barely running at all. But there were just a few miles left. I was walking at a 15-16 minute pace, and by all my calculations it looked like I would make it with several minutes to spare. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">With just 2 miles left, I was passed by the 12-hour bus. If they were accurately pacing, I had to stay with them or get eliminated from the results. Fortunately another runner confirmed that there were several 12-hour buses, and this was just the first one, well ahead of schedule. I decided to try to run again and was surprised to find that I could. We were well within the city of Durban now and the hills weren’t quite so steep. With a mile to go I actually passed the bus and continued ahead on my own. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">I knew Greta was waiting at the finish stadium and I didn’t want to be in a big crowd as I finished. I timed it just right and ran into the stadium with a solid 10 meters of empty turf ahead of me. It was almost as if I was running alone. There were thousands of fans screaming for me and the other runners. I made my way around the stadium. I ran around </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">the final corner and saw the finish line. I raised my arms in triumph. There might have even been a fist pump in there. I saw the clock click to 11:46:00 just before I crossed the line. I had done it! And Greta did see me, snapping this photo as I headed toward the line! </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><img alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1IpuiiWCcZGQ2vEYavuPgD7wxYz9xnocm" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1IpuiiWCcZGQ2vEYavuPgD7wxYz9xnocm" style="height: auto; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; width: auto;" /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">According to my watch, the total distance of the run was 55.29 miles. Added to the 1.03 from my walk to the stadium, that puts me comfortably over 56 miles at age 56. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;">I wish I could tell you more about how amazing and how difficult this run was for me. Maybe I will find the words someday. But I would say that if you are at all inclined to run Comrades, and you have the means to do it, then you should. It’s like no other race I’ve experienced.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">There’s lots more I could say about this race, but I’m exhausted, so I’m going to leave you with this <a href="https://strava.app.link/EEaPInYPzAb" style="font-size: 12pt;" title="Strava record">Strava record</a>. Thanks for reading!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-90691070308747882752023-02-26T14:50:00.004-05:002023-02-27T10:51:01.984-05:00Brief Race Recap: Ellerbe Marathon<p>My main focus this spring is training for the Comrades Marathon, a race with a storied history that began before anyone had settled on the distance for a "Marathon." The Comrades course distance, at 89+ kilometers, didn't prove popular enough to become a standard, but the name stuck. I'm registered for the 2023 edition on June 11, and I started my training regimen for it last December.</p><p>When you are training for a race this long (this year's edition should be close to 56 miles), a run-of-the-mill 26.2-mile marathon is a training run. So when my friend Chas invited me to join him at the race, I figured it would make a good mid-cycle training run, and hopped on board. I've done the Ellerbe Half Marathon but never the full, so it would make a nice notch on the belt as well.</p><p>Comrades requires a marathon or longer as a qualifier. This time is also used to set your starting corral for the race. I had already qualified at New York, but my time of 4:34:50 put me in corral 7 out of 8, and with over 15,000 runners in the race, it would take a long time for me to even cross the start line. With a hard 12-hour cutoff based on the race start gun, I would need every advantage I could get to be awarded a coveted finishers medal. So I set my "A" goal at Ellerbe to be sub-4 hours, which would move me up to Corral 4. The "B" goal was sub-4:15, which would still place me in Corral 5, and that would be a heck of a lot better than Corral 7!</p><p>I haven't been specifically training for a marathon, Ellerbe is <i>very</i> hilly, and I didn't taper for this race, so I really had no idea of what I was capable of, but 4 hours seemed possible -- that works out to a 9:09 pace per mile, and most of my training has been at that pace or faster. My longest run, however, was a 19-miler at a 9:23 pace, both shorter and slower than if I had been doing focused training for a 4-hour marathon.</p><p>Ellerbe is a small, friendly race in a small, friendly town in central North Carolina. There were about 70 runners each in the marathon and the half marathon, which started an hour later. The course has lots of hills, and the marathoners must run it twice. It's a "lollipop" course with a 2.5-mile "stick" you run at the start and the end, and an 8-mile "candy" loop in the middle. The stick part is nice because you end up seeing both marathoners and half-marathoners coming and going. The loop is where most of the hills are. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCLXv3MdrjUpN7VJ3Uaii-OfR6vewuYiXiSf8oU6kjyyUBy8k5pWXM8o5PzYzvhDv4ihpAxJ3qTdOkI0ho-Fm1yp9SqfuHomNQIdLqLUomjUQCsfnsDc3-pW9Yi_fnB4YdL7Hl2rHdZ22FOtPzzk9DGBE9SQZGBp4JtLc4EHMH_9nr7IuxDo0RV8Jx" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="1272" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCLXv3MdrjUpN7VJ3Uaii-OfR6vewuYiXiSf8oU6kjyyUBy8k5pWXM8o5PzYzvhDv4ihpAxJ3qTdOkI0ho-Fm1yp9SqfuHomNQIdLqLUomjUQCsfnsDc3-pW9Yi_fnB4YdL7Hl2rHdZ22FOtPzzk9DGBE9SQZGBp4JtLc4EHMH_9nr7IuxDo0RV8Jx=w400-h196" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The course</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The race starts in the middle of the road out of town. You run behind a police car for the first couple miles, and then you're own your own in the countryside. My plan was to run comfortably around a 9-minute pace on the flats, pick it up a bit on the downs, and put in an equal effort on the climbs. The first several miles trend downward, so I was around an 8:40 pace and felt very comfortable. Peter Asciutto (of "Idiot Run" fame) was out of the course and got this photo of me and another runner a couple miles from the start:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1T1ssokDbR_nofJP5-lYLPqzzhP8B5x1L9ANzBHOWslp5XMlPDb2UQmkf2NPLUFozAFMQhQo_Jr1sGQ4H17GjrF-0I0GzQ8ldD5eItIqaTumVJVvACnMKiheEDYa-Y3kDxE8b9LHf0ca_TfeUDcM7vRTZ4dXR7MHDf4KgYWzjM2BOday64rJsPcuB/s1858/ellerbe2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1236" data-original-width="1858" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1T1ssokDbR_nofJP5-lYLPqzzhP8B5x1L9ANzBHOWslp5XMlPDb2UQmkf2NPLUFozAFMQhQo_Jr1sGQ4H17GjrF-0I0GzQ8ldD5eItIqaTumVJVvACnMKiheEDYa-Y3kDxE8b9LHf0ca_TfeUDcM7vRTZ4dXR7MHDf4KgYWzjM2BOday64rJsPcuB/w400-h266/ellerbe2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>After a while I chatted a bit with the runner in blue, and he was also shooting for a sub-4. But when the serious hills started a couple miles later, he pulled ahead of me as I didn't want to overdo it on the climbs. </p><p>I noted that the really big hill finished up around Mile 7, which would be Mile 20 on the second loop of the course. If I could stay on pace through that point, I would have a shot at my sub-4 race.</p><p>Throughout the race, there were friendly volunteers. Though the course wasn't closed, there was very little traffic, and what cars we did see were extremely courteous. The whole town seems to come together for this event.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl6fuanmeBIthR_0sRKs16-v2UTWufSdH_Y3er9Mye5PEm_8AMd3dBA8gGrFKYyESZunTekhjSzZue9kOWEyMFmujlztir62N9u2JwJvtiBKPScsw3d1r7tBss9HpKkjmQIyacTcmr5uo4r5msDBAyMECOW4yhwJvyICng9RX21zPGcypcozkNWuVD/s1852/ellerbe1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="1852" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl6fuanmeBIthR_0sRKs16-v2UTWufSdH_Y3er9Mye5PEm_8AMd3dBA8gGrFKYyESZunTekhjSzZue9kOWEyMFmujlztir62N9u2JwJvtiBKPScsw3d1r7tBss9HpKkjmQIyacTcmr5uo4r5msDBAyMECOW4yhwJvyICng9RX21zPGcypcozkNWuVD/w400-h268/ellerbe1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another Peter Asciutto photo -- I think around Mile 11</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The course flattens out near the end of the loop, with just a couple gradual uphills heading into town. But at this point I started to notice that my watch wasn't quite agreeing with the mileage markings painted on the road. My watch ticked off the miles a few hundred yards before each marker, and the difference seemed to increase with each mile. Despite this, I made it to the turnaround at 1:58 -- two minutes to spare on my quest for sub-4.</p><p>This time around, however, the 8:40 paces didn't come quite so easily on the flats, and my uphills were in the 9:30s and 9:40s. I did some figuring in my head around Mile 18, and it looked like I'd need to average about a 9:20 pace for the rest of the race to finish under 4 hours. I made it up the big hill before Mile 20, but even after this point, the course was hillier than I remembered. I was keeping my pace in that range or faster when I was running, but I needed to stop for water at the aid stations, and that slowed me down quite a bit. I ran Miles 21-23 at 9:35, 9:20, and 9:32 pace. And my watch was getting farther and farther behind the mile markers.</p><p>When my watch clicked through at 24 miles, my elapsed time was 3:37. If my watch had been accurate, I would have had almost 23 minutes to run the last 2.2 miles -- a comfortable 10:18 pace. By the time I got to the actual 24-mile mark, I only had 18 minutes left. This would have necessitated an 8:11 pace, and I was in no condition to run that fast. Realizing that sub-4 was impossible, I let myself slow down. I ran Mile 25 in 9:58 and 26 in 11:26. I crossed the line at 4:05:28, with my watch reading 26.63 miles. It doesn't seem like much, but that extra 0.4 miles meant there was no chance of me reaching my goal.</p><p>Chas (who had finished first overall with an impressive 3:10:13) took a photo after I crossed the line that pretty much sums up how I felt at the time:</p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ivlfeXWSlO7Atn03hlgpnEo2Ep5wgih78GxcpGC1P6T1SXnHsPzMZTNgLcnakXkBnAID0rvvqiEr6_zK8tmXCUNeOoDVJ2jomuegAyitKEo2mvtRvX6iOd7JLTzurWJJSzoeHML7PxvXXBWRD8qGdnZxFS9vCnujm2Qjo9kCIPifBOTanLpVgnqq/s4032/IMG_3943.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ivlfeXWSlO7Atn03hlgpnEo2Ep5wgih78GxcpGC1P6T1SXnHsPzMZTNgLcnakXkBnAID0rvvqiEr6_zK8tmXCUNeOoDVJ2jomuegAyitKEo2mvtRvX6iOd7JLTzurWJJSzoeHML7PxvXXBWRD8qGdnZxFS9vCnujm2Qjo9kCIPifBOTanLpVgnqq/w300-h400/IMG_3943.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy to be done, but also kind of annoyed</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>But now, thinking back on the race, there really isn't anything I would do differently. I'm not training for this race, I'm training for Comrades. This is my fitness level right now, and it's where I need to be. I was able to run 6 miles the day after the race (something I would never even attempt if this was a normal marathon) as required by my training plan. I'll continue to put in more miles, and there will be weekends down the line where I run 38, 40 miles — much more than this weekend's 32. If all goes well, I should be able to finish Comrades in June, and go farther than I've ever gone in a day before. If I finish it (or if I don't), I'll write about it here... and then move on to the next challenge! Stay tuned!</p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8621010957">Click here for my Strava record of the race</a></p>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-63887516429563429422023-01-08T16:25:00.002-05:002023-01-08T16:26:49.536-05:00Brief Race Recap: The South Mountains Half Marathon<p>After my difficult DNF at the <a href="https://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2022/07/race-report-val-daran-pda-55k.html">Val D'Aran 55k</a>, I pretty much decided to give up on trail racing. If I couldn't complete that race, there was no way that my ultimate goal of finishing the UTMB CCC 100k was going to be possible, even assuming I could qualify for the race in the first place.</p><p>But if there is one thing I've learned over the past 12 years of running, it's that I shouldn't ever say "never." So in a move that surprised no one, I signed up for another trail race -- the <a href="https://www.tanawhaadventures.com/southmountainsmarathons">South Mountains Half</a>. In my defense, it's "only" a half marathon -- albeit one with over 2,700 feet of climbing and some tricky trails. Add in a cold drizzle on race morning and all of a sudden it's not exactly an easy race. Here's the elevation profile.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWi8kqIToWXqfR1n8MrIt1-fCb6oj7Hwq43MjBblqg_oJWMCaBBJDwJMVjgxkOH35ypsmObljq8XRhwlH7Uh9MCl_F-CjBy6_0YmQlywAhz7cuc7FM71uwuw2LVVFBlEW9VLumjTANL6WROlD2LSXetKyq6XVrjKo6x9PzflyF-OIYKfCj_RUyQmYU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="1758" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWi8kqIToWXqfR1n8MrIt1-fCb6oj7Hwq43MjBblqg_oJWMCaBBJDwJMVjgxkOH35ypsmObljq8XRhwlH7Uh9MCl_F-CjBy6_0YmQlywAhz7cuc7FM71uwuw2LVVFBlEW9VLumjTANL6WROlD2LSXetKyq6XVrjKo6x9PzflyF-OIYKfCj_RUyQmYU=w400-h134" width="400" /></a></div><br />As you can see, the race is basically two big climbs and two big descents. Other than a big staircase in Mile 7, it's all quite runnable. I didn't have a specific plan for the race other than "don't die," but after starting off the race and heading up the first big hill, it seemed like a pace of 5 miles per hour, 12 minutes per mile, might be sustainable, so that's what I tried to do.<p></p><p>Using a run / walk strategy, I made my way up the hill that spanned miles 1-4 in 48 minutes, pretty much right on target. I passed quite a few runners on the way up the hill, but then the route turned onto a long, downhill singletrack trail. Downhill is definitely my weakness on trails, so I focused on looking a few steps ahead and trying to maintain a steady clip even over obstacles. But the trail was wet and covered with slippery leaves, and I didn't want to injure myself for what still would be my primary focus this season, long road races. Inevitably I started to hear footsteps behind me, and I let two runners pass. A few minutes later, I was letting some more runners pass. Another runner was behind me, but I didn't think he was gaining much ground. But after a couple minutes of him right on my tail, I let him pass as well. "You'll probably pass me back on the next climb," he said. As he tore off ahead of me, I wasn't so sure of that. I managed to make my way down the 2-mile descent at around an 11:30 pace, so I was still on target for a sub-12 pace for the race. Here there was an aid station, and I refilled my water bottle and grabbed a fun-sized Snickers for the road.</p><p>Next was the climb up High Shoals Falls, 600 steep steps. I knew there was no way I would be doing this at a 12-minute pace, so I just tried to climb quickly and steadily. I finally arrived at the top on a runnable trail, and resumed a similar pace. Mile 7 had 520 feet of climbing and I finished it in 17:30. The next couple miles were also mostly uphill, but still very runnable. I tried to give myself reasonable mini targets, like "just run for 3 minutes," then let myself walk a bit to recover. I picked off several runners, including the guy who had passed me on the big descent, who gave me an "I told you." I said I was sure he would pass me on the upcoming downhill. I got through Mile 8 in 13:57 and Mile 9 in 11:38. </p><p>Then I turned onto the Shinny Trail, a steep, singletrack descent for the next 2.5 miles. The first bit of it wasn't too bad and I managed a 12:48 pace. But then the trail got steeper and more technical. Once again several runners passed me, including the guy I'd been trading spots with for the entire race. "I told you so," I said. </p><p>"You'll get me on the next climb," he replied. Unfortunately there were no climbs left in the race, so I didn't see him again until the finish. My pace for Mile 11 was a slothlike 14:48 while descending 380 feet. </p><p>At the bottom of the Shinny trail, you cross Shinny Creek several times. Because I was going so slow, I was starting to get cold, and now my feet were getting wet. I knew the trail would soon be getting easier, but I wondered if I could take advantage of the easy trail with cold feet and legs. Fortunately, my legs did respond, and I was able to run a respectable 11:27 for Mile 12. Now I was on the easy tourist path with just a quarter mile to run, and I picked it up even more, finishing at an 8:44 clip. I crossed the line, high-fived Brandon the race director, and headed to the hut in the parking lot, where they were serving delicious hot chili. My friends had already finished, much faster than me, but I was happy with my efforts and the fact that I didn't die! </p><p>Overall my time was 2:39:08, which works out to a 13:03 pace by my watch. But watches are notoriously inaccurate on trails. While my watch logged 12.19 miles, the official course length is 13.3 miles. Assuming that's accurate, my actual pace works out to 11:58, which means I beat my goal pace. I'll take it!</p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8359880733/overview">Click here for my Strava record of the race</a></p>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-83848207997734551812022-11-10T16:20:00.000-05:002022-11-10T16:20:31.030-05:00Race recap: The New York Marathon The New York Marathon this year was supposed to be a celebration. I had spent 10 years trying to qualify for the race, and finally did it this past <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2022/02/race-report-wilmington-half-marathon.html?m=1">February</a>. When I couldn’t get into the race via the standard qualification process, I decided to run for a charity, the Choroidoremia Research Foundation. I successfully raised over $3000 for the charity, and so I was allowed to enter the race!<p></p><p>But after a summer spent hiking across Spain, when I arrived home at the start of September, I was out of shape for running. I set up an aggressive plan to train for the race, but it was too aggressive. After a long flight across the country to visit relatives in mid-September, I could barely walk! It turned out I had acquired runner’s knee, a common affliction for people who try to ramp up their training too fast.</p><p>I took the week off of running, then visited a personal trainer, who told me that I could probably rehabilitate fast enough to finish the New York Marathon, but it would be very difficult. I had six weeks to do it.</p><p>I took a conservative approach to my training, with no speed work, lots of stretching and strength exercises, and very gradually building up my mileage to a long run of 18 miles two weeks out from the race. I was running slowly, but I could at least run a relatively decent distance. It would have to do.</p><p>Two weeks later, I was in New York, waiting to board the Staten Island ferry for the race. After 10 years, I was finally here, but the weather was not good. It was already over 70°, and was forecast to get up to 75. I generally do best in races at around 40°, so this was almost as bad as it could get.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSK62ugONTBgVax3ZX6NfqboKmgHBZoed_wRvt-LOhrgsNpyh_Uc0X51SWijDjvU4CeOCjL9YYXJvkhAY2yXX4L-Mp3PX7bjXFLpJXyR6ZTfWzlDSDpXrdh1RPemJGP_Oz3y1w7S367hc2rlT-o6rd8TbBXzoZHwK6a73NBn-aZICgcnMvsqVtjmLi/s4032/377EE65D-966D-4ABA-BA2A-6227097B77FD.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSK62ugONTBgVax3ZX6NfqboKmgHBZoed_wRvt-LOhrgsNpyh_Uc0X51SWijDjvU4CeOCjL9YYXJvkhAY2yXX4L-Mp3PX7bjXFLpJXyR6ZTfWzlDSDpXrdh1RPemJGP_Oz3y1w7S367hc2rlT-o6rd8TbBXzoZHwK6a73NBn-aZICgcnMvsqVtjmLi/w400-h300/377EE65D-966D-4ABA-BA2A-6227097B77FD.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the terminal </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1m0jypylwc6QyeDxWAR6i3ful4VF7BHQ31HHrU1zcRedHR6_90WluIsMZh7eoMr2Q1UbgRe2mftOYIOOABhLz1GBgl907lmZjAcP3VKCR2W1QSPTvcy_xJMbZhqMGK627pIThQ8iVSGUed2-xugEpC0FFozFKPApdnPyOpARyTknuo7jIl44y1xA/s4032/D8181BB1-249B-48AF-B23E-D57201134C10.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1m0jypylwc6QyeDxWAR6i3ful4VF7BHQ31HHrU1zcRedHR6_90WluIsMZh7eoMr2Q1UbgRe2mftOYIOOABhLz1GBgl907lmZjAcP3VKCR2W1QSPTvcy_xJMbZhqMGK627pIThQ8iVSGUed2-xugEpC0FFozFKPApdnPyOpARyTknuo7jIl44y1xA/w400-h300/D8181BB1-249B-48AF-B23E-D57201134C10.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside, with a few thousand friends</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Still, it was exciting to actually be heading to the start of the race. Claire, a Davidson runner who I had only just met a few weeks before, ended up sitting right across from me on the ferry, and we chatted nervously as the sun rose over New York Harbor.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then it was off the ferry to get on a bus for the 4-mile ride to the race start. But the the plaza where the buses were arriving to pick up runners was chaotic, even by New York standards. I made my way to a "line" where hundreds of folks were pushing toward the line of buses. There must have been 10,000 people in the plaza, and the buses were loading painfully slowly. Then the row of buses would depart and another row would ease in, as the runners shoved forward. It seemed like I was only moving forward a few inches with each bus, and there were hundreds of people ahead of me. After a half hour or so of waiting, someone asked if this was normal. Several veteran runners said it it wasn't; usually you could just hop right a bus as soon as you got off the ferry. That DEFINITELY wasn't happening. I took a picture of the scene.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjw34zj2Es_jcdoaX8_E2ruaB2d6naMsgDXQ5H0PCKypDtbI-5m4TT6y47B3HVFTHfTXwJ58GhGEpdNCqds6Wzz_X93rKQt7MirWmGYMN59a-b7q7UsqrjKuqMbbDnpsoE9NKFN2Xl4MYURaPUxvbMW9lLcajaMIXo0fpLKZhM3tU1o2JaqgajLWi/s4032/1930A5DB-B170-4D79-B7D6-EC88E9B3E100.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjw34zj2Es_jcdoaX8_E2ruaB2d6naMsgDXQ5H0PCKypDtbI-5m4TT6y47B3HVFTHfTXwJ58GhGEpdNCqds6Wzz_X93rKQt7MirWmGYMN59a-b7q7UsqrjKuqMbbDnpsoE9NKFN2Xl4MYURaPUxvbMW9lLcajaMIXo0fpLKZhM3tU1o2JaqgajLWi/w400-h300/1930A5DB-B170-4D79-B7D6-EC88E9B3E100.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craziness!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Some of the runners said we should let those who were in Wave 1 get on the buses first. That made some sense, but how could anyone be sure the runners cutting ahead were being honest? What if that meant the Wave 2 runners (like me) missed their own starting times? People were yelling for folks to push forward; other people were yelling back that that was the stupidest idea they'd ever heard. I had arrived at the bus stop around 6:45, with 3 hours to spare before I was supposed to start, but now it was looking like I might miss my starting wave. It was after 8 am, and there were still mobs of people pushing and trying to get onto the buses ahead of me. One Wave 1 runner decided to jog to the start, adding an extra 4 miles to his days' run. Honestly that might have been better than standing in a hot crowd for 2+ hours!</div><div><br /></div><div>I finally got on a bus around 9 am, arriving at the starting area at 9:20. Then I walked towards the starting area, stopping at an open porta-potty. But then suddenly I noticed that signs to the Orange corrals (my assignment) were pointing backwards. Could I have missed a sign? I turned around and found the right pathway to my corral. I arrived just as the corral was closing. "Hurry up," the race official said, and I ran through the starting area as ropes were being pulled up to close it off. I got to the starting area and looked ahead at a sea of people. Behind me was an empty freeway. I had <i>just</i> made it!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ypEaizYN22mQ5jbHYe4EgQCZaUJ7-oWG55cecJnEwn5gY1D9pB7drMhTethsr6pELbsukK6W4wFLtKSRzPkDGYXkak1HdIph1MXHh7mKuhKLL1ZQXC1N-osT_a3tP32O9vKb0hpw5he6UEjfxaKtG8Ri3ejwiP9Wz030Xfg7zeFzouex9m1boPUG/s4032/1E2A9505-9CCB-4988-9298-1A72140F4022.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ypEaizYN22mQ5jbHYe4EgQCZaUJ7-oWG55cecJnEwn5gY1D9pB7drMhTethsr6pELbsukK6W4wFLtKSRzPkDGYXkak1HdIph1MXHh7mKuhKLL1ZQXC1N-osT_a3tP32O9vKb0hpw5he6UEjfxaKtG8Ri3ejwiP9Wz030Xfg7zeFzouex9m1boPUG/w400-h300/1E2A9505-9CCB-4988-9298-1A72140F4022.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the corral</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Soon the PA announcer counted us down, and we started the race, with the song "New York, New York" blaring over the loudspeakers. By the time I got to the start line, the song was over, but I was really here, and this was really happening. I couldn't resist taking a selfie on the bridge; it was just an awesome scene, with 10,000 runners all starting this epic event together (and 3 more waves of 10,000 to come!).</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoHpOp01Wiq979UIK_lQydvE6RvQPDbVALWmv7B1uio-RRL9Kev1tD6hGLHS3DMKSBuzdeLAUraX4jjntDnFHIdPM6t6PTjgDdAttDbnpVpUrq0yCFpzkxbk3Jb6gBLlPLdJPMpZI6LUK4jS5o13Rz3j7RswGtu9W8-Rp1qNmXbuEzul5X-vLwHLT/s4032/8E75ACA1-A259-4DBF-8400-6B77CEA21B89.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoHpOp01Wiq979UIK_lQydvE6RvQPDbVALWmv7B1uio-RRL9Kev1tD6hGLHS3DMKSBuzdeLAUraX4jjntDnFHIdPM6t6PTjgDdAttDbnpVpUrq0yCFpzkxbk3Jb6gBLlPLdJPMpZI6LUK4jS5o13Rz3j7RswGtu9W8-Rp1qNmXbuEzul5X-vLwHLT/w400-h300/8E75ACA1-A259-4DBF-8400-6B77CEA21B89.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm on a bridge! Running a marathon!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngwG9AlHdRU0yLPHMlUsM9cUYi5n5dJvJfiTHGJ7LZWff5Njme1nNNjJuymwmJOeaW029nfyHHOlA9ZWLkY0eayiDv2QQiKZtOornEPGsolaMBwa_qREPDdXromtYwMf1Vyd0x5_qSDD3xm5VHT1hdFVgLXnIn9GkUZ6ZJK8-upc97DhZ-SGiOG--/s2450/061FBD7B-81E9-4B5C-9F3F-08C94C1CF34D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1543" data-original-width="2450" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngwG9AlHdRU0yLPHMlUsM9cUYi5n5dJvJfiTHGJ7LZWff5Njme1nNNjJuymwmJOeaW029nfyHHOlA9ZWLkY0eayiDv2QQiKZtOornEPGsolaMBwa_qREPDdXromtYwMf1Vyd0x5_qSDD3xm5VHT1hdFVgLXnIn9GkUZ6ZJK8-upc97DhZ-SGiOG--/w400-h253/061FBD7B-81E9-4B5C-9F3F-08C94C1CF34D.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fireboat with the Manhattan skyline in the distance</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The race route crosses the Verrazano Narrows bridge and then spends the next 11 miles in Brooklyn. After the excitement of starting the race, it was time to get to the business of making sure I finished it. My plan was to run the same pace I'd been running in training, about 9:15 per mile, for as long as I could. I had completed an 18 miler at this average pace, but I had slowed down drastically over the last couple miles. So the last 8-10 miles of this race might well be much slower than that 9:15 pace. Now, 3 miles into the race, I was feeling just fine, and a 9:15 pace felt quite comfortable.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the streets of Brooklyn, people were starting the line the course and cheer us on. Some folks had signs; My favorite was "RUN FAST, WE HAVE <i>REALLY </i>BIG RATS IN BROOKLYN." I tried to high-5 as many kids as possible and just soak in the spirit of the community.</div><div><br /></div><div>The runners' guide promised aid stations with Gatorade Endurance and water every mile starting at Mile 3. I was also carrying 6 gels for fuel. Since the weather was warm and humid, I knew I would need to drink as much as possible. I also had brought some electrolyte tablets but somehow those hadn't made their way into my pockets at the race start, so I decided to drink as much Gatorade as I could during the race. In the past I haven't done well with Gatorade, but more recently I had trained with it for my Ironman, so I knew I could tolerate at least some of it.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the miles ticked by, I amused myself with little observations about the culture of the race.</div><div><br /></div><div>• Unlike in Boston and Chicago, people in New York would dash across the course in front of runners. For the most part they managed this without incident, but for some reason even large groups of people would all try to cross together. There was no way a big group could cross without making a collision course with some of the runners. PEOPLE, I wanted to shout. YOU AREN'T GOING TO GET LOST! JUST CROSS ONE AT A TIME AND REGROUP ON THE OTHER SIDE!</div><div><br /></div><div>• "Allie" was the most popular name for a runner. I would say that "Go Allie" signs outnumbered all other names on signs by at least 2:1.</div><div><br /></div><div>• This was the only race I've been in where runners routinely stop in the MIDDLE of the road. They were, like, answering their phones, or taking a selfie while STOPPED. What part of RACE don't these people understand?</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfsiwIYdGNnwmOyrWVb8f5SAf4b8w0UVoI89RIQw-Zj5CdOgYgUp0NxYMUpZ1A0dgXK-nmI8CfwQpd5zX8taKCo4V1RtJ-YjuEUmx_7w-1ojffs0qx3SSo7BXKwizkV34a4mZWDSGGhv7TnEVucOLO0-GGUd5I9I-Y51bz7gHJWPQNBeWWRiqcyjz/s4032/9B632232-C901-4CA9-9229-8969432FD0B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfsiwIYdGNnwmOyrWVb8f5SAf4b8w0UVoI89RIQw-Zj5CdOgYgUp0NxYMUpZ1A0dgXK-nmI8CfwQpd5zX8taKCo4V1RtJ-YjuEUmx_7w-1ojffs0qx3SSo7BXKwizkV34a4mZWDSGGhv7TnEVucOLO0-GGUd5I9I-Y51bz7gHJWPQNBeWWRiqcyjz/w400-h300/9B632232-C901-4CA9-9229-8969432FD0B2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me taking a selfie without stopping. It can be done, people!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>• The smell of marijuana doesn't bother me during a race, but chestnuts roasting give me a nearly instantaneous gag reflex. Fortunately there was much more marijuana being consumed along the course than chestnuts.</div><div><br /></div><div>• There is a Lorimer Street in Brooklyn. It's a little different from Lorimer Road in Davidson though:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVyfSbEpXvc92YRZ2EsEvm6FDYqjgyXB_KU1FV-59nvatEIH1cNOjgqzqEkzzoSFCzh9K6gA0V9kAWFwME3ZA86ohNUyob0U0wSYUsWTtO3bmUPTfx9gQ3WJmRoT1XnfRcA5crvpgwnmRPpd8hi3UifGBiw9ZgyCZEkJ9I-vcJ27acC1F7HEY8XXSE/s4032/F6551DF0-DB8C-43E1-9E5A-FBC140D12515.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVyfSbEpXvc92YRZ2EsEvm6FDYqjgyXB_KU1FV-59nvatEIH1cNOjgqzqEkzzoSFCzh9K6gA0V9kAWFwME3ZA86ohNUyob0U0wSYUsWTtO3bmUPTfx9gQ3WJmRoT1XnfRcA5crvpgwnmRPpd8hi3UifGBiw9ZgyCZEkJ9I-vcJ27acC1F7HEY8XXSE/w400-h300/F6551DF0-DB8C-43E1-9E5A-FBC140D12515.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not as many trees. Other than that, pretty similar to Davidson ;)</td></tr></tbody></table><br />As we got closer to the center of Brooklyn, the crowds got bigger and rowdier. The course was taped off with police tape, but no one paid any attention to that, and fans were out in the middle of the street. <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQZ728yIhgNKZDa9asHXk09n3hMz8cgAxesXrm34Fa_cDeGCAxZKDi78Yi_2IUaaWt5HwwsxKxphNQXFcURTjCwEJkTaVEzh-mO01FhYzHOIxF7CK6SGH6Q2q8XCRVHqr5TV6wy75JLMDxpSGIE46JIpnXYNK85f9Mw_1Q8_x4Sooe9saQNIxCYmR/s4032/06793E89-63C6-41BB-B294-A13A79389986.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQZ728yIhgNKZDa9asHXk09n3hMz8cgAxesXrm34Fa_cDeGCAxZKDi78Yi_2IUaaWt5HwwsxKxphNQXFcURTjCwEJkTaVEzh-mO01FhYzHOIxF7CK6SGH6Q2q8XCRVHqr5TV6wy75JLMDxpSGIE46JIpnXYNK85f9Mw_1Q8_x4Sooe9saQNIxCYmR/w400-h300/06793E89-63C6-41BB-B294-A13A79389986.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were getting funneled through a narrower and narrower corridor</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I would say the inconvenience of being packed tightly among the other runners was roughly balanced by the energy and enthusiasm of the crowds, so all in all it wasn't too much of a problem. </div><div><br /></div><div>During Mile 14 we crossed over the Pulaski Bridge and into Queens. This section of Queens was fairly industrial so there weren't quite as many people as in Brooklyn but there were still plenty of folks to cheer us on. After 2 miles in Queens we got onto the Queensboro Bridge and headed towards Manhattan.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had been told this was the quietest part of the race, but even though it's a big climb to cross the bridge, I didn't have much difficulty with it. I think I was anxious with anticipation of coming out onto First Avenue in Manhattan where the largest crowds of the race would be. Soon, I descended into Manhattan and got to see those crowds for myself. They were AWESOME! Super loud and enthusiastic (though still biased towards runners named "Allie"), and it was a huge help. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmlWZI-0XI4W0A9uUeCbxyUU8Pk9sjEhC3IyIsUxxTSpuVAeKrRX_FxxMV7UECDft1BCaWkX8GjuVOGxf3tucGL3-Pc-9xRBhvqDQQhvcjtMpXQAp59GZIaSbnOuRSdtuzHHCNdHPMHip-AtlLgBOZmbcZJvtSrRb7OTnYQjHgEJwhBYe5t2WGIejO/s4032/9FC077E6-4352-4A97-9E9B-C8856E23AA96.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmlWZI-0XI4W0A9uUeCbxyUU8Pk9sjEhC3IyIsUxxTSpuVAeKrRX_FxxMV7UECDft1BCaWkX8GjuVOGxf3tucGL3-Pc-9xRBhvqDQQhvcjtMpXQAp59GZIaSbnOuRSdtuzHHCNdHPMHip-AtlLgBOZmbcZJvtSrRb7OTnYQjHgEJwhBYe5t2WGIejO/w400-h300/9FC077E6-4352-4A97-9E9B-C8856E23AA96.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running up First, getting cheered by a few hundred thousand friends</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Miles 17-20 were on First Avenue, and despite the enthusiasm of the crowds, my body was beginning to remind me that I hadn't run this far even once during training. So far I had only been taking walk breaks at aid stations, but I bargained with myself, telling myself I could start taking an extra walk break each mile after Mile 20. I had kept that 9:15 pace up until about Mile 11, but now my pace was more like 10:00. I didn't really have a time goal for this race other than making sure to finish in less than 4 hours and 50 minutes (which would qualify me for the Comrades Marathon next year). I started to do mental math to figure out what I needed to do to stay under 4:50. I convinced myself I should be fine as long as I kept the pace faster than 12:00 per mile. </div><div><br /></div><div>The course crossed into the Bronx for a mile and a half. As we headed back towards Manhattan a woman held a sign indicating it was the LAST DAMN BRIDGE. In Harlem now, I passed a big high school band, who SCREAMED with glee at the person running behind me. Who was it? J-Lo? Drake? No, it was a classmate of theirs.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was running on Fifth Avenue alongside Central Park, then into Central Park. Just two miles left! But I had spent almost everything to get to this point. I walked the hills. I turned onto Central Park South. One mile left! Then I turned back into the park and headed toward the finish line. I had watched Shalane Flanagan and Meb Keflezighi run this section to victory. Now I was running it! I crossed the line! I had done it!</div><div><br /></div><div>My time was nothing special, 4:34 and change, but it was solidly under the 4:50 I needed. But New York had given me a fantastic race. Now I just wanted to sit down. Unfortunately, they don't let you do that at the end of the New York Marathon. I had to walk a mile to get out of the park. Finally, on 76th Street, you can walk back into the city. I looked for a park bench. The best I could do was a half-wall in front of a brownstone. I sat there and rested my aching legs. In a minute a man joined and asked how my race went. I said it was tough, but I really enjoyed it. Then I asked how his race went. "Oh, I didn't run the race, I LIVE here!" Embarrassed, I thanked him for sharing his wall with me. He told me it was his pleasure, then offered me a beer. I was in no condition to keep a beer down, but I thanked him for the offer. I chatted with him for 10 minutes, then headed out into the city to meet up with my family. </div><div><br /></div><div>After 10 years of trying to qualify and run the New York Marathon, was it worth it? Absolutely! It wasn't my fastest race, or even what I should have been able to do given where my training was earlier this year, but it was about as good as I could have expected under the circumstances. And I got to experience New York in a really cool, fun way, and see New Yorkers at their best. Would I do it again? I'm not sure -- there are lots of other things I want to do first. But I would highly encourage anyone who's inclined to run a big city marathon to try to get into New York. It's an amazing experience!</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8079294772">Click Here for the Strava record of my race.</a></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-11460178321361208822022-07-26T10:51:00.002-04:002023-01-12T17:42:53.644-05:00Race report: Val d’Aran PDA 55k<div class="separator"><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Update: Now with photos!</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wanted to do a destination ultra this year in a scenic location and settled on Val d’Aran. It takes place in a spectacular setting in the Pyrenees in Spain, and it’s also a qualifying race for the UTMB CCC race, which has always intrigued me. </div></div><p>Meanwhile my wife Greta wanted to go to Spain to walk the Camino, a 500-mile traditional pilgrimage route. The stars aligned this year and we decided to do both. First up was Val d’Aran. Me and running buddy Joey signed up for the 55k (34-mile) PDA race (short for Peades d’Aigua, which means Water Footsteps in the Aranese language). We knew the course would be challenging, with 10,000 feet of climbing and 11,000 of descent and a 13-hour time cutoff.</p><p>But I felt I had done enough bleacher and hill training to prepare myself for the pounding I would take on this challenging course. So we all flew to Spain, taking care to put all our race essentials in carry-on bags and checking only non-essential gear. That turned out to be a great plan as the airline did end up losing our bag!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFYiPDMGWEgyes5eSpsWBWH77SO4ZYjU4t6jJ6gL6qoxAtPM2WvzckyaN43OHfQOp1dlHsEoIeNmoKKDyJY8G0SJXA9kwrbt50IEIS-fBc9PKEghftK_GGzVxvjsxYiLryCwacOTXxu4_ac1smq7TE6hiuXjlFz1HexedHFPubqRjg97U_Qo0eNFs7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2206" data-original-width="2790" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFYiPDMGWEgyes5eSpsWBWH77SO4ZYjU4t6jJ6gL6qoxAtPM2WvzckyaN43OHfQOp1dlHsEoIeNmoKKDyJY8G0SJXA9kwrbt50IEIS-fBc9PKEghftK_GGzVxvjsxYiLryCwacOTXxu4_ac1smq7TE6hiuXjlFz1HexedHFPubqRjg97U_Qo0eNFs7=w400-h316" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Two days later we were at the start of the biggest trail race either of us had ever taken part in, with over 1,500 participants!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMGSQMo1vf9hUnYgs7acqzrL2XKCV9RP8KAQD2IXt9PlQueeVjGU8B8ptdFzXwCc9YMMA9rmjYVBF0_pOG4a9KsM82bdaRKVe7XQriLkN6htmE7xAVS2G0yANakrLQEn-LVhv6JuCk22BMFBMmvC0dlqG5YO_4fQ5rypRSuEfMRT-jhKOKWoiU-d_m" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2408" data-original-width="1718" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMGSQMo1vf9hUnYgs7acqzrL2XKCV9RP8KAQD2IXt9PlQueeVjGU8B8ptdFzXwCc9YMMA9rmjYVBF0_pOG4a9KsM82bdaRKVe7XQriLkN6htmE7xAVS2G0yANakrLQEn-LVhv6JuCk22BMFBMmvC0dlqG5YO_4fQ5rypRSuEfMRT-jhKOKWoiU-d_m=w285-h400" width="285" /></a></div><br />There were three emcees at the start, hyping up the runners in Spanish, French, and English. It really was exciting to be a part of such a huge event! Joey was in the first wave at 7:30, so I watched him start and then quickly lined up for my own start at 7:45. <p></p><p>Before I knew it, we were off and running through the picturesque streets of Salardú before heading out for the trails. The first mile or so was paved, but soon we began heading up into the proper mountains that loomed above the valley. Here’s the elevation profile of the race:</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8p6cWqcbifTfhG9w7z2GQKbU4MnWXfZwQxRynpg3HCcvgyJfBchkpDkxg2CbDmky_pRigp-gugNgWBF6vWQm8CZe9Cdr7UvD7plk0EkR3iatwgwzoV0WWEfbzh7MHGUUFcYInvIqZ3kRAAHuOVkr7zDH9H2R2pjJuJkW6pmyvRdhY-O4Xwg1r5Sfn" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="2792" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8p6cWqcbifTfhG9w7z2GQKbU4MnWXfZwQxRynpg3HCcvgyJfBchkpDkxg2CbDmky_pRigp-gugNgWBF6vWQm8CZe9Cdr7UvD7plk0EkR3iatwgwzoV0WWEfbzh7MHGUUFcYInvIqZ3kRAAHuOVkr7zDH9H2R2pjJuJkW6pmyvRdhY-O4Xwg1r5Sfn=w400-h105" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Map from 2023 edition; might be a bit different]</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We had 2 hours to get to the first aid station at Bahns de Tredòs, 500 meters (1500 feet) above the start line. I had made a cheat sheet—a little card with all the important data from the race, most importantly the pace per mile I would need to make it to each aid station before the cut-off time. Overall I would need to average about 20 minutes per mile—not a problem on a flat, smooth surface, but often a challenge on steep, rough terrain. </p><p>There were so many runners in this race that occasionally the trail would get backed up with runners as the runners ahead encountered a difficult bit of terrain. At one point I was at a complete standstill waiting for the runners ahead to climb the first really steep section of trail. I was shooting for an 18-minute pace, and despite the halting nature of the pack, I easily hit that goal as I arrived at the first aid station. My plan was to get some Isotonic, an electrolyte drink that was We supposed to be at every aid station, and see how that went down since I had never tried it before. However there was a lot of confusion at the station, with so many runners and different languages spoken, and I ended up with lemonade. </p><p>On the way out of the station, we had a flat-ish, runnable road for a quarter mile or so, so I took the opportunity to get some actual running in. I must have stumbled over a pebble, and before I knew it I was flat on my face. “I’m fine,” I shouted to no one one particular. A fellow picked up my hat, which had fallen off, saying “here you go, mate,” so I guess he was Australian. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him though, for he soon dashed off ahead of me. </p><p>It wasn’t long before the course got steep and technical again. At each difficult pitch, the group slowed to a near-standstill. I tried to take the opportunity to get some calories down, but the lemonade wasn’t agreeing with me. In hindsight I should have consumed some of the gels I had in my pack. I was worried about running out, but at this point I should have been focusing on the energy needed to get to the next checkpoint, which could end up being my last if I didn’t get the energy I needed to move fast enough. </p><p>This was a beautiful area, with several gemlike lakes. I kept thinking I should take a photo, but I didn’t want to let anyone pass me, lest I get caught behind them at the next traffic jam. There were also several race photographers along the course. As it turned out, this was a good call. The race photographers got some really great shots!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5cu_kPbGdAQEx7f2Tc8kYYxr5q5UkLFzT4h7D7KyLYTZEMzJWwN1gzVrCJqU2d7HzwDolaJF6gX0KmAW8yRuPR4xpyxou6KxsEAwvw0NpJBNlqSamJhFAY_TVQHinAcszR8Z60zWdiHKyKFvl9vQbwz5lQ0aN3AKs4KB3fw_gm4vk3FWGoLbi_bm5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2112" data-original-width="2456" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5cu_kPbGdAQEx7f2Tc8kYYxr5q5UkLFzT4h7D7KyLYTZEMzJWwN1gzVrCJqU2d7HzwDolaJF6gX0KmAW8yRuPR4xpyxou6KxsEAwvw0NpJBNlqSamJhFAY_TVQHinAcszR8Z60zWdiHKyKFvl9vQbwz5lQ0aN3AKs4KB3fw_gm4vk3FWGoLbi_bm5=w400-h344" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOv-Umj7jhcoFsOMAMI7hF-Ja7tTgYP-dmeIVh0UZt472GOqBMOeKSK-_pSTKdL_CnT5top0bnsDm7Hs9kkjviROgxylAh0lDN9rZEFlnVE2iydS2cCoSRP2X5naaT6OJIn8Zc5v_WRL4K3L-mHoCY027F526iPIXS_WHMGxHzNpwXgxIGqP6leq8I" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2146" data-original-width="3218" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOv-Umj7jhcoFsOMAMI7hF-Ja7tTgYP-dmeIVh0UZt472GOqBMOeKSK-_pSTKdL_CnT5top0bnsDm7Hs9kkjviROgxylAh0lDN9rZEFlnVE2iydS2cCoSRP2X5naaT6OJIn8Zc5v_WRL4K3L-mHoCY027F526iPIXS_WHMGxHzNpwXgxIGqP6leq8I=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7D-iz-X4wVZCLQzwePT1E36Vw2q-3CBk93GoR4wq1ROl7kl0hOKv8v_aSw1t2Tk0WuiuyjOQwM36FQRqU8472MT5TWYkN-QE6wJ2_f7xZWEeRVr2f65ZvoUHl8G-jWgsyamEYQBolMKGBKzcWH1iaFrGu4Pnq6fmSFjQISVzYm_9AJwzSrujfqcEM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2142" data-original-width="3194" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7D-iz-X4wVZCLQzwePT1E36Vw2q-3CBk93GoR4wq1ROl7kl0hOKv8v_aSw1t2Tk0WuiuyjOQwM36FQRqU8472MT5TWYkN-QE6wJ2_f7xZWEeRVr2f65ZvoUHl8G-jWgsyamEYQBolMKGBKzcWH1iaFrGu4Pnq6fmSFjQISVzYm_9AJwzSrujfqcEM=w400-h269" width="400" /></a></div><br />Meanwhile I still needed to make sure I got to the next aid station on time. I had to make it to the Colomers aid station by 1:00, 5:15 after the start. This was about 14.5 miles from the start, again needing about a 20 minute per mile pace. But it also involved over 3,000 feet of climbing and 2,000 feet of descending from the previous aid station. Very little of these trails was runnable, so I basically had to power hike this terrain at what would be quite a brisk walk even on level pavement. <p></p><p></p><p>On the climbs I could easily hold my own, but whenever we started descending, a herd of runners would soon be on my back, and I felt obligated to let them by. After summiting the Coth de Podo at 8,500 feet, it was basically a non-stop descent to the Colomers aid station at 6,400 feet. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLQmNCc8mqa6A6MMh8J30YQC0vziNDnwC0inILTPMakAFiizqwzkvfFqB7aCfKq4DVihuhIqZJg1vwqyj9jeIeYC8Jq3nQIQnQcL1-973T9HN8lofJEZ5v_aak8X4L_NVoUrMFz1UTfjMo42SnJXRkv-NbwfBpY-0dC1I4ucvYiLIBBusS5x-J_mEz" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2424" data-original-width="3224" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLQmNCc8mqa6A6MMh8J30YQC0vziNDnwC0inILTPMakAFiizqwzkvfFqB7aCfKq4DVihuhIqZJg1vwqyj9jeIeYC8Jq3nQIQnQcL1-973T9HN8lofJEZ5v_aak8X4L_NVoUrMFz1UTfjMo42SnJXRkv-NbwfBpY-0dC1I4ucvYiLIBBusS5x-J_mEz=w400-h301" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steep!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>By the time I made my way to the station, I was within a few minutes of the 1:00 cutoff. I was still unable to find any of the Isotonic energy drink so I just scooped up a bunch of the (very good) chocolate provided, filled up with water, and grabbed a couple of granola bars for the road. </p><p>Next aid station was Mount Romy, 7.5 miles away, and I needed to average an 18:00 pace to make it there by the cutoff at 3:30 pm. Fortunately it was a decent gravel road heading out of the aid station, and I took the opportunity to eat a granola bar as I walked briskly uphill. Unfortunately this didn’t last long, as there was a tape across the road and trail markers arrayed straight up the side of a mountain. I was exhausted, and this route seemed so steep that I could hardly imagine climbing it at all, let alone at an 18:00 pace. I briefly considered walking back to the aid station and dropping out. But I had to give it a try. I started up the hill.</p><p>The hill was so steep that I could touch it if I extended my arm straight out. At least the footing was relatively good; it was basically stepping up on tufts of grass. A few hundred feet up this climb and we were stopped by rescue workers escorting a runner down. She was moving under her own power but needed two rescuers to help her down. When they passed, I kept moving. Eventually we reached a trail with more reasonable switchbacks, but it was still a very steep climb. My pace had slowed to 40:00 per mile, and I needed to be moving at an 18:00 pace!</p><p>This continued on for an excruciating long climb. Surely we must be close to the top. Cresting yet another ridge, the woman ahead of me screamed “no! No, no, no, no, no!” She was speaking Spanish, but somehow I got the gist of her sentiment. I made my way over the ridge and my suspicions were confirmed: there was another huge climb ahead of us. At this point, I was defeated. I stepped aside a took a little break. I needed to average an 18:00 pace and I was doing a 45-minute pace. There were still nearly 5 miles to the aid station and I had just over an hour to get there. But still, it was absolutely beautiful in these mountains and I was absolutely thrilled to be here. I decided to just focus on enjoying the run, and not worry about pace. I took another break, took a photo, and continued on, letting others pass if they wanted to. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCU_vP8Pai3mzUTneEVprKL5hnxCI_AFO18klRjJqedai4qBCzQKKJbmUxeib5nkQ3dsHZUerkNKF-csQlf60kNU1-SX1CGlQ-Y5bPZ555mIH4T6m5dwm8p_h0f3P6iQC3-_BU6Ly562fFQ064-AQ2eSjxE_xlE2Dg7CYksO8S3w7AA4l2v_ADC24V" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2512" data-original-width="1886" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCU_vP8Pai3mzUTneEVprKL5hnxCI_AFO18klRjJqedai4qBCzQKKJbmUxeib5nkQ3dsHZUerkNKF-csQlf60kNU1-SX1CGlQ-Y5bPZ555mIH4T6m5dwm8p_h0f3P6iQC3-_BU6Ly562fFQ064-AQ2eSjxE_xlE2Dg7CYksO8S3w7AA4l2v_ADC24V=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Endless climbing</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I reached the next summit, Tuc Salana, at 2:19. I had until 3:30 to get to the aid station at Mont Romies, over 5 miles away and 2,000 feet below. First would be a punishing descent, the steepest I’d yet experienced in the race. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcJdA1z6ll7qS-Ikw2lJTYfr4h3MFH0q_eHp6fS5veeXaqRb84_4GIs7FHH96Wx60rcz4sSPq4U6pO0My80WYjERxzz1QDA8cULglUb-lnkFuUWveP6FdLe5ApCMCDnwHA-zGDqFQFHWbkxR0jDBvtRw4zvaiwoOccCKMhJyBgY9aoGUwfuwqUicQS" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="3220" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcJdA1z6ll7qS-Ikw2lJTYfr4h3MFH0q_eHp6fS5veeXaqRb84_4GIs7FHH96Wx60rcz4sSPq4U6pO0My80WYjERxzz1QDA8cULglUb-lnkFuUWveP6FdLe5ApCMCDnwHA-zGDqFQFHWbkxR0jDBvtRw4zvaiwoOccCKMhJyBgY9aoGUwfuwqUicQS=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was steeper than this looks!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>Slowly I picked my way down, logging a 30-minute mile and leaving me just 40 minutes for the next 4 miles. Mercifully, the trail flattened out and I was finally able to run a bit. Perhaps if I had been better with my nutrition I could have run more than I did. I began a pattern of running two minutes, walking one minute, and kept it up for a couple miles. Eventually I had to go to one minute in and one minute off, but I was actually passing some people. I pulled off a 12:30 mile and a 13:40 mile—but I needed 10-minute miles. Then we were done with the flat section and the trail once again turned downwards. My pace slowed.</p><p>Finally I arrived at Mont Romies, 30 minutes too late. My race was done. I took in some water—lots of water—and began to wonder how I was going to be transported off the mountain. Then I overheard the race timer telling another runner they weren’t actually stopping anyone from running here. We could try to make it to Arties, 5k away, before the cutoff—but we now had just 25 minutes. I don’t think at that point I could have run a flat, paved 5k in 25 minutes, let alone a 5k on steep, technical, rocky trails. But it was also clear that no one was going to give me a ride! </p><p>I was blistered, beaten, and exhausted, but I started down the trail. I’d like to say that after a few minutes I started to feel better, but I really did not. I just made my way down, another 1,800 feet of descending, until the trail finally flattened out a bit as I neared town. I was running through the streets of an alpine village, and folks sitting in cafes were cheering me on. But it was too late. I trudged into the aid station, and the race timer smiled and gave me a thumbs down. I was 35 minutes past the cutoff. He cut the bar code off of my race bib and sent me into the aid station to recover. I drank a couple warm Cokes as I texted Greta and asked if they could pick me up. Hopefully we could still see Joey finish the race.</p><p>Thirty minutes, a liter of water, and a beer later, and we were at the finish line waiting for Joey to finish. The race was hard on him too, but he finished the race, well ahead of the cutoff. At least one of us was able to experience the thrill of finishing the toughest race either of us had ever attempted. I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t join the ranks of finishers, but I’m truly glad for the experience. Look for me next at a ROAD marathon. How does New York City sound?</p><p><br /></p>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-83153876210905187542022-05-02T17:05:00.000-04:002022-05-02T17:05:49.219-04:00Race Report: 2022 Duathlon Nationals<p>Two months ago I qualified for the New York Marathon, running a 7:15 pace over 13.1 miles. Two weeks ago I wrapped up my training for the Duathlon Nationals with a hilly 5-mile tempo run at the same pace. So why, now, could I barely hold that pace over a flat 5k? </p><p>I was in Mile 3 of the first run at the draft-legal sprint duathlon national championship in Irving, Texas. It was a hot afternoon but the course was flat. I had already adjusted my expectations for this event. I just needed to be in the top 18 in my age group to qualify for the 2023 World Championships in Ibiza, Spain.</p><p>While 2 weeks ago I had been feeling strong, today was an entirely different story. In the intervening week, I had come down with a nasty cold. A week ago I went through a box and a half of Kleenex in a day. Six days ago I dragged myself to the drugstore to get a COVID test and more Kleenex. The test was negative, but the cold was hitting me hard. Four days ago I finally felt good enough to go for an “easy” run that wasn’t easy at all. </p><p>The next day I went for another run that felt a little better, and I decided that I just might be able to make my way to Texas and give this race a shot. </p><p>Arriving in Texas on Friday for my Sunday race, I was still going through Kleenex at a prodigious rate. The spring allergy season wasn’t helping matters, and I doubled up on meds. I set up my bike and rode to the race start to pick up my packet — it was a hot and humid afternoon, and the weather only looked to get hotter over the next two days. I retreated to my hotel room to cool off. </p><p>Saturday’s shakeout run felt a little better but I could tell there was no way I would be racing this event at the pace I could have easily done just two weeks ago. I settled on a goal pace of 7:00 per mile for the first run, only barely faster than my recent <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2022/02/race-report-wilmington-half-marathon.html">half marathon</a>. </p><p>The format for Nationals was a 5k run, then a 12-mile ride, then a 2-mile run. Now, 2 miles into the first run, even that 7:00 pace was slipping away. “C’mon, Munger,” I told myself, “just get to the ride. Then you can catch someone’s draft.”</p><p>I finally arrived at the transition area and was able to locate my bike quickly. To save time in transition, I had put flat pedals on the bike so I could ride in my running shoes. That worked great, and I ran to the bike mount line and hopped on. There was another cyclist just ahead and I accelerated as rapidly as I could to try to catch his draft. It was no use—I couldn’t catch up. I decided to relax and wait for someone to catch me. In a minute, another rider passed me and I jumped onto his wheel. </p><p>I was able to hang on and recover a bit. After a minute, I passed him and said “30-second pulls?” He said okay, and we were a team. Another rider passed us and we joined him with the same offer. But clearly this guy had overextended himself just to catch us, and we dropped him. After a couple miles with my new teammate, I was starting to flag on my pulls. I told him I wasn’t sure I could keep this up. </p><p>“Just do what you can,” he said. “Whatever you can do will still help me.” So he started pulling for a minute at a time while I did 30 seconds. Then a group of four caught up to us and we hooked onto them. They had one really strong rider, and my buddy was very strong, while me and the other three guys were a little weaker. We would hang on for dear life when the strong guys were pulling, then get a bit of a rest when one of us pulled. </p><p>I managed to hang on to this group until we were about a half mile from transition. Then I let them go on ahead while I prepared myself for what I knew was going to be a slog on Run 2. Thanks to the drafting, I ended up with an average pace of 21.5 mph for the ride. Still weak from my cold, there’s no way I could have done that on my own!</p><p>As I dismounted, I realized just how much the hard ride had taken out of me. I hobbled with my bike to my slot in the transition area, removed my helmet, and headed out for the run. Since I didn’t have to change shoes, I was ahead of my cycling group, but I figured this wouldn’t last long in my condition. There was an aid station just outside the transition area and I stopped to walk for 5 seconds to make sure I got some water. I dumped the rest of it over my head, which offered a bit of relief from the 88-degree afternoon heat. </p><p>My pace at this point was barely faster than a 9-minute mile. Slower than my usual “easy” pace. Surely I could at least get down to an 8-minute pace. A couple of the guys from my cycling group had passed me, so I focused on keeping them in sight. I passed through the first mile in 8:15. Not great but at least it was an improvement. I took another 5-second walk at the aid station to get some water and dump more over my head, then plodded on. I could still see one runner from my cycling group just ahead. “Hang on, Munger,” I told myself. </p><p>I tried to pick it up for that final mile, but the best I could do was maintain the same pace. It would have to suffice. </p><p>I ran through the finish and managed to stay standing to get my medal and let a volunteer drape some cold, wet towels over my shoulders. The guys from the cycling group were there, and I thanked them for pulling me along. Then I went off in search of shade, where I could collapse and check the results. </p><p>I was 10th in my age group, which would probably qualify me for worlds, but there was a caveat. I’m in the 55-59 group, but current 54-year-olds would also be eligible for my age group at the 2023 worlds. I went to the USAT tent to check my qualifying status, and they told me I had made it — as the 16th qualifier out of 18! </p><p>I know I could have gone much faster if I had been 100% healthy going into the race, but I’m proud of this effort. I gave it everything I could at the time and I made the team for worlds. I’ll take it!</p><p>Details of my race are on Strava, linked below. </p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7072861083">Run 1</a></p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7072861124">Ride</a></p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7072861092">Run 2</a></p>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-8132377215910017332022-02-28T17:31:00.000-05:002022-02-28T17:31:40.409-05:00Race Report: The Wilmington Half Marathon<p>I have been trying to qualify for the New York Marathon for a long time. A <i>really</i> long time. Because I'm better at [relatively] short-distance races, even though it's tougher to qualify for than Boston, because New York allows you to qualify with a half-marathon time, it has always seemed tantalizingly possible for me to do. Rather than rehash the many times I have tried this, I will just offer the links to my posts about [most of] my attempts.</p>
2011: <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2011/10/race-recap-bridges-half-marathon.html">Bridges Half Marathon: Needed a 1:30, ran 1:31:38.</a> <div>2012: <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2012/01/race-recap-mississippi-blues-half.html">Mississippi Blues Half Marathon: Needed a 1:30, ran 1:31:00.</a> </div><div>2013: <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2013/02/race-recap-myrtle-beach-half-marathon.html">Myrtle Beach Half: Needed a 1:25, ran 1:26:36</a></div><div>2013 (Fall): <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2013/11/injured.html">I was in shape to do a sub-1:25 but tripped during a cool-down run, got injured, and ended up not running any half-marathons</a></div><div>2014-16: Injuries and triathlons</div><div>2017: <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2017/01/race-recap-houston-half-marathon.html">Houston Half: Needed a 1:32, ran 1:45 in HOT weather</a>. Then ran a <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2017/03/brief-recap-wrightsville-beach-half.html">few</a> <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2017/02/race-recap-ellerbe-half-marathon.html">more</a> halfs but the closest I got was <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2017/12/race-recap-kiawah-island-half-marathon.html">1:36</a>. </div><div>2018. Houston Half again. Didn't even do a race report. Needed a 1:32, ran 1:35:13.</div><div>2019: <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2019/12/race-recap-kiawah-island-half-marathon.html">Kiawah Half. Needed a 1:32 and ran a 1:38</a>.</div><div>2020: Focused on the <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2020/11/race-report-brolympus-sonic-dart.html">Ironman</a></div><div>2021: Covid wiped out this year and I'm not even sure what happened</div><div><br /></div><div>Which brings us to 2022. My plan for this year was to not even think about running fast and work on the ultra distances. But then I somehow lost 14 pounds at the end of 2021 and it seemed like I might finally have the speed to qualify for New York, especially since I turned 55 in January and now all I needed was a 1:36. How hard could that be? I honestly thought it wouldn't be too hard, despite the fact that I had only run that fast once since 2013...</div><div><br /></div><div>So I signed up for the <a href="https://www.wilmingtonncmarathon.com">Wilmington Half Marathon</a> on February 26. I executed a two-month training plan, which went exceptionally well. Would this finally be the day I would qualify for New York? On race morning, I was as confident as I ever had been that I could do it.</div><div><br /></div><div>To run a 1:36 half marathon, you need to average 7:20 per mile. But courses and GPS watches can be inaccurate, so I decided to set myself up to run a 1:35:00 -- a pace of 7:15 per mile. Several friends were running in the race, but I expected Jake and Ben to be well ahead of me, and Joey, Chad, and Kaylen to be somewhere behind me. There was no pace team doing this pace, so my performance in the race would be a matter of me and GPS watch. The weather was nearly perfect, 50 degrees with a north wind. The course arced from Wrightsville Beach in the east to downtown Wilmington in the west, a bit south of the start. There was only one section of less than a mile where we would be heading north into the wind, and only a few gradual hills on the course. In short, conditions could hardly be better.</div><div><br /></div><div>After jogging a few hundred yards as a "warm up" I found my way to the start line, where I saw Ben near the front and gave him a fist-bump and wished him luck. He was using the race as a tune up for his marathon next week but still would finish about 20 minutes ahead of my planned time.</div><div><br /></div><div>The race started on time and soon we were headed out of Wrightsville Beach and across two bridges onto the mainland. I monitored my pace and forced myself to slow down a couple times. Even so I ran the first few miles faster than planned, 7:09, 7:08, 7:08. Still, that meant I had over 30 seconds in the bank, and I didn't feel at all like I was struggling. My watch clicked through Mile 4 at 7:12, which also would have been great except for the fact that there was no mile marker here. For the first three miles, my watch and the mile markers matched perfectly, adding to my confidence that I would be able to monitor my pace accurately. Now with no Mile 4 marker in sight, I was a bit confused.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally the marker showed up at about Mile 4.4. I could only hope that it was just this marker out of place and we wouldn't somehow have to run an extra four tenths of a mile. I was ahead of pace but not THAT far ahead of pace. Fortunately the Mile 5 marker once again matched my watch perfectly, and I ran that one in 7:08 so I now had at least 50 seconds in the bank.</div><div><br /></div><div>I ran Mile 6 in 7:18, which caused me a little concern since it was a fair bit slower than the first 5 miles. But I was still feeling fine, and with 50 seconds in the bank, I could actually afford to run even as slow as 7:25s for the rest of the race. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mile 7 proved to be the toughest of the race. It started on an uphill onramp, then turned straight into a 12-mph headwind. I reminded myself that this part of the course was probably the only place where we'd be running directly into the wind, and that I did have 50+ seconds to burn, so I just tried to put out the same effort as the other miles. Towards the end of the mile, we turned out of the wind and my watch clicked through the mile at a 7:28 pace. So now I had 40+ seconds in the bank and less than half the race to go. I could still do 7:25s for the rest of the race and hit my goal time, and there shouldn't be any more headwinds.</div><div><br /></div><div>This section of the course did prove a bit annoying though, as we were on a full-on expressway with the traffic coming towards us. One lane was coned off for the runners but cars still raced by at 55+ MPH just a few feet away. It was also a little hilly because we occasionally crossed an overpass. Miles 8, 9, and 10 went by in 7:13, 7:13, and 7:27. My math was getting a bit fuzzy at this point but I was pretty sure I had at least 50 seconds in the bank. The Mile 10 marker was off by about a 10th of a mile, which set me to worrying again about the overall race distance possibly being off. If we had to run even an extra 10th of a mile, then my 50 seconds would quickly evaporate! But assuming the race distance was accurate, I should be able to cruise in at a 7:35 pace and still hit my goal.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fortunately the Mile 11 marker again synced with my watch, and I ran that mile in 7:24, which meant I had at least 45 seconds in the bank and only 2.1 miles to go. I could run 7:40s and still make it!</div><div><br /></div><div>I ran Mile 12 in 7:17. I <i>was</i> going to make it! My friend Ian had dropped out of the race with a niggling injury but had driven us to the start and now I saw him running ahead of me, carrying all our gear towards the finish area. Soon I caught up to him and jokingly told him he'd better hurry up. Actually the race course included a short out-and-back before the finish so he had plenty of time to see me finishing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ben was at the turnaround, having finished his race in 1:16. He ran along with me for a quarter mile (really a jog for him) and then let me go on solo to the finish line. Ian was a couple hundred yards from the finish and caught a great picture of me as I realized I was going to make it:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHpzlsJb74ztBqP15f_NTJl5SUbHYE1t7XKjddxr1LiCvjd7Xdan-NqITEjjicG3NKQi_-6gFEn56yYMydDhz3YIIGnQCf27ssXQTRjMd4lWyuDkOdxwBxP-KX8t96y7x8YRjSHhPGWRhyR95MKxtc0PV49XTo-Q7mUn0kRjvsFhDE3FoZtZNQBUlc=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHpzlsJb74ztBqP15f_NTJl5SUbHYE1t7XKjddxr1LiCvjd7Xdan-NqITEjjicG3NKQi_-6gFEn56yYMydDhz3YIIGnQCf27ssXQTRjMd4lWyuDkOdxwBxP-KX8t96y7x8YRjSHhPGWRhyR95MKxtc0PV49XTo-Q7mUn0kRjvsFhDE3FoZtZNQBUlc=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeehaw!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I ran through the line with an official time of 1:35:15, securely under my goal! I did it! As it turned out, I was second in my age group as well. I could hardly believe I had finally made it! Soon I was on the podium getting my photo with the two other age group winners (out of 40 in our division), and then it was time to celebrate! </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAMCNr0fG0OCzsOCfQ2V2pa5pOGI3cXBlHrgp1FsS5DkGGx5pVMZ0Aj1OVPKMQePev3Sf94ZRt5_KYars8NuFtvL_-oM1j0_cjEnJbB2OPvq39sSOD021Kzzfo75pQC8q4qotppSO3R7ubNizDaiJJQ5--ZPuyCdxW-nQHC0FKi7EIjE5A_1-CYTub=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAMCNr0fG0OCzsOCfQ2V2pa5pOGI3cXBlHrgp1FsS5DkGGx5pVMZ0Aj1OVPKMQePev3Sf94ZRt5_KYars8NuFtvL_-oM1j0_cjEnJbB2OPvq39sSOD021Kzzfo75pQC8q4qotppSO3R7ubNizDaiJJQ5--ZPuyCdxW-nQHC0FKi7EIjE5A_1-CYTub=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">YESSS!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The only caveat: I've officially qualified for New York, but I'm not necessarily going to get an entry to the race. There are a limited number of slots for the race, and they are allocated on a first-come, first-served basis. I know registration opens up on March 9, but so far there's not much information about how exactly it will occur and how they decide who gets the spots if it's a big free-for-all when registration opens up. But even if I'm not able to register this year, I won't let myself be disappointed. At this point, it's become much more about the quest to qualify for the race than actually DOING New York. And if I somehow can't register this year, I still feel like I've earned a spot, so I will just enter the lottery each year until I get in to the race. </div><div><br /></div><div>One thing they can't take away from me, after over 10 years of trying, is that I QUALIFIED FOR THE NEW YORK MARATHON.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now all I have to do is come up with a <i>new</i> goal. Fortunately, I have a few ideas....</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6740838644">Click here for the Strava record of my race</a></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-78700747853001553952022-02-03T15:45:00.000-05:002022-02-03T15:45:16.177-05:00NEW BIKE! Fezzari Empire SL Pro Last summer was a sad time for the Munger bike garage. I lost one bike due to a cracked frame and then the replacement bike (purchased used from a friend) was stolen a couple months later. Of course we were in the middle of the COVID bike craze so finding a new bike was a challenge. Many bikes simply weren't available, and custom builds were booked out a year or more. But I had been seeing ads for Fezzari bikes so I checked out some very positive reviews and then checked out their website.<div><br /></div><div><a href="https://fezzari.com">Fezzari</a> is a small manufacturer in Utah that (like nearly every bike brand) outsources frame-making to Asia and quoted a reasonable-sounding 6-8 week delivery window. So I started to configure bikes and was torn between the Empire SL and Empire Elite series. The SL is the top-end frameset and has a much more elegant look, while the still-very-nice Elite could be had for a similar price with those oh-so-desirable deep-section carbon wheels. </div><div><br /></div><div>After a little more research I opted for the high-end SL at the entry level, with a lighter frame and more refined cockpit but basic aluminum wheels. I figured I could easily upgrade to carbon wheels later and then I'd have a very serviceable backup set of wheels that maybe would get some use on gravel. There was only one hitch. I could get the basic black frame in 6-8 weeks but the beautiful Lava Rock Red color was backordered through February of 2022. Back in August of 2021 this seemed like an ETERNITY. But it just didn't make sense to order my forever bike in a color I wasn't in love with. So I sucked it up and ordered the SL Pro in the color I really wanted. And then I waited.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, on January 31, 2022, my beautiful new bike arrived, a day earlier than promised! It even came with a little note inside the box:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLl-lQ5mQly-BsVkl9iKImXA8Kik68pl-8vVYmol5hrDiOzKprlHT2u_B6ZCuuctrA35Dc27xaFa9-0ZIta8E8jTWKSpxYMbJ6MwKJHixfRsSRU-P56VllcmwQKr9-rJh2R35HqQO2D3OCW_auCx_YIA41gz1-iuN90cSvAZQzgTOUY4xCkkskZdYf=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLl-lQ5mQly-BsVkl9iKImXA8Kik68pl-8vVYmol5hrDiOzKprlHT2u_B6ZCuuctrA35Dc27xaFa9-0ZIta8E8jTWKSpxYMbJ6MwKJHixfRsSRU-P56VllcmwQKr9-rJh2R35HqQO2D3OCW_auCx_YIA41gz1-iuN90cSvAZQzgTOUY4xCkkskZdYf=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't that nice?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>As you can see, the bike was very well-packed and padded, and as I pulled it from the box I could see it had arrived fully intact, with nary a scratch or ding to be seen. It probably took longer to remove all the padding than it actually did to assemble the bike. All that was needed was to install the seat, bars, pedals, and front wheel, and it was ready to ride...</div><div><br /></div><div>... almost. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's because this bike came with SRAM Force eTap derailleurs and shifters, which meant the two derailleur batteries needed to be charged for an hour each before riding. After an hour I plugged the rear derailleur battery in and tested it out to see if it worked. It did! I could at least ride around the block while I waited for the front derailleur battery to charge. I hopped on and the shifting seemed... sluggish. I could probably shift my 1993-vintage steel-framed bike quicker than this! I wondered if I had really charged the battery properly. I went back to my garage and looked at the other battery in the charger. A blue light and a red light were on, but I could see there was also a yellow and a green light. Did I need to wait for the green light before it was fully charged? </div><div><br /></div><div>It was at this point that I jarred from my memory banks a piece of wisdom my dad had shared with me 40+ years ago: "When all else fails, read the manual." I consulted the manual, and sure enough, the red light indicated the battery was NOT being charged. After some fiddling with the cords I got the yellow light to glow, indicating "charging." I would have to wait for the green light for this battery to be fully charged. It was already 4 pm, and I had two batteries to charge for a minimum of an hour each. I wouldn't be able to get a ride in before darkness. After making a self-deprecating post on the Pathetic Triathletes Facebook page I resigned myself to waiting until Tuesday to get a proper ride in.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, I decided to spend a little more time familiarizing myself with the bike. I installed a Garmin mount and Varia headlight / taillight. I added two bottle cages (after some deliberation about which of the THREE provided mounts to use. You can install three cages on the bike, but there's not quite room for three, 24-ounce bottles. I think I will eventually get a third cage, though, since that is where I put my tool kit).</div><div><br /></div><div>Around 6 pm I got everything charged up and installed the SRAM app on my phone, which then instructed me to upgrade the firmware on my derailleurs. After doing that, in the twilight, I finally rode my fully-operational bike around the block, before heading in for the night. Here's a photo of my setup:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8TwLj4KzDdTcALCGwN5gMyoBrnqZRR5i37HqcriktU0EALwOVuLQynfpKCcnrw9J_R2XHCWSikpNH6AXzw1e583uNop-3Ek2y6KTXE_5QjdxpaVS_oegi2bUN-xOPS2tRbM9uWOjvAoXhrsI2tiiR4Wle_Ap5KAw2vTC1gKFUyVlROPxX4OMmiYe2=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8TwLj4KzDdTcALCGwN5gMyoBrnqZRR5i37HqcriktU0EALwOVuLQynfpKCcnrw9J_R2XHCWSikpNH6AXzw1e583uNop-3Ek2y6KTXE_5QjdxpaVS_oegi2bUN-xOPS2tRbM9uWOjvAoXhrsI2tiiR4Wle_Ap5KAw2vTC1gKFUyVlROPxX4OMmiYe2=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Tuesday dawned bitterly cold, so I had to wait until the afternoon before it was warm enough for a longer ride. It was still cold enough that I decided to wear my lobster-claw gloves, which would make for a nice test of the ergonomics of the shifters. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I finally launched myself onto the open road, I noticed the ride seemed a bit rough. I was feeling every bump through the wheels and frame. This could partly be due to more aggressive geometry than my previous bikes, but in retrospect I think my tires were a bit over-inflated. The Empire comes with 28-mm tires, and I've previously ridden on 25s which I habitually fill to 100 psi. I did decide to fill these to just 90, but checking out this <a href="https://cycleschinook.com/tire-pressure-calculator/">tire pressure calculator</a>, it looks like even that was too high. For my weight plus the bike, I should have been at 73 psi in the front and 80 in the rear. (I should add, by the way, that this bike weighs in at 20 pounds including my lights, computer, and cages. Not bad for a size-large frame!)</div><div><br /></div><div>The next new feature to familiarize myself with was the shifters. The SRAM system has just one button per lever. The right lever is for upshifting, taking you to a smaller cog in the rear. The left lever is for downshifting. To shift the front derailleur you press both buttons at once; since there are only two chainrings the derailleur simply upshifts or downshifts based on the current location of the chain (you can reconfigure the buttons using the phone app but this is the basic setup). Using the left shifter to move the rear derailleur is definitely going to take some getting used to, but the left-down and right-up is very intuitive. It also helped a LOT that I had added a "Current Gear" field to my Garmin 530 bike computer. I could easily glance down and see what gear I was in, front and back. No more peeking between the legs and not quite being able to tell whether I had one more gear left to tackle the huge hill in front of me. With 12 cogs on the rear cassette, it's not an easy visual perception task to tell precisely what gear you are in, but the "Current Gear" field makes it a snap. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had chosen a hilly route, with grades up to 9 percent, so there was lots of opportunity to test the shifting, which, with now-fully-charged batteries, was smooth and instantaneous. The bike came with plenty of gears to handle the hills. The chainrings are 46 x 33, and the cassette ranges from 10 to 33 teeth (for you bike nerds, the configuration is as follows: 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17, 19, 21, 24, 28, 33). I never felt the need to use the easiest 33-tooth cog, but I could tell it would have come in handy on some of my rides last summer where grades exceeded 17 percent. On the downhills I did use the highest gear a couple times but never felt like I was close to spinning out, even at 35 mph. I would say I could have easily continued to pedal and engage the drivetrain at 40+ mph. I could imagine a race setup where I would move to a 10 to 28 cassette, but honestly, at my level, it's probably not necessary. I'm considering buying a set of carbon wheels for a racing setup but if I did I think I would stick to the 10-33 cassette, or MAYBE a 10-30. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2gau31s8vamktzQ7wc7QKmmClenEM6m7WXkBV8FhrHd4Exroj_PdxJy1qg2OOWr0mISjRDMNMPR_FhC3ClsKJXbugBxbUQbIJiRo2nZEncmtgyDwDy91GNSnGrvWh1EP6AeioguCqyfkARIGH-rozZsjB8Ix4YUeWutb6CW2cZch_LgdACkv9eo5k=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2gau31s8vamktzQ7wc7QKmmClenEM6m7WXkBV8FhrHd4Exroj_PdxJy1qg2OOWr0mISjRDMNMPR_FhC3ClsKJXbugBxbUQbIJiRo2nZEncmtgyDwDy91GNSnGrvWh1EP6AeioguCqyfkARIGH-rozZsjB8Ix4YUeWutb6CW2cZch_LgdACkv9eo5k=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at all those gears!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>One initial disappointment with this bike is that while it is advertised as having fully internal cable routing, it doesn't quite ship that way. I was expecting the brake cables to run inside the handlebars and stem, then through the frame to the brakes. In fact, the cables were taped to the exterior of the bars, as with most bikes. They then route through an opening just under the stem into the steerer tube, and continue internally from there. It's just not quite as clean as I was hoping for. The bike is indeed set up for fully internal routing, but I guess they don't want to ship them that way because they need to remove the bars for shipping, and with internally-routed cables, there wouldn't be enough slack in the cabling to do that. That said, it's still a very clean look, and I don't think I'm going to go through the trouble of re-routing the cables right now. When I need to retape the bars in the future, then I might give internal routing a shot, but as you can see from these photos, the cabling is still very nice -- certainly the cleanest I've had on any bike to date. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJUeNBfWyhhjdZpNKGdl7aS9uQESXkqwy9kvBJAV5adNSbvXq6m7uHpsI90TSGQ2E3EFzZI5VDPGTEHwTZTtkWPUbePIRhdQcwEbrlkFnXOL36T54-gjZHnW3MbvQ0-EcA7yB1zIcENT-_4oYTot9hs0gIsiC6OwGN-rialr1MW6zzk0v82xbvb3-f=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJUeNBfWyhhjdZpNKGdl7aS9uQESXkqwy9kvBJAV5adNSbvXq6m7uHpsI90TSGQ2E3EFzZI5VDPGTEHwTZTtkWPUbePIRhdQcwEbrlkFnXOL36T54-gjZHnW3MbvQ0-EcA7yB1zIcENT-_4oYTot9hs0gIsiC6OwGN-rialr1MW6zzk0v82xbvb3-f=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggatI-855bg0KFtJMaF9T2KhBrMW61wCRdz5ZSB2AUbLFZ_mvR8uu2U8_oCHrQQ6D4uu7xALiBlVcuKbdxX9pszl2Fba491L5eKdX3J4hNAvPXrkVaeaX0hqEVCLMrdhgYNDVyUpPQ4iW76r2L7sCF8D1-I7i_CJQNMisFey4PHe7D6skzW8ytpYhm=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggatI-855bg0KFtJMaF9T2KhBrMW61wCRdz5ZSB2AUbLFZ_mvR8uu2U8_oCHrQQ6D4uu7xALiBlVcuKbdxX9pszl2Fba491L5eKdX3J4hNAvPXrkVaeaX0hqEVCLMrdhgYNDVyUpPQ4iW76r2L7sCF8D1-I7i_CJQNMisFey4PHe7D6skzW8ytpYhm=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>The cables exit the fork and chainstay in a particularly elegant manner, very close to the brakes. I really appreciate this detail:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxWWXArDif6cuOj7XzIs5Dlpy2rNOIxP3ff4hjQmxeD-6JZBGDaxuPx0_y9mppe4FVSK1QI5ERLH0kwVwTqgzn25UrE6u7YKZuDiBGZgUDrlVEp7YIEqSSA8VMr2GWRheQPltC2Z4g9h6oD0fA8JxfQY9S11ce3aYUkjy1BaNsbrsezy44bQhzooax=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxWWXArDif6cuOj7XzIs5Dlpy2rNOIxP3ff4hjQmxeD-6JZBGDaxuPx0_y9mppe4FVSK1QI5ERLH0kwVwTqgzn25UrE6u7YKZuDiBGZgUDrlVEp7YIEqSSA8VMr2GWRheQPltC2Z4g9h6oD0fA8JxfQY9S11ce3aYUkjy1BaNsbrsezy44bQhzooax=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgB3rQgWZ86Bzp2KsjIcFDql5Y-__I1LSc2LzLT4jQb6QjTdNqMeBdO6fsKg8RsZdo1Fkec6boTzGRSvEhxOH42KUurY8HPPo8ekVBST4Dijc32sNljwEWJG8uY0j2dvWigLLDGDWa5yKI-KOR_HuLIQLyPSHHwTU4kTk0s7PUx8EtiTYH1QT6yHgkl=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgB3rQgWZ86Bzp2KsjIcFDql5Y-__I1LSc2LzLT4jQb6QjTdNqMeBdO6fsKg8RsZdo1Fkec6boTzGRSvEhxOH42KUurY8HPPo8ekVBST4Dijc32sNljwEWJG8uY0j2dvWigLLDGDWa5yKI-KOR_HuLIQLyPSHHwTU4kTk0s7PUx8EtiTYH1QT6yHgkl=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>These detail shots also show off the finish of the frame nicely. It's almost a half-matte finish. You can really see the finish in the photo of the chainstay above, where there is a protective plastic tape under the chain with a shinier finish, which contrasts to the rest of the frame in the same photo. I like the frame color ("Lava Rock Red") a lot. Understated, but not boring!</div><div><br /></div><div>As I rode on, I was able to appreciate how the bike handled on corners, on rough pavement, and at speed on hills. Other than the stiffness I mentioned above that should be partially addressed by reducing tire pressure, it responded well to every situation. I made a point of getting out of the saddle on a couple of the climbs. At first I felt like the brake levers might not shaped perfectly for riding out of the saddle, as the top of the lever protrudes at a bit of an awkward angle. But then I tried gripping around the base of the lever instead, and I got the response I was looking for. I think the top of the lever is better suited to riding in an aero position, with the forearms parallel to the ground. Then the lever-top provides the perfect angle for hanging on as comfortably as possible in that stressed position. I might tweak the angle of the handlebars just a bit in the future to dial in this grip, but I think it's definitely something I will get used to. I could ride very effectively out of the saddle either gripping the base of the levers or the drops, delivering instantaneous power to the drivetrain.</div><div><br /></div><div>As you might expect for a brand-new high-end bike, it rides VERY quietly. It's almost silent when you are pedaling, with no rattles of any sort even on a rough road. When coasting, the freehub doesn't deliver quite the "buzz" that some riders admire, but that doesn't seem to affect performance. The drivetrain engages almost instantly when you shift. The only occasional bobble I noticed was when shifting from the large to the small chainring. I think this might be unavoidable in this configuration where the small ring is so dramatically smaller than the big ring.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFo3-2u3duYuEZflZxAPpfhzsBS2PjAPPZbJyxvjFlEdaYB3vr94Le3V93AGNl3uVlI4Xd_-GEp6pX286FR4Qp5zhfy-WHwmwhypoXxSjbw5Iu-i_v__H5WJq_ZXv5qoIOi8XE7ySKvEBqf5h1oMyL6v2D5Esg39JDL_c8aGSyyJNOFzOAcDcprCNI=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFo3-2u3duYuEZflZxAPpfhzsBS2PjAPPZbJyxvjFlEdaYB3vr94Le3V93AGNl3uVlI4Xd_-GEp6pX286FR4Qp5zhfy-WHwmwhypoXxSjbw5Iu-i_v__H5WJq_ZXv5qoIOi8XE7ySKvEBqf5h1oMyL6v2D5Esg39JDL_c8aGSyyJNOFzOAcDcprCNI=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a big gap between rings!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>But maybe it's simply a flaw in the SRAM system. I'd be interested to know if any readers notice a similar issue on their bikes. Otherwise the shifting was perfect. I certainly never experienced any chain rub, even when dramatically cross-chained. </div><div><br /></div><div>Overall, I'm extremely happy with this bike. It's beautiful, it rides well, and it will work for me in a variety of contexts, from racing to bikepacking to possibly even some gravel riding. It's raining today or I'd probably be out riding it rather than writing this review! The first real test of the bike's capabilities will be on May 1, when I'm signed up to ride in the draft-legal sprint duathlon at the US national championship. Expect to hear more about the bike then (and probably between now and then as I ride it more and have more thoughts).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-56593684375839878492021-12-19T12:04:00.002-05:002021-12-21T02:49:51.356-05:00Race report: THP Winter 35k<p>When I thought I signed up for the THP Winter 35k in France, I thought I needed it as a qualifier for another race, which in turn I would need to qualify to run yet another race in France, the CCC by UTMB, a tough, mountainous 100k race I'm planning on doing in 2023. But that's a story for another day. As it turned out, I hadn't really signed up for the THP Winter race at all -- at least not according to the race director! But I did manage to do the race, which turned out to be even tougher than I thought it would be, even though it turned out I didn't need it to qualify for my other race, which I am, in fact, already registered to run in!</p><p>If that all sounds complicated to you, think of how I felt when I got to the front of what I was pretty sure was the right line at the start of the race, near the summit of Montange de Lure, in what was supposed to be the temperate South of France. The woman who checked runners in couldn't find my name on the list of registered entrants. She went to ask the race director, who in broken English asked if I had an email confirming my registration. I said I did, but there was no cell signal on my phone, but since I had already made my way to the top of this mountain 6,000 miles from my home, I would be happy to re-register. But of course that was also impossible, because she had no reception on her phone, so she couldn't fill in the necessary details online. In the end she decided I looked honest enough, and let me run the race with a promise to drop off 20 euros after I finished. </p><p>By now there was just 15 minutes to the race start time, so I ran back to the car to drop off my race packet and attach my bib -- oh, did I mention they don't give you safety pins for your bib in France? You're supposed to have a race belt, which of course I hadn't brought along on this trip, so I stuffed the bib in my hydration pack and hurried to the start.</p><p>There were three events that day -- a 35k, a 20k, and a 10k. I lined up with the 35kers, who all looked much younger and fitter than me, and who all had micro spikes or yaktrax for their shoes, something I had also left back at home. Surely it wouldn't be <i>too</i> snowy on this race, and I had trekking poles, so I'd be fine, right?</p><p>I hastily snapped a selfie at the start line and got ready to go.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhuywEtJ1cLvlg9RmjEZnyNTg1Hy9CgrVX4rnHJI_Un-Rf3goQNCl6AS2yBUdgB-EowHFUr6EQmRKsFmPbHAw6r0Yy4Mnw5DFJKVdU1Us5WAkbdh8vcIg1kQfk2UlUwjAePMZItW03jeDS7I5N2SZMHPXhfKGfX-OHfEz0fTbdgR8dAU8xBZCWMorp=s3088" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhuywEtJ1cLvlg9RmjEZnyNTg1Hy9CgrVX4rnHJI_Un-Rf3goQNCl6AS2yBUdgB-EowHFUr6EQmRKsFmPbHAw6r0Yy4Mnw5DFJKVdU1Us5WAkbdh8vcIg1kQfk2UlUwjAePMZItW03jeDS7I5N2SZMHPXhfKGfX-OHfEz0fTbdgR8dAU8xBZCWMorp=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ignore all that white stuff behind me... this will be <i>fine</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The started counted down 5,4,3,2,1 -- in English! [The only English I heard at the start], and then everyone took off. It was an uphill start, so surely everyone would take it easy, right? Nope, everyone started at a dead run. <i>You all know this is a 35k with 5,700 feet of climbing, right, </i>I thought to myself. Apparently they did know, and they all knew they were fit enough to head up the 1,000 feet of climbing in the first 5 miles at a dead run. Before I knew it, I was in last place. </p><p>Thankfully, I passed a couple women within the first half-mile. I wasn't in last! I passed another pair of runners, a man and a woman. <i>Okay, maybe this won't be an utter disaster</i>, I thought. But as soon as the trail leveled off and headed down a slippery descent, the man and woman zipped right by me again. Apparently, unless someone ahead of me completely fell apart, I was going to be the last male finisher in the race. By mile 2, there were no other runners in sight, and I was alone on the trail. A couple of small deer bounded in front of me, and I remembered that it was also hunting season in France. No worries, I was much too slow to be mistaken for a game animal!</p><p>For the first several miles, the trail alternated between steep ascents and steep descents, all in deep snow with tenuous footing. I'm not a great trail runner, but I'm an even worse snow runner. When I get nervous about my footing, I slow down. My descents were barely faster than my ascents. Eventually the trail worked its way up an exposed ridgeline. We would run along the ridgeline for the next several miles. </p><p>The temperature was close to freezing, but all that climbing had warmed me up, so I stopped to remove my gloves and take a couple photos:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9nW2TfdHUck8vbCx3gQLB7T_v8LA4wFN_XncgDTQz9FTjDAxe73RGSbZrYX5XyvPiMfvAkFFAeOmIFvfDFR808BxMl1TCV06NhtFYldW_1hDBw6B0MmJK60v9R-mhzuM3bMUEpfd7pWyW7VaM9UGYXhXwQPaiYmy4gMjc4NCmljY2x_p9n03b_JQe=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9nW2TfdHUck8vbCx3gQLB7T_v8LA4wFN_XncgDTQz9FTjDAxe73RGSbZrYX5XyvPiMfvAkFFAeOmIFvfDFR808BxMl1TCV06NhtFYldW_1hDBw6B0MmJK60v9R-mhzuM3bMUEpfd7pWyW7VaM9UGYXhXwQPaiYmy4gMjc4NCmljY2x_p9n03b_JQe=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you squint, you can see a runner up ahead</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbgLPRGX0LWdLFJ9PIeLYA6tP9OVNWV6GfVXBijZ4pVhOt_B0xHcXBTsLiFq4gi_sBlNW1_15jB_1Oo6H9Pisnx3kXKzcvzpgfiF3iVTpPNKAN0XMPRE78NJKuQBJbcJDhAxkYSq8qAwS-yRY7uESTjXRGq-OcaOFG0pa_PpnVm-E4cFqY5MYJbW0s=s3088" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbgLPRGX0LWdLFJ9PIeLYA6tP9OVNWV6GfVXBijZ4pVhOt_B0xHcXBTsLiFq4gi_sBlNW1_15jB_1Oo6H9Pisnx3kXKzcvzpgfiF3iVTpPNKAN0XMPRE78NJKuQBJbcJDhAxkYSq8qAwS-yRY7uESTjXRGq-OcaOFG0pa_PpnVm-E4cFqY5MYJbW0s=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm in the mountains! In France!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>In the first photo, in addition to the runner, you can see a mountain with some radar gear on the top; we'd all be climbing that mountain within a couple miles. The bigger mountains in the background are the Alps. We are technically in Haut Provence (the "HP" of THP Winter), a separate range. Haut Provence would be plenty for today!<div><br /></div><div>Spurred on by the prospect of catching another runner, I dashed off down the hill, only to slip on an icy spot and land on my bare knuckles, scraping them up rather painfully. Fortunately all my digits seemed functional, so I carried on gingerly down the hill. Nora got a picture of the nasty-looking knuckles after the race.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWa2hYpo0UrmJcJTWzwKGmuZc2UFLP0mc-5TXU_Itufoq-apLy-zi1Z_UYPyqEgd0CkYCmpxhA9tU-OiyliFGMZ30i8MYDKChPrfCEouTEUV5GBWiqD77W9tWYUel4gmfpxH14aDgn_qegemZjwR3x4xLZphkxqRpfP1t1p0POEgLz_v4F0dZJ6Jvq=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWa2hYpo0UrmJcJTWzwKGmuZc2UFLP0mc-5TXU_Itufoq-apLy-zi1Z_UYPyqEgd0CkYCmpxhA9tU-OiyliFGMZ30i8MYDKChPrfCEouTEUV5GBWiqD77W9tWYUel4gmfpxH14aDgn_qegemZjwR3x4xLZphkxqRpfP1t1p0POEgLz_v4F0dZJ6Jvq=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yikes!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I finally figured out that my only chance of catching anyone would be on the UPHILL portion of the race. Patience would be my mantra on the descents. Sure enough, after another short climb and descent, we began climbing the tallest summit of the ridge, to the Signal de Lure at 6,000 feet. There I soon made up ground on the runner ahead of me, and caught him about halfway up the final climb to the summit. At the summit, the snow was quite deep, and we had to make our way around a fenced-in military radar installation. I was worried the runner would catch me as the route got more technical, but thankfully there were some gravel spots where I could get traction on the descent from the summit, and I maintained my precarious position in fourth-from-last place. </div><div><br /></div><div>Surely as we descended from the ridge the snow would dissipate at lower elevations, right? Actually the opposite proved to be true; whenever we left the exposed ridge and went into the shady forests, there was even MORE snow. Every so often the trail returned to the ridge, and I stopped to get a photo of the view before we left the ridgetop for good.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjv-j5Ou4IEGnUgZW-_Z2nDVzTdY3Phezc9MMVjCNh2yk5LwyxAHHdEJPT77BlgVoSptn5huEZO4BicgrIlTFlJFd6px4tY8HKqqYfPS9ORQgYkssB-PUI7pZNSf9Ct_eZAD_dfgA9F_wJ-8LCqG8acui59DPFMpB-T8qPeb6hIMbj63I0Mk8217UXZ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjv-j5Ou4IEGnUgZW-_Z2nDVzTdY3Phezc9MMVjCNh2yk5LwyxAHHdEJPT77BlgVoSptn5huEZO4BicgrIlTFlJFd6px4tY8HKqqYfPS9ORQgYkssB-PUI7pZNSf9Ct_eZAD_dfgA9F_wJ-8LCqG8acui59DPFMpB-T8qPeb6hIMbj63I0Mk8217UXZ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These photos really make it look like there is not much snow. Trust me, there was plenty!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilHaGJMBHe0oIK_275t37GxfbKJoX7F3gEuhBoLjMP5O6m5sya4MiRHAwSnlACs7xvemBh2WVvotFTMNWcbGtGdCxYoCatxFUvMLlgzq5nOalI-lhnpH4I6wl-YqS-yYZfNUtQmI-g-gyuVBPrCw46aEXo2wGeKA4Y6v0rCcxhJFh5N794iYGceein=s3088" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilHaGJMBHe0oIK_275t37GxfbKJoX7F3gEuhBoLjMP5O6m5sya4MiRHAwSnlACs7xvemBh2WVvotFTMNWcbGtGdCxYoCatxFUvMLlgzq5nOalI-lhnpH4I6wl-YqS-yYZfNUtQmI-g-gyuVBPrCw46aEXo2wGeKA4Y6v0rCcxhJFh5N794iYGceein=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am trying to look happy about how much snow there is</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>There weren't many people along the trail, but it was pretty cool to see anyone because nearly all of them clapped and shouted "Allez! Allez!" as I passed. So much nicer than the "good morning" you get when you pass hikers in the States!</div><div><p>Finally the trail dropped off the ridge for good, and I began to wonder if the promised aid station at 10k would really be there. I was already on Mile 8, with no aid station in sight. Down, down into the forest I descended, with the snow getting deeper and deeper. At least the 40-odd runners ahead of me had trampled the snow down a bit, but their footprints were uneven, which still made for difficult footing. </p><p>Finally the snow seemed to dwindle, with even the occasional bare gravel stretch for 20 feet or so. But the thinner snow surface tended towards ice, so the traction was even a bit worse if there wasn't any gravel to run on. Down, down I descended, giving up all hope of an aid station, when at the 15k mark (9.3 miles) I rounded a corner and saw several cheery Frenchmen and women offering food and drink. I thought about accepting it briefly, but by this point I had figured out that I had plenty of my own food and water, and anything I took from them would only add to the load I was carrying in my pack. So I thanked them and went on without taking anything. They seemed so disappointed!</p><p>But now, at last, the trail was clear of snow. Even better, it wasn't a trail but a gravel road. Finally I could stretch out and run. I ran two solid miles in the time it had taken me to go a mile in the snow. I was actually getting hot! I decided to keep running until the trail headed back uphill, then take off my jacket and get some food. Sadly, that was only a half mile further along. I stopped and took off my jacket, then walked, eating a Lara Bar and figuring out how long my next climb was going to be. It would be 1,700 feet of vertical in about 3.2 miles.</p><p>I covered the first mile or so quickly, but then the trail got snowier and steeper, and it was difficult to walk fast. I tried to restrain myself from checking my watch every 30 seconds to see how much (or rather, how little) progress I had made up the mountain. I knew I'd be climbing nearly to the top of the ridge I had just run down.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjojKV-zVjUEuJKUmxI52X4Dcmi1bT29xJv57aPPiZfzK3taKM-oToCGHI3rqjkZgVLd6w5miJ_cGGUOOOzZ4ZOsiZOUFJ1nqlYaxcoICGMGpgGfn_3hyxs_MT9Yoe_dkBn_Waz1a1THT7eqnZFnRSZidBojEiET2U9MY5FVtuUFyfLX6elHSwU0LsB=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="800" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjojKV-zVjUEuJKUmxI52X4Dcmi1bT29xJv57aPPiZfzK3taKM-oToCGHI3rqjkZgVLd6w5miJ_cGGUOOOzZ4ZOsiZOUFJ1nqlYaxcoICGMGpgGfn_3hyxs_MT9Yoe_dkBn_Waz1a1THT7eqnZFnRSZidBojEiET2U9MY5FVtuUFyfLX6elHSwU0LsB=w400-h133" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real-time location of Dave in this story</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It never seemed like I was as far as I should be based on how tired I was. I looked up ahead but could only see trees and snow. Surely the ridgetop would come into view soon. Eventually, after seemingly hours of trudging uphill, it did come into view. I knew I would get close to the top but not quite there. Then I noticed someone hiking up the hill to my left, away from the ridgetop. Did the trail turn before it got to the ridge? And was that actually another racer? Was I finally catching someone? Amazingly, the answers were yes, yes, and yes! </p><p>The trail did turn and I was perhaps 200 yards behind another runner. But before I could catch him, the trail leveled off and headed downhill, and, leery of my previous experience, I let him continue ahead of me (since apparently everyone in France descends in the snow better than I do). Now it was back down another precipitous, snowy trail, which once again seem to continue farther than I could imagine. The snow was deeper still in this narrow valley, and it appeared that only a single vehicle had been this way (along with the 40 or so runners ahead of me). This means the footing was every more precarious, and I had to slow to keep from falling.</p><p>When the snow finally started to dissipate, the trail was rockier than before and it was difficult to run on. Eventually I got to a runnable section, which again lasted a frustratingly short period of time. Then it was back up on the final climb -- another 1,800 feet over another 3+ miles, and then a short descent to the finish line.</p><p>I was surprised to come upon a second aid station about a mile into this climb, at about Mile 17 (it was supposed to be around Mile 12), where the volunteers were concerned about my bloody knuckles, and the runner I had seen earlier was stopped eating some food. I told the workers my hand was fine, and continued on uphill ahead of my rival. I was now FIFTH from last, with only 3.5 miles to go!</p><p>I trudged on up the hill as quickly as possible, though deep snow, then through a VERY slippery icy section where the snow was exposed to the sun and was melting. I passed two volunteers who told me there was just 1.5k to go -- less than a mile! Soon I was at the top of the final climb and only had a descent to the finish. But of course, this descent was steep and slippery, and soon my rival caught me (and very graciously asked if I was okay before proceeding ahead). </p><p>Finally I emerged from the descent and could see the finish line across a field, only 200 yards away. There were actual people cheering us on in the middle of the field, and I started running (very carefully in my exhausted state), making my way across the field and up a short hill on pavement to the finish archway, where a very cheery DJ welcomed me to the finish. He must have been very bored, because there were probably only 7 or 8 finishers during the last hour of his shift!</p><p>Once we finished (and only then), we were awarded finisher shirts, and then could head for a refreshment table, where I had a cup of hot coffee and chatted with my rival. He said he hadn't been able to train on hills and that's why he was so slow on the climbs. I noted that there was no snow where I was from, so hadn't had any opportunity to train on that! The aid station volunteers wanted me to have more food, but I just wanted to get home, so I headed back to my car. I remembered I was supposed to get 20 euros for the race director, but of course, I had no cash in the car either, and besides, I was completely exhausted, and it was all I could do to take a picture of the waning sun from the parking lot before heading back to my hotel 8 miles down the road. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqZ3xbklPlKCRFwxCW4TmYz8rBlLM1751Oz83csi9w45lrLVgvZ2jo5UzZzOUSa9wBscLObuH1DiNamKc_FU3IGjL16J8O20yFOrw_orUYMyEjaRbR3mkvqtDsz6rXYiCNsNKcDkRPrFxPnX_tAvoIIBSdrwHCKiX2ZInUrTa0wAxLSEQJY2SjKggB=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqZ3xbklPlKCRFwxCW4TmYz8rBlLM1751Oz83csi9w45lrLVgvZ2jo5UzZzOUSa9wBscLObuH1DiNamKc_FU3IGjL16J8O20yFOrw_orUYMyEjaRbR3mkvqtDsz6rXYiCNsNKcDkRPrFxPnX_tAvoIIBSdrwHCKiX2ZInUrTa0wAxLSEQJY2SjKggB=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another photo with deceptively little snow...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I was a little disappointed in my 4th-from last finish, but in my defense, it seemed that many of the slower runners did not attempt the 35k distance. I looked up the results from the 20k, and 20+ runners had run a slower pace than me, even over that shorter distance. So maybe I'm not so slow on the snow.... Either way, it was a challenging day in some beautiful mountains, so regardless of how I did in the race, it was still a great adventure and a new and different experience. But I probably won't do a lot of running races in the snow in the future. I'll leave that to the young 'uns and stick to races with better footing. Or who knows, maybe I'll try an ice race, just for the heck of it!</p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6398825309">Click here for my Strava record of the race</a>.</p><p>P.S. I did check my email and I do have a receipt showing I paid for the race, so I promise I will email the race directer and let her know. Tomorrow.</p><p>P.P.S. The race director got back to me and of course there was no additional charge! So all's well that ends well!</p></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-65096844766043596012021-10-02T16:50:00.000-04:002021-10-02T16:50:00.674-04:00The Presidential Traver—or rather, Climbing Mt. Washington the hard way!<div>My buddy Carl and I had an epic adventure in the White Mountains yesterday. It didn't go as planned, but it's hardly an adventure if it does, right? The plan was to do the Presidential Traverse, a challenging 20-mile run / hike across the tallest mountains in New Hampshire, including the iconic Mount Washington, at 6,288 feet elevation, then descend to the other side of the range. Starting from just 1,300 feet, we knew there would be a lot of climbing. We knew the weather wasn't great, with a forecast of temperatures around freezing and 30-50 mph winds. But it was looking better than the alternative, which was to wait until the next day, when freezing rain was in the forecast, so we started out in the dark at 5 am and hoped for the best. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HuTsPw1DFt4/YVivOM5OUhI/AAAAAAAADYU/KkjqllVbFOw70xHBdLPAOERt6TlqEjiDQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HuTsPw1DFt4/YVivOM5OUhI/AAAAAAAADYU/KkjqllVbFOw70xHBdLPAOERt6TlqEjiDQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9352.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the trailhead</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>From the start, the trail was challenging, rocky, and steep. We shook our heads every time we turned a corner and saw another steep, rocky pitch to ascend. Carl stopped to take a picture of me climbing a typical section of the trail:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RbiswHX9UPA/YVivtA3ZKlI/AAAAAAAADYc/2tISejGj5pgSgyZcvWJWJPLNWxwdIRFNACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5644.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RbiswHX9UPA/YVivtA3ZKlI/AAAAAAAADYc/2tISejGj5pgSgyZcvWJWJPLNWxwdIRFNACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/IMG_5644.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oof!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>It wasn't runnable, but we soon climbed up above 4,000 feet and arrived at our first serious challenge, Mount Madison. Now above the treeline, there wasn't really a trail, just a series of cairns in a steep, rocky ascent into the clouds. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qBSou0r1ev0/YVizREAN-SI/AAAAAAAADYk/JGhPRTOLW1wEvuDKZ_z7ZTUi16OYUssOACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5653.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qBSou0r1ev0/YVizREAN-SI/AAAAAAAADYk/JGhPRTOLW1wEvuDKZ_z7ZTUi16OYUssOACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_5653.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was impossible to see how far we had to climb</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>As we climbed, the rocks got icier and icier, and the wind got stronger and stronger. I soon found my poles were useless as I needed to grab onto rocks with my hands and pull myself up, so I ditched them, knowing we would descend the same way. Carl stopped to change into warmer clothing but told me to continue on. After 100 yards, I stopped as well, knowing the wind would probably get stronger as we climbed. I took off my gloves and jacket and stowed them on the lee side of a cairn, hoping they wouldn't blow away. Then I stretched and contorted to put my technical running top on over my short-sleeved tee shirt. Then I fought the winds for several minutes to put my jacket back on. Finally there was even more struggling to put on my gloves and mittens. By this time, Carl was well ahead of me. I struggled toward the top, where Carl had stopped to take my photo, which should give you a good idea of the conditions up there. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OlEb26ABD5g/YVi0xnMqHjI/AAAAAAAADYs/t-C1SZ85qiAYqnDOPwLsAu02gx3CcGLpQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5664.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OlEb26ABD5g/YVi0xnMqHjI/AAAAAAAADYs/t-C1SZ85qiAYqnDOPwLsAu02gx3CcGLpQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_5664.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Epic!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qzZfCqMfd3U/YVi2oCJGIiI/AAAAAAAADZA/lCeR29txvS8kovjcVrXt9oshkRBGt2TjwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qzZfCqMfd3U/YVi2oCJGIiI/AAAAAAAADZA/lCeR29txvS8kovjcVrXt9oshkRBGt2TjwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9354.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the summit of Mount Madison</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>At the top, we experienced our first full blast of wind, easily 50 mph. The descent was even more precarious as it's harder to find something to grab on to on your way down. Finally we made it back to the Madison Hut, which was closed for the season. We sheltered behind the hut and added all the layers we had. Once again, even in the lee of the hut, it was still a struggle to get the additional layers on. Our hands were frozen by the time we finished. We were both in shorts. I had a pair of tights that I could have added but my legs weren't cold and it would have been a pain to get them on and I would have gotten even colder as I did it. On to Mount Adams.</div><div><br /></div><div>Adams was taller, icier, and rockier than Madison. The climb up was steeper as well. We would be descending a different route, so I stowed my poles on my pack. I hoped the descent would be easier than this! As we climbed, the route got steeper and steeper. It was a full-on, four-limbed scramble, before it finally leveled off a bit near the summit. Here Carl got another photo of me:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NhBZpr81gy8/YVi2B6c4nsI/AAAAAAAADY0/tDvBwFhbgTYOL3eBaQUjP05ojb9IzRF2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5665.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NhBZpr81gy8/YVi2B6c4nsI/AAAAAAAADY0/tDvBwFhbgTYOL3eBaQUjP05ojb9IzRF2wCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/IMG_5665.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even more epic!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VPH57h9jhkM/YVi2bhqWuCI/AAAAAAAADY8/skCQnXkTb5Yiy-uyKCynTFyK4IAn5X-KwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VPH57h9jhkM/YVi2bhqWuCI/AAAAAAAADY8/skCQnXkTb5Yiy-uyKCynTFyK4IAn5X-KwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9355.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The two of us atop Mount Adams</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>At the top, once again we were in the full face of the wind, but now we had to descend on an exposed ridge, scrambling across icy, jagged rocks that ranged from 1 to 4 feet in size. My right pole nearly fell off my pack and I struggled to strap it back in place. The wind was blasting me and my glasses fogged up. I was worried my hat would blow off. My nose was dripping incessantly, reminding me that I had forgotten to take my allergy medicine in the morning. A gust of wind blew a strand of mucus onto my glasses, which promptly froze across my field of view. I decided to remove my glasses and hat and plugged on, inching my way forward and downward, guessing at where to place my feet on the now-blurred surface of the icy rocks. After a couple hundred yards I decided it would be easier with poles and foggy glasses, so I put my glasses back on, removed my right pole from the pack and unfolded it. Then I went to get the left pole and saw that it was missing! It must have fallen off in the past hundred yards or so, but progress had been so perilous that I decided not to try to find the missing pole and went ahead with half-fogged glasses and one pole. Finally we made our way to a somewhat less windy spot and regrouped. [If you look back at the selfie from the top of Mount Adams, you will see that my left pole was already missing, so not going back was a very good call; it would have taken as long as an hour to find it!]</div><div><br /></div><div>Just 5.5 miles in to our planned 20+ mile journey, it seemed unlikely that we would be able to finish. We knew there was a road and a cog railway at the summit of Mount Washington, 5 miles away, so we decided to make our way there and bail out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Soon after this, we encountered the first hikers we had seen on the trip. They told us Mount Jefferson, ahead of us, was icy. We told them the Madison Hut, where they were headed, was closed, and Mount Adams was really rough. Then we each plunged forward in our respective directions. I was moving slower and slower, and Carl would walk ahead and then wait for me every quarter-mile or so. He was getting cold, and all this stopping wasn't helping the situation. The trail was relentlessly rocky, but thankfully not as icy as it had been on Mount Adams. Meanwhile I wasn't getting anything to eat, because I felt guilty every time Carl had to wait for me and so didn't stop to fuel up.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F73JE2sT0TI/YVi6swKrUoI/AAAAAAAADZM/7VXPTp2qt5Qs48izdtGAUZo8pFuDAqAUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5680.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F73JE2sT0TI/YVi6swKrUoI/AAAAAAAADZM/7VXPTp2qt5Qs48izdtGAUZo8pFuDAqAUQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/IMG_5680.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Working our way along the trail</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>At the base of Mount Jefferson, Carl figured out that there was a trail around the summit. It took us all of 5 seconds to decide we weren't going to summit Jefferson, so we went around it on a mercifully less-rocky trail (and by "less rocky" I mean "rockier than nearly any other trail I've been on"). </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally we started the climb up Mount Washington. The trail got rockier again, and we were concerned that it would get even icier than the others since it was 700 feet taller. It was definitely icier, and the winds were probably stronger than any we had experienced previously, but it was thankfully not as steep as Madison or Adams. The was some semblance of a trail through the rocks, and we saw some other hikers descending through the blasting wind. We could hear the sound of the cog railway chugging up the mountain, seemingly right next to us, but we couldn't see anything. Finally a train emerged out of the fog, less than 40 yards away! It was slowly chugging its way upward through the cloud, puffing a ribbon of smoke that was instantly transported away by the wind. More importantly, this mean the train was actually running that day, which meant we would have a way to get down off the mountain!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DlcEXP4qH2o/YVi7yUnw-PI/AAAAAAAADZU/gkzxoQMOEiYmYvTXVK_EH5wEA9p-gUqrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5695.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DlcEXP4qH2o/YVi7yUnw-PI/AAAAAAAADZU/gkzxoQMOEiYmYvTXVK_EH5wEA9p-gUqrwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_5695.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The steam train blasting up the tracks</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The trail went right under the train tracks, which didn't seem right. I consulted the map I'd loaded onto my watch and saw that we had followed the wrong trail, which indeed did go under the tracks, but not to the top of the mountain. But we weren't far from the right trail, and I saw that if we hiked alongside the tracks, we'd soon rejoin the summit trail. Mercifully, the ground was soft and footing was firm next to the tracks; we guessed this was from the cinders spewed out by the steam engine. Eventually we regained the correct trail, which got icier with every step. Then this trail too crossed the tracks. I double-checked with my watch and saw that we were on the right trail, and so we stepped across. I was halfway across when I saw the lights of a train coming down the tracks toward me. I had visions of a Wile E. Coyote-style collision and hustled across. It was only when I was safely on the other side of the tracks that I saw the train was probably moving about 3 miles per hour! We waved to the passengers in the steamy coach, hoping we'd join them soon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally we made our way to the top. I headed straight for the summit building, leaving Carl to take a summit selfie by himself. I was completely spent. We had climbed a total of over 7,000 feet, much of it in icy, windy conditions while scrambling over rocks. Suddenly we were in a world of tourists and tchotchkes. They looked at us like we were crazy, and I suppose we were, a little bit. But I wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, my bowl of clam chowder and cup of hot chocolate purchased at the summit cafe tasted SOOOO much better to me having worked my way [halfway] across the Presidential Traverse. </div><div><br /></div><div>I knew there was a van service that took passengers up the road to the top as well as the cog railway, so Carl inquired as to which would be the better option for us to get to the bottom. As it turned out, there was only one, the railway; the road had been closed due to the extreme weather conditions. The weather had been even worse than forecast, with an AVERAGE wind speed of 49.2 mph. We had felt it on the hike but convinced ourselves that it couldn't have been that bad, even though we felt like the wind could blow our form-fitting beanies off our heads, and our poles nearly got blown out from under us before we could plant them on the ground. The maximum wind speed for the day according to the Mount Washington Observatory was 77 mph. Carl found out we could ride the railway down on a space-available basis; we'd have to ask the operator if there was room. Then we'd be on our own to figure out how to get from the bottom of the railway to our car 10 miles away. There were no taxi services and Uber seemed unlikely in this remote spot. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we lined up for the railway, we noticed two women who looked to be in a similar predicament to us. They heard us talking about getting to our car and offered to give us a ride. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Really!?!" we said! "That would be awesome!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, we'll see how far it is when we get to the bottom and let you know."</div><div><br /></div><div>On the ride down we chatted with some of the other passengers, and were amazed at how quickly the train descended below the wind and fog, despite its lethargic 3-mph pace. Soon we were in an autumnal wonderland, with stunning fall colors all around us. I only managed to take a quick selfie on the train.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CX40MjK1gZ8/YVjAbGhXVII/AAAAAAAADZc/MHPws6vmJwAXanz-0KHEW-cyblQJ11wIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CX40MjK1gZ8/YVjAbGhXVII/AAAAAAAADZc/MHPws6vmJwAXanz-0KHEW-cyblQJ11wIgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9356.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy to be warm!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>As we paid our fares, the two women told us they could definitely drive us, and we thanked them probably too many times to count. "We're Sarah and Sarah," they told us [names may have been changed to protect the innocent]. We introduced ourselves and chattered away. When we got to their car, they offered us beers, but we were too cold and sore (and old) to partake. They happily poured themselves some hard selzers (carefully disguised in thermal mugs), and we drove down the road to our waiting car. As we arrived at our car, we saw two women in hiking gear, hitchhiking. Sarah and Sarah told us we should pay it forward and give those women a ride. So we did. Turns out they had carefully dropped a car at the end of their planned point-to-point hike, but forgot to take their keys! Unlike us, they had actually completed the hike as planned; they just couldn't get into their car when they arrived! </div><div><br /></div><div>All this goodwill left us with a nice feeling after what was technically an unsuccessful trip. We had planned to run 20.5 miles and climb 8 peaks. We ended up running not one step and only summiting 3 peaks, taking 8 hours and 45 minutes for half a trip when the whole trip should have taken 12 hours. Somehow none of that mattered. We had summited Mount Washington in freezing temperatures and near-hurricane-force winds. We had done something epic; just not the epic something we thought we were going to do. It was a very good day.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6048604442/overview">Click here for the Strava record of the trip</a></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-53613712812022160752021-08-09T14:15:00.003-04:002021-08-09T14:29:38.125-04:00Race Report: The Sheep Mountain 50k<p>Sheep Mountain is a rather unassuming name for a peak. In fact, in Colorado there are dozens of mountains with that name. But I had been looking for an ultra that would fit into my travel schedule this summer, and Sheep Mountain 50k is the one that worked out for me. This particular "Sheep Mountain" is near Fairplay, Colorado, where the race starts. It's 12,800 feet tall... not too big as Colorado mountains go, but plenty big for a flatlander from North Carolina. I have tried to run at this elevation before, and I knew it would be a challenge for me, especially as the path took me above 12,000 feet, where I usually start to get altitude sickness.</p><p>Fortunately the race is only above that height for a couple miles. Unfortunately, the rest of the race is all above 10,000 feet! It starts in Fairplay, and gradually winds its way uphill towards the big ascent of the mountain. The trail doesn't quite take you to the summit, but it peaks out at nearly 12,500 feet! Here's the elevation profile (from my Strava record of the race):</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VAqz5CgQCgw/YRFxZsW4GHI/AAAAAAAADWk/dZht32-xNxk6GQL-9llxGg86GstV73_4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1742/sheepprofile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="1742" height="135" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VAqz5CgQCgw/YRFxZsW4GHI/AAAAAAAADWk/dZht32-xNxk6GQL-9llxGg86GstV73_4ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h135/sheepprofile.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>After you reach the top, you descend nearly to the start elevation, then climb back halfway up the mountain before returning to the start / finish line. </p><p>I had been in Colorado for two weeks before the race, but only spent 4 days in Fairplay at 10,000 feet. The previous 9 days were in Basalt, at 6,500 feet. That's a decent elevation, but still doesn't quite prepare you for the conditions nearly 2 miles above sea level. According to my Garmin, I was acclimated to an 8,000 foot elevation when I awoke on race morning. That's not bad, but of course I'd be running up to an elevation 4,500 feet above this! Despite having run this far a few times, I'd never been an official finisher of a trail 50k. </p><p>I got to the start area about 5:30 am, and sat in my car like most of the other runners, trying to stay warm on a 45-degree morning. At 5:50, we all jumped out of our cars and walked up to the start line. After a short talk from the race director, we were off! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MHcvoW0LZKU/YRFhWRhIp0I/AAAAAAAADV0/O-XXq9VB9GAC6r9vdUmBm2UQsPpgEMxSACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9194.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MHcvoW0LZKU/YRFhWRhIp0I/AAAAAAAADV0/O-XXq9VB9GAC6r9vdUmBm2UQsPpgEMxSACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9194.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>There were maybe 150 runners, most of us running the 50k, but maybe 30 or 40 doing the 50-miler (they added an extra loop starting at about the 15-mile point). The first 5 miles were a gradual climb up a smooth gravel road. I ran easily at a 10-ish-minute pace, walking whenever the grade steepened too much. <div><br /></div><div>The road was gradually getting rougher and a little steeper. Then suddenly a group of 15 or 20 runners was running towards me. "Turn around," they said, "we missed the turn." It hardly seemed possible to get lost along this road, but the actual route took a left turn and we all had missed it. The course had been well-marked with pink ribbons but clearly someone had removed them at this spot. Fortunately I had only run an extra half-mile or so, but it still sucked to miss the turn. A friend told me the women's winner went an extra 2 miles!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ntP71rlhy3I/YRFkPqkn41I/AAAAAAAADV8/-yUfL1v2A0cxzvXZxyKFV6rnZAqCXkLmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9195.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ntP71rlhy3I/YRFkPqkn41I/AAAAAAAADV8/-yUfL1v2A0cxzvXZxyKFV6rnZAqCXkLmwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9195.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Moose sighting!</div><div><br /><p>Back on course, the road continued to get rougher and steeper, until we finally crested and descended a very rough road to the first aid station, officially at Mile 7 (though my watch read 7.5). After a half mile on a smooth gravel road, we turned onto a singletrack trail. The trail headed upward, then across a difficult section of scree composed partially of petrified wood. There was no way to run on this section; the rocks were too loose and uneven. Fortunately that ended after about a half mile, and we were again running on singletrack through forest. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Around Mile 10, the big climb began. It would be 2,000 feet over 2 miles, switching back and forth up Sheep Mountain. About halfway up, I got passed by an old guy. "Another graybeard?" he said, "Might I ask your age." I told him I was 54. "You're no graybeard! I'm 67!" And he charged ahead. <p></p><p>Not long after that another guy passed me and I said "Can you believe that guy is 67?" </p><p>"Well, I'm 69," he replied. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s7w3BmMAP0I/YRFnLWGdLQI/AAAAAAAADWU/kL5Jf8hInsEKMZiZlPSRO1UhYRcZG8XlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9196.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s7w3BmMAP0I/YRFnLWGdLQI/AAAAAAAADWU/kL5Jf8hInsEKMZiZlPSRO1UhYRcZG8XlQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9196.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yep, that's a 69-year old leaving me in his dust</div><p>As the 69-year-old zipped ahead of me, I plodded my way up the ever-steeper slopes, now once again a crude trail made of piled-up scree. I could see runners hundreds of feet above me on another switchback, and was disheartened to realize that I'd have to climb that high as well. Finally I reached the high point of the trail and stopped to take a photo. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kFJ7z6QzgSo/YRFm0Z7fPRI/AAAAAAAADWI/FMxaL3ehwCoq4Ori36fMPtHK7tacuLS5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9197.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kFJ7z6QzgSo/YRFm0Z7fPRI/AAAAAAAADWI/FMxaL3ehwCoq4Ori36fMPtHK7tacuLS5gCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9197.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A hazy day near the top of Sheep Mountain</div><p>I had been told that we'd have a spectacular view of Pikes Peak from Sheep Mountain, but sadly it was so hazy from all the forest fires across the west that I could barely see the valley at the base of the mountain. Next was a steep 2,500 descent to nearly the same elevation as the start line. Much of the trail was the difficult, non-runnable scree I had been laboring up on the ascent. Eventually I reached a forest road that was a little easier, and after a half-mile or so of this I reached the aid station, where the friendly check-in guy asked me if I had had enough rocks. I told him I thought I had, and he said "good, you're in for a lot more of them!"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-86L_eR0nNts/YRFqCxwErVI/AAAAAAAADWc/jYU4EyRB_r4zZeaJd4Qo2-02DnjmFuIQACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9199.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-86L_eR0nNts/YRFqCxwErVI/AAAAAAAADWc/jYU4EyRB_r4zZeaJd4Qo2-02DnjmFuIQACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_9199.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A trail marker in the scree</div><p>After I had my fill of cookies and stocked up on water, I continued down the mountainside. Fortunately it wasn't the scree I had been laboring through, but just a very rocky jeep road. Still difficult to run on, but not nearly as challenging as scree. Eventually the road leveled out, and I reached the third aid station, at Mile 16.8 by my watch. At this point I was having difficulty running at all, even on relatively flat, even surfaces. I filled up on water, cookies, and chips, and then headed off again. The trail rolled on through the woods, up and down gradual hills. Not being able to run, I just hiked as quickly as I could, trading places with a couple other runners who looked to be about as beat up as me. Eventually the trail markers clearly indicated I should be turning left, while the map I had uploaded to my watch clearly indicated I should be continuing straight. I decided to follow the trail markers, while my watch beeped in protest. </p><p>This trail headed back up Sheep Mountain, and I knew from looking over the official course map before the race that that was what we were supposed to do, so I must have made a mistake with the map I uploaded to my watch. In fact we climbed halfway back up the mountain, before joining up with the trail we had climbed up on before. The course was a big, misshapen lollipop, with the first and last 10 miles or so as the "stick" and the middle 11 as the "candy": </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ird3OK_cyUM/YRFxtCxijBI/AAAAAAAADWs/1rtqc9NG4740CZza1LoXOYgr-hrDgZ_vwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1590/sheepmap.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="1590" height="272" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ird3OK_cyUM/YRFxtCxijBI/AAAAAAAADWs/1rtqc9NG4740CZza1LoXOYgr-hrDgZ_vwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h272/sheepmap.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Now it would all be familiar territory. I was dreading the one last scree field before we moved back onto roads for the 8 miles to the finish. I made my way across the petrified scree and onto the road, where another couple runners passed me. I told myself it was time to start running again, but every time I tried, my body wouldn't cooperate. Finally I arrived at the last aid station, at Mile 25.8 by my watch, where I allowed myself a 10-minute break, eating as many cookies and drinking as much Coke as I could before heading back out on the road. </p><p>7 miles to go, and now it would all be gravel roads. After a steep climb out of the aid station, it would be mostly downhill. The road surface gradually improved, and I did manage to run a bit -- 1 minute on, 2 minutes off. 4 miles to go, and there was an unmanned water stop where I refilled a flask, just in case. With 3 miles to go the lead 50-mile runner ran passed, looking solid and steady at probably a 9-minute pace while I could barely manage a walk. I noticed I had phone service and texted Greta to let her know when to expect me at the finish line. 2 miles to go, then 1 mile to go. Surely I could run the last mile, couldn't I? Nope. At this point I was just walking. With a quarter mile to go another man passed me, also walking, but faster than I could. He was maybe 50 yards ahead of me as we approached the finish, and he sprinted to the end. 40 yards from the end, a photographer approached me and said "show me what you got." </p><p>"This is all I got," I said, and I walked to the finish. Greta was there, and snapped a picture of me walking across the line. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AFkSl9lfcAg/YRFx-uCh3EI/AAAAAAAADW0/1grLxvFKxRAhFHwmYNwIfpqMLgaPOEBuACLcBGAsYHQ/s1414/sheepfinish.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1184" data-original-width="1414" height="335" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AFkSl9lfcAg/YRFx-uCh3EI/AAAAAAAADW0/1grLxvFKxRAhFHwmYNwIfpqMLgaPOEBuACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h335/sheepfinish.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>I had gotten my first official finish at a trail ultra. A really tough trail ultra -- I definitely didn't make this easy on myself. I was absolutely spent. My body didn't know what to do with itself. I didn't know if I wanted to eat, drink, or take a nap. Greta drove me back to our rental condo and I decided what I wanted to do was sleep. "Not before you take a shower," Greta said. Reluctantly, I stumbled into the shower, then took a 45-minute nap, and woke up hungry, still not knowing what to eat. I finally choked down a potato and went to bed, dreaming of anything but running up the side of a mountain. </p><p>If you're interested, here's the <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5755781644/overview">Strava record of my race</a>.</p></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-19969926048312741122021-05-23T11:11:00.000-04:002021-05-23T11:11:40.782-04:00Brief Race Recap: Duathlon Nationals 2021<p>I have spent the spring focusing on a fast 5k time and haven't really had time to seriously train for multi-sport, but I did really want to do this one race, the draft-legal Sprint Duathlon National Championship in Tuscaloosa. The race is a qualifier for the world championship. I had qualified for 2020 worlds in a non-draft-legal event, but of course the 2020 race was cancelled, so I wanted to try again, this time to qualify for the 2022 world championship in Australia. </p><p>We had a bit of a scare driving to the Sunday race on Saturday, because we needed to arrive by 4:00 pm to pick up the race packet. I had given myself a 2-hour cushion, 9 hours instead of the expected 7, in case of bad traffic, but we got a bit of a late start, then got caught in a 90-minute traffic jam. All the sudden my GPS was estimating we would make it with only minutes to spare. So all bathroom breaks were cancelled as we tore across Georgia and Alabama trying to make it to the race on time. I made it to registration, just barely, but I was starving, dehydrated, and badly needed to pee, all at the same time.</p><p>Two dinners and many glasses of water later, I finally felt human again and went to sleep dreaming about porta-potties. </p><p>On race morning things went a bit smoother, except for the part where I forgot my cycling glasses and so was constantly worried about my regular prescription glasses sliding off my face as I walked nervously around the transition area wearing my required facemask (despite already having received my vaccine).</p><p>Finally we all lined up at the start and were allowed to throw away our masks. Soon we were off, somewhat socially distanced as they started us in groups of 5, spaced apart by a few seconds each. This little bit of spacing actually mattered quite a bit as this was a draft-legal race, so the idea is to find a pack to ride with on the bike section of the race so you can conserve energy for the run. By spreading us out from the start, the officials were making it harder to employ the usual strategy on the ride.</p><p>I decided to go for a conservative 6:45 pace on the run so I would have something left for the ride. Even this pace felt pretty difficult for me, probably because of the non-ideal pre-race drive the day before. I ended up running closer to a 7:00 pace and headed out on the ride. </p><p>As I feared, I didn't find a pack to ride with and could see only a couple riders ahead. I caught one of them, then another rider caught us, and we had a group of three. Until we hit the first hill, then one of the guys dropped away, and now there were just two of us. But we could see a pack of 7 or 8 riders perhaps a quarter mile ahead. Me and this guy (I later found out his name was also Dave) worked together and started to reel that pack in. We made good progress on the climbs but they would always pull away on the flats and downhills. Finally at about Mile 8 out of the 12-mile ride, we were on a big climb, and I made up my mind to bridge the gap. I caught them right as we crested the hill, and Dave was with me. Then it was going to be easy cruising until the finish. </p><p>It didn't take me long to realize that these guys were ahead of us because they were really good runners. My only chance to beat them would be to force them to work harder on the ride, so I took the lead and continued to push the pace. They stayed together as a pack, though, so we all rode into transition together.</p><p>As I feared, I had little energy left for the second run. I was struggling to run even 8-minute pace. The whole pack of riders passed me, most of them patting me on the back and thanking me for a strong ride. I guess I was the sap who worked too hard on the ride!</p><p>Finally I made my way to the finish, and the group of riders was all there. They all congratulated me on my ride and Dave thanked me for pushing him so hard -- he ended up on the podium in his age group. Greta got a picture of the two of us:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y1dIzK1laWk/YKpvZ0x1x0I/AAAAAAAADSE/6XirCCq2yvQFuz5Tyl_y7sLIntZsp6-PACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_3521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y1dIzK1laWk/YKpvZ0x1x0I/AAAAAAAADSE/6XirCCq2yvQFuz5Tyl_y7sLIntZsp6-PACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_3521.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glad to have met a new friend</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>I ended up 8th in my age group. That qualifies me to compete at the 2022 World Championship! Plus I had a lot of fun on the ride chasing down that group of riders. Maybe in 2022 I'll do a little more work on strategy, and maybe a little more duathlon-specific training, and see what I can do at the championship. Either way, it was a fun event and I'd like to do more draft-legal racing in the future.<br /><p><br /></p>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-23528971096474131052021-05-08T12:11:00.000-04:002021-05-08T12:11:39.636-04:00Race report: 5K 5K<p> After a year of running mostly at a relatively slow pace training for an Ironman, one of my goals this season was to build my 5k speed back again. The target race was the Lake Norman 5k, on May 2. I haven't run a sub-20 5k in my 50s (the last one was the Runway 5k in 2016 at age 49) so sub-20 minutes was the goal.</p><p>Race day came and I toed the line with several hundred runners, most of whom would be running the Lake Norman Half marathon, which shared the course for the first 1.55 miles. Carl would be joining me for the effort, shooting for a sub-19. There was pandemonium less than a quarter mile into the race as the race leaders and two of the lead bikes inexplicably took a right turn off the course. The eventual half-marathon winner ran an extra quarter mile, but fortunately I was in a group that figured out what happened before going off course. Carl, unfortunately, did do some extra distance in sorting out where to go. </p><p>I wasn't feeling great but I wanted to give myself a chance, so I sucked it up and ran a 6:23 first mile (you need to run 6:26 pace to go sub-20 minutes). The first half of the race was mostly uphill, so I was counting on a downhill finish. We reached the turnaround where the half-marathoners continued straight ahead while the 5kers reversed course, and I could see that Carl was in first, there was one runner between us, and I was in third. Heading downhill now, I hoped it would start to feel easier. It didn't. I completed Mile 2 in 6:31, still on track for a sub-20. But then the road flattened and even seemed to be going slightly uphill. I couldn't keep up the pace, no matter how hard I tried. I got slower and slower. I think I may have even slowed briefly to a 7-minute pace. When the hill ended and we were going downhill again, I just couldn't go any faster. I started wondering if anyone was going to challenge me for third. I figured even if they did, I would still be first in my age group. I did a lot of negotiating with myself, fighting the urge to stop or slow down drastically. Finally the finish line came into view and I could see the clock. Not only had I missed my chance at a sub-20, the clock was already in the 21s. My official time was 21:07.</p><p>Carl won the race but was also nearly a minute off his goal time. We got some great prizes but hardly felt like we earned them because we hadn't met our race goals.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MRBUr50WFkA/YJay93QjpdI/AAAAAAAADQU/CyIAp_M0O4oHaXS1YcvV3hkZ9pXr0j9fwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1831/IMG_7528%2B2.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1740" data-original-width="1831" height="380" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MRBUr50WFkA/YJay93QjpdI/AAAAAAAADQU/CyIAp_M0O4oHaXS1YcvV3hkZ9pXr0j9fwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h380/IMG_7528%2B2.heic" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checks, giant awards, and beverages! But disappointing finish times</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>By the time we were scarfing down post-race breakfast, we were already hatching a plan for a do-over. We'd do a 5k time trial on the track the following week and see if we could do better. This time we recruited Chas and Derek as pacers.<br /><p>Fast forward a week and we were lined up on the track, with Chas pacing the 19-minute group (Carl and Brad) and Derek pacing the 20-minute group (me). My plan was to run even 95-second laps. If I could do that 12.5 times, I'd have my sub-20 5k. I let Derek set the pace and he updated me on our progress. We started a little fast but soon settled into a groove. We were right on pace through 4 laps - about a mile. My old soccer buddy David Boraks was there and snapped photos of the two groups. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cmh5iRmjCk4/YJa0dOJmphI/AAAAAAAADQc/bIC251tTAjsfZPv4WmAnMBoFy7I301IdwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1790/IMG_20210508_073435177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1483" data-original-width="1790" height="331" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cmh5iRmjCk4/YJa0dOJmphI/AAAAAAAADQc/bIC251tTAjsfZPv4WmAnMBoFy7I301IdwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h331/IMG_20210508_073435177.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chas, Carl, and Brad trying for sub-19<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XbqJDrTJp5Y/YJa0s9U3yQI/AAAAAAAADQk/0DHa0VnNNoYab1jS6A4SvldebWW3U-sbwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20210508_073628777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XbqJDrTJp5Y/YJa0s9U3yQI/AAAAAAAADQk/0DHa0VnNNoYab1jS6A4SvldebWW3U-sbwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_20210508_073628777.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek and me going for sub-20</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>About 6 laps in, I could see Carl dropping out ahead of me. Apparently he just didn't have it this day. But Chas and Brad continued on. Meanwhile I was having struggles of my own. Had Carl and I tried to reboot too soon? I made it through Mile 2 still on pace, but I was really beginning to labor. Maybe if I slowed just a bit I could pick it up and still finish strong. My 95-second laps were becoming 98- and 99-second laps. Just two laps to go -- surely you can pick up the pace now, right? But I couldn't. I think I was finally able to get back up to goal pace for the final lap, but the damage had been done and my time was 20:20. That was definitely the best I had done in a couple years, but not the sub-20 I had been looking for. </p><p>Brad ended up with a 19:30 -- short of his goal but still a big PR for him, so that was great! I think if I had another month of training with continued perfect weather, I could maybe hit that sub-20. But unfortunately I'm registered for a duathlon in 2 weeks. Then I'm planning a big bike trip across Virginia, and I'm signed up for an ultra in August. So 5k training is over for now. I did what I could, and I did run a pretty decent 5k for a 54-year-old, all things considered. I had planned to lose some weight this spring, which definitely would have helped in the 5k, but given that many folks have <i>gained</i> big chunks of weight during the pandemic, I probably shouldn't complain. I'm excited about my plans for the rest of the summer, so I don't think I'll change a thing! </p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5229588808">Click here for my Lake Norman 5k data</a></p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5261445157">Click here for my track time trial data</a></p>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-31823631374230645212020-11-24T09:10:00.001-05:002020-11-24T09:10:26.087-05:00Race Report: The Brolympus / Sonic / DART Virtual Ironpalooza<div class="separator"></div><p> Three weeks ago, I had to cut my 16-mile run down to 10 miles due to excruciating pain from Morton's Neuroma (a nerve irritation between the 3rd and 4th toes. WAY more painful than it sounds!). Two weeks ago, during my last "Superbrick" workout (a long run following a long ride), the pain was starting to get to me in the first MILE of my 90-minute run. Somehow I hobbled my way through and finished that workout, but I decided to take my podiatrist up on his offer to give me a cortisone shot a week before my virtual Ironman race. A week ago, I was in his office getting shot up for the second time in less than a month. On Sunday, despite not having run more than 14 miles since May, and no more than 16.5 in one push since January, I somehow managed to complete 26.2 miles after swimming and biking and became an Ironman! Well, sort of.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dOHsUjvmz-k/X7u3_jnhpaI/AAAAAAAADGo/lYteR4cE7rI1VZQlJzNDkHizVndDfk7dACLcBGAsYHQ/s1402/IM1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1402" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dOHsUjvmz-k/X7u3_jnhpaI/AAAAAAAADGo/lYteR4cE7rI1VZQlJzNDkHizVndDfk7dACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h296/IM1.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the "finish line" (from Dawn's video)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>An Ironman is 140.6 miles of swim, bike, and run. But Ironman competitors are picky about who or what they call an "Ironman." Some folks don't consider it an Ironman if it is not an Ironman® brand race. Some won't even call an Ironman-brand finisher an "Ironman" if they happened to be in a race that was shortened due to logistical / weather issues. I was registered for Ironman Arizona but leery about traveling across the country during Covid times -- especially since social distancing meant that I would have limited support from friends and family (not to mention the official race organizers) during the race. In the end the race was cancelled just 10 days before it was scheduled to occur. So instead I asked my run, bike, and swim buddies at home in Davidson, NC to support me in my own personal virtual Ironman. I'd swim in Lake Davidson, bike in loops around Davidson, and run up and down the main road out of town and along a greenway in Davidson. Even though it may not technically be an "Ironman," I was amazed at how my friends came through for me.</p><p>I was careful about one thing: To make sure that each event in the Ironman covered at least the regulation distances: 2.4 miles (or 4,224 yards) for the swim, 112 miles for the ride, and 26.219 miles for the run. I also did not stop the clock at any point, just like in a real race. Transitions, potty breaks, traffic lights, and mechanical issues would be included in the total time. </p><p>I started the swim at 6 am on a 46-degree morning. Since morning temps can drop well below freezing here this time of year, I was glad that it wasn't too cold. The water was probably around 60 degrees (my usual lake temperature reference web site has been on the blink lately so I don't know the exact temp). It was cold enough that I decided to go with a neoprene swim cap instead of the usual thin silicone one. I had tried it just once when the water temps were in the upper 60s and it was too warm, so I was hoping I wouldn't get overheated.</p><p>My buddy Tristan would accompany me in his kayak, and we were joined by Tristan's partner Noa, and another run buddy, Chad. We were quite a spectacle cruising across the lake in the morning darkness. Tristan's boat was festooned with lights, and Chad and Noa sported bright headlamps, so I had excellent guidance in the dark. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XVWevGBU5To/X7vBlnlzckI/AAAAAAAADG0/9t0nxDsiljgRorLg56hh9YUBS0-k2qmyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/127083320_10158902943520406_5914493166747799815_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XVWevGBU5To/X7vBlnlzckI/AAAAAAAADG0/9t0nxDsiljgRorLg56hh9YUBS0-k2qmyQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/127083320_10158902943520406_5914493166747799815_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tristan and Noa with Chad in the background. I might be there somewhere but I have no light<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>Since GPS watches are rather unreliable in the water, I had Tristan carry mine on his boat. We charted a course straight north from the beach outside his condo; I would rely on Tristan to tell me when to turn around at the halfway point. I was hoping to swim at about a 2:30/100 yard pace, which would have me finishing in an hour and 45 minutes. I had swum this course three times before, so I knew what landmarks were at which points along the way, but it was still disconcerting to not know my time and pace. I stopped Tristan a few times to find out how far and fast I had swum. I seemed roughly on track at the turnaround point -- 53 minutes -- but I knew I would probably slow down a bit on the way back. It was a lovely morning with a gorgeous sunrise, which Tristan captured in this awesome photo:<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h3MN2RmOI0g/X7vDxvu-LjI/AAAAAAAADHA/_04X9su59GgIMDiGVhZrZ6tieC9wS292QCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/125921047_10158903153615406_7994056007848868804_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h3MN2RmOI0g/X7vDxvu-LjI/AAAAAAAADHA/_04X9su59GgIMDiGVhZrZ6tieC9wS292QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/125921047_10158903153615406_7994056007848868804_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The water was this smooth for the entire swim<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>As we approached the beach, Tristan asked if I wanted him to let me know when I had hit the exact distance. I could then stop and run along the waterfront to the spot where I had left my sandals. That seemed like a good idea, and we stopped about 30 yards short of my starting point. Swim time: 1:54:12 -- a little slower than I hoped but not bad. The shoreline was uneven here, so I tripped and fell back in the water, losing my goggles. "Leave the goggles," Tristan shouted. "We'll find them later!" I seriously doubted we would, but I figured a $5 pair of goggles was a small loss for a day I had already invested an unmentionable amount of money in. I finally made my way to my sandals, which I struggled to put on for the 50-yard run to my bike. I didn't want to step on a rock or something and aggravate my Morton's Neuroma before I even started the real run, but I probably wasted a couple minutes in this effort. Finally I got to my bike and was able to change in the Adventure Van, which was not Tristan's van but which he had in his condo parking lot (long story).</p><p>I stripped naked, lubed up, and put on my cycling gear, then headed outside to pee before getting on the bike. My swim-and-bike buddy, Finnin, would be accompanying me for the first half of the ride. Long-time run and swim buddy Hope was there to collect all my gear and drive my car to the town green, where she and run buddy Dawn would set up the aid station for the bike and run. Transition time: 14 minutes. </p><p>A good ride is the key to a good Ironman. Most decent swimmers can complete the swim relatively easily (I'm a slow swimmer but still didn't have much trouble with it), and you can walk giant chunks of the run and still finish before the cutoff time -- as long as you finish the ride in a reasonable amount of time. 112 miles on a bike is a serious chunk of distance, and there are lots of ways to mess it up. You can ride too hard and have nothing left for the run. You can go too slow and take too many breaks. You can crash, or have mechanical issues. You can neglect your nutrition and have nothing left for the end of the race. Your bike can be improperly fitted, or too aggressive in its setup, making the ride painful and setting yourself up for failure. </p><p>I have a pretty aggressive setup on my triathlon bike. I bought it for sheer speed and aerodynamics as I tried to get faster on shorter events where these things matter more than comfort. But it was also designed to go the distance in a full Ironman, so I had trained myself to get used to the aggressive riding position, gradually gaining the ability to ride 100+ miles in the awkward aero position. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W9z_oRxqXAE/X7vJgiVt7FI/AAAAAAAADHM/WcT7PS6P_64K-gcC9uyfXl_lLeNlkhDiACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/bike%2B-%2B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W9z_oRxqXAE/X7vJgiVt7FI/AAAAAAAADHM/WcT7PS6P_64K-gcC9uyfXl_lLeNlkhDiACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/bike%2B-%2B1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On my bike during a much shorter time trial (Photo: Dustin)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>My plan was to try to average about a 19.5 mph pace, using a power meter to monitor my efforts. Over 200 watts was definitely not going to be sustainable on a ride this long, so I watched and dialed it back when I started pushing too hard. However, on my training rides I always stopped the timer for traffic lights and breaks. This time the clock would keep running, so I wasn't sure I would be able to maintain that pace when all the little stops were averaged in. The course was four loops of about 27 miles each (the first was a little longer to make sure I had the required 112 miles). I also needed to consume about 36 ounces of Gatorade and a Clif Bar during each loop to make sure I had enough left in the tank for the run. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finnin and I kept it close to the 19.5 mph pace for the first lap. But then we had to stop at the aid station to restock with Gatorade. I also needed to unwrap a Clif Bar and start eating it because I knew I couldn't do that while riding. When we got going again, our average speed was down to 19.2. Then we had bad luck with traffic lights and slowed a bit more. About 10 miles into the second loop, Finnin says "Dave, I hate to say this but I really need to pee!" After 48 ounces of Gatorade, I needed to go too. I had scouted the bike route for this purpose but there really weren't many places to stop that were out of public view. I had gotten permission to use the bathroom at Davidson College Presbyterian Church, but that was 17 miles away, near the aid station. But I did remember a spot about 4 miles ahead along an industrial section of road where peeing in the trees probably wouldn't offend anyone's sensibilities. We arrived at the spot and it was surrounded by deep mud. Somehow we found a place to lay down our bikes and rushed into the trees to get some relief. Now our average speed was down to 18.8 mph. I had a sinking feeling I wasn't going to be able to build that back above 19 mph for the rest of the ride.</div><div><br /></div><div>A few miles later I started work consuming my second bottle of Gatorade for the loop. Only it wasn't Gatorade, it was water! I was the one who packed the bottles, so it was my fault, but I wanted to make sure the mistake wasn't repeated. "Finnin, do you have a phone on you? Can you call Dawn at the aid station and make sure we get two bottles of Gatorade?" He did, but he had to stop to get it out of a Ziplock baggie, so he told me to go on alone to the aid station. He knew he wouldn't be able to catch up to me after a stop. At the aid station, Nicole was planning on joining me as ride buddy, and Finnin would be finished anyways. I soldiered on to the aid station where Nicole joined me.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rL3gIWcia8E/X7vQaQOjW4I/AAAAAAAADHc/EQd634MTG9gt04MUCz5A0R-JWrbnaJybACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rL3gIWcia8E/X7vQaQOjW4I/AAAAAAAADHc/EQd634MTG9gt04MUCz5A0R-JWrbnaJybACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/IMG_5904.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dawn (who was there ALL DAY) resupplying while Nicole joins for Laps 3 and 4<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aznRvAwLUCI/X7vQ-PG-SYI/AAAAAAAADHk/bxOQZ1jqwooUBVHrZxj23RPfDSE3UHpSgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aznRvAwLUCI/X7vQ-PG-SYI/AAAAAAAADHk/bxOQZ1jqwooUBVHrZxj23RPfDSE3UHpSgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/IMG_5917.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finnin, Dawn, and Kathy at the aid station after his ride was done<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I was slowing down a bit but managed to keep the average pace around 18.8 for the ride. After a couple of technical issues (fortunately easily resolved) and witnessing a near-collision between two cars, Nicole and I completed lap 3. Only one lap to go, and two more riders -- Shawn and Morgan -- would be joining us. At this point, after over 100 ounces of Gatorade / water, I really needed to pee again, so I headed up the steps to the church next to the aid station. The church pastor, Peter Henry, was waiting for me at the door. "No need to mask up; there's no one in there!" he said. He had waited after the virtual service ended just to let me in! We headed off for the last lap, our average speed down to 18.5 mph after the bathroom break. While my body was starting to break down a bit, I was cheered by our new companions. Shawn got an awesome group selfie during the ride (per Ironman rules, I did not draft behind Shawn -- notice he is off to the side, not in front of me!).</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aZF-9RD8H04/X7vTlqSZmFI/AAAAAAAADHw/6A0e0rnPKX07Jw4XdYj-m_U6q-atTm8uACLcBGAsYHQ/s960/126901192_868545543976909_2391552537823912337_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aZF-9RD8H04/X7vTlqSZmFI/AAAAAAAADHw/6A0e0rnPKX07Jw4XdYj-m_U6q-atTm8uACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/126901192_868545543976909_2391552537823912337_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whee!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I counted down as the mileage got closer to 112. We cheered when we passed Mile 100! Then we were 5 miles away, just one big climb left. Then we were done! Bike time, 6:03:49; pace, 18.51 mph. We were just a tad over 112 miles at 112.51. Megan snapped a great photo as we arrived at the tent, and my coach Jen had the perfect comment!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PJfNLwxC-oE/X7vVqOZjY8I/AAAAAAAADH8/Se5r7Y3TwbUr72514JvpfWx6l1CYqDrfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1866/bike2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1866" data-original-width="998" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PJfNLwxC-oE/X7vVqOZjY8I/AAAAAAAADH8/Se5r7Y3TwbUr72514JvpfWx6l1CYqDrfgCLcBGAsYHQ/w214-h400/bike2.png" width="214" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>There was a great crowd of people waiting for us and cheering us in. Amber had set up a little privacy tent for me to change in, so I headed inside and stripped off my bike kit and struggled into my running gear. I needed to wear toe socks to stem the Morton's Neuroma, so it definitely took a bit longer than it would have otherwise. Transition time: 10 minutes. Just a little marathon to go.</div><div><br /></div><div>7 people joined for the first loop: Chas, Ian, Cessy, Megan, Carl, Amber, and Jeff. Then later on the loop Lori hopped in, and David followed on his bike. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e_f1C5rHDEk/X7vYLI2gTxI/AAAAAAAADII/CuhHrVeomZ0gKt37ViFTIoMdI482d9HBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_5940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e_f1C5rHDEk/X7vYLI2gTxI/AAAAAAAADII/CuhHrVeomZ0gKt37ViFTIoMdI482d9HBQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/IMG_5940.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So far, so good!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>The plan was to maintain a 10:18 pace as long as possible, including a built-in 1-minute walk break for each mile. If I could sustain that for the whole marathon, I'd finish it in 4.5 hours. If I slowed a bit, I might still squeak in under 5 hours, both very respectable marathon times for an Ironman. This whole section of the race was in the town of Davidson, and people were out on their porches cheering us on, and honking as they drove by. It was like one big town party, except for the part about me struggling to keep pace and keep my gimpy foot from lashing out in excruciating pain!<div><br /></div><div>I held on to the pace for the entire first loop, stopping at the aid station for a super-refreshing cup of Coke and grabbing some Golden Oreos to munch as I started on Lap 2. After one bite of the Oreos I realized that was a bad idea. Fortunately Chas, who planned on pacing me for the entire run, was happy to take the extras and toss them in the next trash can along the route. Carl and Chas stayed with me on Lap 2, and we were joined by Robert and Joey, with Ben hopping in for a bit as well. I eventually abandoned my 1-minute-per-mile walking plan and started to walk on nearly every uphill, as well as some downhills. 4.5 hours wasn't going to happen; at this point it was just about managing my effort and my pain. It started to drizzle a bit, and it was also getting dark. We passed the halfway mark with a cheer, then headed back up the hill into town. Robert dropped back to make a phone call, and we all wondered what that was about, but we soon found out. He was calling a friend and band-mate who lived along the route. The guy was on his front porch rocking out the guitar solo from "Ironman" by Black Sabbath. It was an awesome moment!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u7Oa1EER1TY/X7vbRBoJdZI/AAAAAAAADIU/nHMa28YUmFUyUI8_d1i5lMhUB1fWFjKlACLcBGAsYHQ/s1640/ironman.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1640" data-original-width="1422" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u7Oa1EER1TY/X7vbRBoJdZI/AAAAAAAADIU/nHMa28YUmFUyUI8_d1i5lMhUB1fWFjKlACLcBGAsYHQ/w346-h400/ironman.png" width="346" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A not-so-awesome picture of the awesome moment, taken from Carl's video. You had to be there!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>About 20 yards after passing the Ironman house, I stumbled over a small lump in the sidewalk. Normally this would be a non-issue, but we were now over 15 miles into a run after 114 miles of biking and swimming, and I took a couple of awkward steps before collapsing to the ground. I managed to fall partially onto someone's lawn but I scraped up my hand and my knee, and landed awkwardly on my other hand, which bruised my rib cage. The whole procession halted, and Chas encouraged me to get up slowly and try walking for a bit. I walked for maybe 10 yards but the adrenaline from the fall made me feel strong, so I started running, much to everyone's amazement, including mine. Soon we were back at the aid station, where I donned a headlamp, gulped down another Coke and took one for the road.</div><div><br /></div><div>For this loop, Chas and Joey continued on with me, and we were joined by Shawn and Chad (both coming back for more after helping earlier on), and Natalie (who took all the uncredited photos in this post!). My running pace had slowed, but I was inspired by this being my last loop. Just 8.75 miles to go! I knew my friends were posting photos and updates on Facebook, but I wondered if my wife Greta knew where we were. She was planning on being there for the finish. "Does anyone have a phone on them?" I asked. Natalie offered hers, and she texted Greta for me, giving an incredibly optimistic estimate of our finishing time. After 3 miles (Mile 20!), I choked down my 5th gel of the run. They were beginning to be difficult to stomach. Natalie said she had some GU chews, and I said I might try those for my next fuel stop, in 3 miles. After another 3 miles, the chews did the trick, and we headed up the last big hill, 3 miles to go!</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_KMQOBc_ao/X7vfu5p5hoI/AAAAAAAADIg/Eu19GkSVxJIxl4FePSP6Ciw5w3LJv7T1QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_4392.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_KMQOBc_ao/X7vfu5p5hoI/AAAAAAAADIg/Eu19GkSVxJIxl4FePSP6Ciw5w3LJv7T1QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_4392.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Power-walking the Irma Grind</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I found that I didn't need to walk as much as I had during Lap 2. I was able to run longer between walk breaks. We were SOOO close! A mile from town, Natalie's husband and three kids were on the side of the road cheering "GO DAVE!" With 3/4 of a mile to go, some neighbor kids I've never even met had chalked "DAVE, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN" on the sidewalk. As we approached the finish, Chas reminded me that an actual marathon is 26.219 miles, not just 26.2. And since GPS results are sometimes rounded down, I should run 26.23 miles before stopping my watch, just to be sure. At this point, Thomas had run out from the aid station to meet us and check if anything was wrong. We sent him ahead to let them know we were on our way. Chas figured I would need to do an extra lap around the town green to be sure of the mileage, so Thomas told everyone I wouldn't be <i>quite</i> done when we arrived. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally we were at the green, and dozens of people were cheering in the night! I did my extra lap around the green and my watch still said just 26.19 miles. There was chaos as the cheering group had set up a tape for me to run through! I turned back out the way I had arrived to add on the extra 0.04 miles, then reversed course, and plunged through the tape as my watch clicked over to 26.23. Nicole summoned a deep-throated voice to yell "DAVE, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2rCtMpKVVrM/X70NMcmiJ8I/AAAAAAAADIs/nY7s8Qi4WfAsNiof0oi0hdfw7vklUyV7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1638/finish.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1638" data-original-width="924" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2rCtMpKVVrM/X70NMcmiJ8I/AAAAAAAADIs/nY7s8Qi4WfAsNiof0oi0hdfw7vklUyV7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w226-h400/finish.png" width="226" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breaking the tape - from Thomas' video</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Then I saw my Greta, who gave me a huge hug despite the fact that I was a sweaty, stinky mess. It was a great moment, and Dawn got a great picture of us:<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9zjtPk_zew/X70NizEjOGI/AAAAAAAADI0/VeR6f1erpbs_Geqwzj75H2ZPXAFY-asCwCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/127222844_10220491114682127_8486657579587484989_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9zjtPk_zew/X70NizEjOGI/AAAAAAAADI0/VeR6f1erpbs_Geqwzj75H2ZPXAFY-asCwCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/127222844_10220491114682127_8486657579587484989_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This makes it all worth it!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>I had finished, and I was surprised to find that I could still stand up! I had a big cup of Coke, and another. People kept asking if I wanted a beer or a slice of pizza but Coke was the only thing that seemed remotely palatable. Finally I collapsed in a chair. I was done! The run ended up taking 5:06:24, the slowest I've ever completed a road marathon -- and I was fine with that. Overall, my time was 13:16:38. The official cutoff for most Ironman races is 17 hours, so I had plenty of time to spare.</div><div><br /></div><div>People have asked me if there is somewhere I can submit my result to make it "official." The folks at Ironman Arizona haven't provided a way to do that, but honestly, I really don't care. I had an amazing experience, with the support of an incredible set of friends, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. </div><div><br /></div><div>I did figure out that the actual total mileage I swam, biked, and ran was 141.16 miles -- a little longer than the official distance of 140.6. I think I might get a custom "141.16" sticker for my car, and then people can wonder what that is all about.</div><div><br /></div><div>Click below for the Strava records of my race:</div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4377860858">Swim</a></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4378049691">Bike</a></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4377861415/overview">Run</a></div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-7453594976010404132020-08-31T11:36:00.001-04:002020-08-31T11:39:17.895-04:00My first century of the century!Prior to Friday, I had done two century rides in my lifetime -- both back in the 1980s during high school and college. Now that I'm training for a full Ironman, I will need to do several more, culminating in the 112-mile ride during the event itself. Since the race (Ironman Arizona) isn't until November (and it will likely end up being a virtual event), I wanted to give myself a challenge for my first century ride of the cycle. So I picked the course of the <a href="https://blueridgebrutal.org">Blue Ridge Brutal</a>, a race that happens every year about this time (in non-covid years anyways). <div><br /></div><div>As the name suggests, it is a brutal event, with a total ascent over 7,000 feet in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Here's the elevation profile of the ride:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Y0vLilA_Nc/X00WFDapcoI/AAAAAAAADEc/UTcJUnRp6fM6zBz31_AZZhHHEneBJozUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2306/elevation.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="2306" height="139" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Y0vLilA_Nc/X00WFDapcoI/AAAAAAAADEc/UTcJUnRp6fM6zBz31_AZZhHHEneBJozUQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h139/elevation.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>You'll also notice that the biggest climbs are mostly at the end of the ride, which makes for an extra challenge. Somehow I managed convince my friend Chris to do the entire ride with me, and we started in West Jefferson, NC at 8 am.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IkuYCCvTt7w/X0vMCk-vIHI/AAAAAAAADDg/shwkHQr-WWAj49UeXGfAHPOY9OAuREkJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_8308.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IkuYCCvTt7w/X0vMCk-vIHI/AAAAAAAADDg/shwkHQr-WWAj49UeXGfAHPOY9OAuREkJQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_8308.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>It was easy going for the first 8 miles or so, and even the first climb didn't seem so bad. Then we hit our first really major climb around Mile 15. This climb sent us up, up, up onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, where we would be riding for the next 20 miles. We huffed and puffed our way up this climb and agreed to stop when we reached the summit, just past Mile 17. I wanted to remember to keep up with my chosen nutrition source -- Clif Bars chased with Gatorade Endurance, so my plan was to stop every 15 miles or so to make sure I ate some solid food. I also took a selfie with the Blue Ridge Mountains in the background.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yumhHF5SZkw/X0vNY9A1FaI/AAAAAAAADDs/Zfme3JHz6j4uiDIy2UsZToNVz72wf5LmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_8309.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yumhHF5SZkw/X0vNY9A1FaI/AAAAAAAADDs/Zfme3JHz6j4uiDIy2UsZToNVz72wf5LmwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_8309.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>It was a slightly hazy day, about 70 degrees, which is quite cool for North Carolina in August. The temps were forecast to rise only to about 79, with a 40 percent chance of rain. Just about as perfect as you can get this time of year! The next section of the Blue Ridge Parkway was glorious, with long, fast downhills and relatively short climbs. Traffic was much lighter than we expected as well. Since we were self-supported, I had searched the route to make sure we could stop to buy supplies along the way -- especially WATER! The first stop was planned for Mile 37, but it was about a mile off our course, so when we spotted a store right on the Parkway at Mile 25, we took the opportunity to stop there instead. I knew there was another store at Mile 45, and if we filled up here we could easily make it to Mile 45 without an extra side trip.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yDWb4IxaVQA/X0vOafAZhrI/AAAAAAAADD4/SLQK8dBfI4gXXhF_8-koH-bgnRMvWvJRQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_8310.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yDWb4IxaVQA/X0vOafAZhrI/AAAAAAAADD4/SLQK8dBfI4gXXhF_8-koH-bgnRMvWvJRQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_8310.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>That's Chris's bike on the left, with my ride behind. After our stop, we continued along the Parkway for another 10 miles or so, with stunning views on both sides. We had some fantastic descents and enjoyed very light traffic, so it was a bit of a disappointment when we had to leave the Parkway and return to the Real World with its tractor trailers and annoying dudes in pickup trucks. When we arrived at the gas station / store at Mile 45, we were ready for a break! </div><div><br /></div><div>I bought a gallon of water and a Kit Kat bar, and Chris and I filled our bottles, with only maybe a liter to spare in the jug. We chatted with a local who asked where we were going, and when we explained the route he said "you are better men than I am!" </div><div><br /></div><div>"We haven't done it yet," Chris noted in response! </div><div><br /></div><div>"You'll make it," he called to us as we rode off.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you look at the elevation profile, you'll see that there are several "small" climbs of 2-300 feet in the section from Mile 40 to Mile 70, and while none of these took too much effort, added together they took a significant toll. At Mile 70 we would arrive in the town of Jefferson, very near our starting point in West Jefferson. But of course we couldn't just stop -- we needed to continue for an additional 32 miles! That said, I had found a coffee shop online in Jefferson and was looking forward to an iced coffee to propel me on to the finish of the ride. It was just a couple blocks off the official route, so we headed down the main road in town to find it. Unfortunately, when we arrived, the shop had closed down! We had to settle for the local drug store, where we bought more water and some cheese and peanut butter crackers. The crackers really hit the spot, and soon we were ready to make our final push to the finish. </div><div><br /></div><div>After a somewhat-annoying busy road out of Jefferson, we finally turned onto a less-traveled road and were able to ride comfortably and enjoy the local scenery. This fellow (and his tractor) have probably seen better days, though! </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X9JDYy6rUlo/X0vR18oMKyI/AAAAAAAADEE/dCimQHqxDSAAfDV-rJ_TQ44Wa9ip6ZdrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_8312.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1244" data-original-width="2048" height="243" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X9JDYy6rUlo/X0vR18oMKyI/AAAAAAAADEE/dCimQHqxDSAAfDV-rJ_TQ44Wa9ip6ZdrgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h243/IMG_8312.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>Gradually the grade increased and we headed up the biggest climb of the ride. The road got steeper and steeper, and then it started to rain! Somewhere around here the Garmin route that I had downloaded from the Blue Ridge Brutal site started to fail me, so we reverted to Plan B, which was a route loaded onto Chris's phone using the Ride With GPS app. The phone would tell us when to turn, and it worked pretty well as long as it wasn't too noisy when you needed to hear the directions! As we headed up the hill, Chris started to have mechanical issues with his bike. His derailleur would skip when he was in the lowest gear -- just in time for the steepest gradient of the course. My Garmin has a "gradient" field and I could see we were hitting 14 and 15 percent. I couldn't imagine trying to ride that hill in second gear -- I was getting out of the saddle in my granny gear! Finally I made it to the top as the rain began to pour harder. Chris arrived a couple minutes after me, having had to walk the steepest section of the hill. </div><div><br /></div><div>We took a moment to refuel, then began the descent as the rain really started coming down hard. My bike has rim brakes, so I feathered them often to try to dry them off. If this hill was dry, we probably would have hit 40+ MPH on it, but in these conditions we didn't feel comfortable going much faster than 20. The rain was coming down so hard that it smacked painfully on my cheeks. With the noise of the bikes, we couldn't hear Chris's phone directions, so we began to worry that we might miss a turn. Then I remembered my third backup route-finding plan, a printed cue-sheet with mileage. My Garmin was still accurately recording mileage even though the route-finding was off, so we stopped and figured out where our next turn was on the cue sheet. Here's what the sheet looked like after the ride -- it was soaked even through a ziploc bag! This is a reminder for everyone to make sure you laser-print a cue sheet. An inkjet printout would have been completely illegible if it had gotten this wet!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QQW1APTWS4U/X0vUx0gcBkI/AAAAAAAADEQ/VnY9hiBNcC0Phh-g-IXZr8tpBactYVLRwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_8316.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QQW1APTWS4U/X0vUx0gcBkI/AAAAAAAADEQ/VnY9hiBNcC0Phh-g-IXZr8tpBactYVLRwCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/IMG_8316.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div>The rain continued, harder and harder, as we headed up yet another huge hill. We rode through yellow patches of runoff from gravel driveways, through puddles, rain completely soaking us. At one point it was raining so hard that we were riding up a river, an inch or more of water flowing down the road at us. I tried to imagine that I was riding faster by focusing on my speed compared to the water rather than the pavement. Chris saw it the opposite way, as if the river was pushing him backwards instead of forwards. Finally we crested this hill and headed down again. Only one more big hill and then we would be finished! </div><div><br /></div><div>At Mile 88 we began the final major climb, 750 feet of vertical. The rain had subsided a bit but we were still getting drenched. Fortunately it wasn't quite as steep as we had feared, and two miles later we were at the summit. From here it was rolling-to-downhill, all the way to the finish. We turned onto a familiar road -- the same road we had started on! Only a mile to go! Unfortunately it was an uphill mile, but knowing we were nearly done fueled us, and finally we turned into the parking lot where the car was waiting. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was pleased to see I had remembered to pack some icewater to drink at the finish. I swilled down a liter in just a minute or two. Here's the obligatory photo at the finish, looking somewhat worse for the wear:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1eGbFMfc39Q/X00XgARldpI/AAAAAAAADEo/O05T74YZhN4EwWM669ba8P9iIvr67T2xACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_8314.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1eGbFMfc39Q/X00XgARldpI/AAAAAAAADEo/O05T74YZhN4EwWM669ba8P9iIvr67T2xACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_8314.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>30 minutes later we were enjoying burgers and beer at a local brewery! Having finished my first century in over 30 years, I felt like they were well-earned!</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3978892485">Click here for my Strava record of the ride</a>.</div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-10567883403976815822019-12-16T11:18:00.001-05:002019-12-16T11:18:34.182-05:00Race Recap: The Kiawah Island Half Marathon, take 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">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.<div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Miles 1 and 2: 6:53, 7:00. A little faster than planned but not terrible.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Miles 3 and 4: 6:56, 6:59. Still a little too fast but I was running comfortably, so no big deal</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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. <i>Push it, Munger!</i> Somehow all I could manage was a 7:21 for the mile. Maybe I could pick it up again in Mile 8. </div><div><br />
</div><div>A quarter mile into Mile 8 I peeked at my watch again and for the first time saw a pace that started with "8". <i>Really? This is my "easy" training pace.</i> 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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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." <i>Uh-oh</i>. 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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>After that things just went from bad to worse.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Mile 10 and 11: 8:03, 8:12. Ugh.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Mile 12: 8:21. Maybe I'd be able to pick it up for the final mile.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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. </div><div><br />
</div><div>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!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Below is my Strava summary of the race.</div><div><a name='more'></a><br />
</div><iframe height='405' width='590' frameborder='0' allowtransparency='true' scrolling='no' src='https://www.strava.com/activities/2932306457/embed/f4aaff92b1906a9a2d8d316bd38e84f4d3dc0376'></iframe><br />
</div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-46986048775898209572019-08-06T16:52:00.000-04:002019-08-06T16:52:29.407-04:00The Four Pass Loop<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
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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 <a href="http://www.katerunscolorado.com/2017/10/four-pass-loop.html">Four Pass Loop</a> near Aspen a couple years ago. I was going to be near Aspen! Why not try that? The <a href="https://www.hikingproject.com/trail/7001635/four-pass-loop">Four Pass Loop</a> 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:<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ztcJDkSINpo/XUnmUMNo9iI/AAAAAAAAC8U/nW6LHj-h8qY-JuFUhbMMdd4J6-4cQjakgCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="1600" height="210" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ztcJDkSINpo/XUnmUMNo9iI/AAAAAAAAC8U/nW6LHj-h8qY-JuFUhbMMdd4J6-4cQjakgCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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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:<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KLx581RJDC0/XUnmaZ_7GgI/AAAAAAAAC8Y/Z-LzUxQzRdMpT0XX9gmE-RyFm1xkJpMegCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="1600" height="131" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KLx581RJDC0/XUnmaZ_7GgI/AAAAAAAAC8Y/Z-LzUxQzRdMpT0XX9gmE-RyFm1xkJpMegCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B0.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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That's from my Strava record of the loop. The hills are steep, and they get steeper as you get closer to the top.<br />
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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"!<br />
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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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--o944-apo5g/XUgrv8IeldI/AAAAAAAAC68/kWyFAXRVrfIC70jexCCa_yo7kD1nDiWKgCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="1500" height="158" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--o944-apo5g/XUgrv8IeldI/AAAAAAAAC68/kWyFAXRVrfIC70jexCCa_yo7kD1nDiWKgCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful views abounded</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zVXWW2oPTZ0/XUgr5civOcI/AAAAAAAAC7A/BGwmGpxjXbADUsdddI2pNmlScPt2JO0mgCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1500" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zVXWW2oPTZ0/XUgr5civOcI/AAAAAAAAC7A/BGwmGpxjXbADUsdddI2pNmlScPt2JO0mgCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atop Buckskin Pass - the first of four 12000+ passes</td></tr>
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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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Abrh7p-iOhg/XUgtQ6J3s3I/AAAAAAAAC7Q/E6ZvOZW932QFtTvWFjaIwBGKdV_urOG9QCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1500" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Abrh7p-iOhg/XUgtQ6J3s3I/AAAAAAAAC7Q/E6ZvOZW932QFtTvWFjaIwBGKdV_urOG9QCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Postcard-perfect reflection on Snowmass Lake</td></tr>
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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.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72RPSvcaTyI/XUguwyCe06I/AAAAAAAAC7c/aXPtGtxU8fY65panLuYIPR1PjEjSmKa-QCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1500" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72RPSvcaTyI/XUguwyCe06I/AAAAAAAAC7c/aXPtGtxU8fY65panLuYIPR1PjEjSmKa-QCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory selfie near Pass #2</td></tr>
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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.<br />
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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:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6xWXLVe4CSk/XUnWNY14yBI/AAAAAAAAC7o/8__Udzv6fmwx0LtkXLcSqLszE4_-HMDiACLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1500" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6xWXLVe4CSk/XUnWNY14yBI/AAAAAAAAC7o/8__Udzv6fmwx0LtkXLcSqLszE4_-HMDiACLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Massive waterfall at Mile 13.5 -- a nice sign that I was halfway through the loop!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-drQ6wMChLFY/XUnWdnX2MBI/AAAAAAAAC7w/E-k0YPEjUPorAeroxabRuNzfI5_NVCTAQCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1500" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-drQ6wMChLFY/XUnWdnX2MBI/AAAAAAAAC7w/E-k0YPEjUPorAeroxabRuNzfI5_NVCTAQCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning vistas -- and foreboding clouds</td></tr>
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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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5mzaL21S2pE/XUnYLk4xv2I/AAAAAAAAC78/05CpF_nvqn0oUxDHumKFdZbLo1ve2KaUgCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1500" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5mzaL21S2pE/XUnYLk4xv2I/AAAAAAAAC78/05CpF_nvqn0oUxDHumKFdZbLo1ve2KaUgCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pass #3!</td></tr>
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B2iRboSayEs/XUnbsDX71AI/AAAAAAAAC8I/NSyzt0Ao0poA00luXRX8sKYabWQPDw7OgCLcBGAs/s1600/4pass%2B-%2B8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1500" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B2iRboSayEs/XUnbsDX71AI/AAAAAAAAC8I/NSyzt0Ao0poA00luXRX8sKYabWQPDw7OgCLcBGAs/s400/4pass%2B-%2B8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The one and only Sofa King atop Pass #4!</td></tr>
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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?"<br />
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"Yes."<br />
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"Do you think you could give us a ride? We missed the shuttle."<br />
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"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"?<br />
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"I think it's 1.4 miles from Crater Lake."<br />
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2591829653">Strava record</a> of the run.</div>
Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-33029245570057649432019-04-15T17:50:00.000-04:002019-04-15T17:50:30.067-04:00Race Recap: The National Sprint Du—Er, the National Supersprint Duathlon Championships<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o0cAwoICWUc/XLT6ycVZGuI/AAAAAAAAC3w/-jJL424COPwP85Vflu17QO_wGuXyUQn9QCLcBGAs/s1600/bp%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o0cAwoICWUc/XLT6ycVZGuI/AAAAAAAAC3w/-jJL424COPwP85Vflu17QO_wGuXyUQn9QCLcBGAs/s400/bp%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready to go near the start</td></tr>
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</div>
<div>
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.</div>
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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!</div>
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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!</div>
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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).</div>
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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.</div>
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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!</div>
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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. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N3M3QrCopR8/XLT6_0FmVqI/AAAAAAAAC30/sxFUm9ntV1kO1UsT5Cf9O_kI7GMsR68jACLcBGAs/s1600/bp%2B-%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N3M3QrCopR8/XLT6_0FmVqI/AAAAAAAAC30/sxFUm9ntV1kO1UsT5Cf9O_kI7GMsR68jACLcBGAs/s400/bp%2B-%2B2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the finish after the race. You can see it has been partially destroyed by the winds!</td></tr>
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</div>
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.<br />
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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!</div>
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Details from yesterday's race are below:</div>
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<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<iframe frameborder="0" height="598" src="https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/embed/3556071101" title="National Sprint Duathlon Championships" width="465"></iframe></div>
Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-41223486318264258272018-07-23T17:08:00.000-04:002018-07-24T07:49:45.122-04:00Brief Race Recap: Lake Hickory Triathlon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After spending the first half of the year focusing on ultras, for next season I've decided to get back to my strength: shorter running races and duathlons. So naturally that meant the first race I signed up for after the Amalfi Positano Ultratrail was the Lake Hickory TRIathlon. I mean, my friend Rob needed to do his first tri, and the swim was only 400 yards, so it was almost like doing a duathlon, right?<br />
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In the spirit of mastering shorter races, I had spent some time over the past month practicing transitions. My goal was to get my transitions under 1 minute, and I mastered the half-flying mount, putting and taking off my bike shoes while riding, and doing a full flying dismount. Then I got a look at the Lake Hickory bike course and had second thoughts about putting my shoes on during the ride. It proceeded gradually uphill from the transition zone for about a quarter mile, then hit a STEEP uphill. If I couldn't get my shoes on before then, I'd be riding barefoot for nearly the first mile. Since my bike was only about 30 feet from the bike exit, I decided I'd be better off putting on my shoes at the bike, and then mounting at the line. Here's my setup in the transition zone:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z5pbGyaAopY/W1Y5o60bKUI/AAAAAAAACzA/JXFNaz46kA4lioNx5PSGpOtJ2Xukeb9vgCLcBGAs/s1600/LKH%2B-%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z5pbGyaAopY/W1Y5o60bKUI/AAAAAAAACzA/JXFNaz46kA4lioNx5PSGpOtJ2Xukeb9vgCLcBGAs/s400/LKH%2B-%2B1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As minimal as I dared!</td></tr>
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I went out for a quick warmup ride and run, then headed to the start, where I posed for a photo with my novice buddy Rob:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5cTz2bRyss0/W1Y5-3swapI/AAAAAAAACzI/mKfikL6pP0ULfR7iaA2f6UwlFoFkKBgkgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1127" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5cTz2bRyss0/W1Y5-3swapI/AAAAAAAACzI/mKfikL6pP0ULfR7iaA2f6UwlFoFkKBgkgCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6540.JPG" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob may be a novice triathlete, but he's got me beat in posing for race photos! Thanks to Nicole for the photo!</td></tr>
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I was in the second start wave, and I decided to hang back a bit since I'm a relatively slow swimmer. This turned out to be a bit of a bad idea, because I spent most of the swim trying and failing to pass other swimmers. While the race website listed the swim as 400 yards, my watch recorded 565 yards. It sure seemed farther than 400 yards! Needless to say, my swim time of 10:55 was a bit disappointing, and it placed me in sixth place out of seven in my age group. I'm hoping the course really was long, because I don't want to believe I can only swim 400 yards at a rate of 2:44/100! Here I am exiting the swim.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xD1BvhFowQ8/W1Y82fnX9mI/AAAAAAAACzU/JQ-h72BD0gUDfjawhIOIfVDiAo4DvC13QCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xD1BvhFowQ8/W1Y82fnX9mI/AAAAAAAACzU/JQ-h72BD0gUDfjawhIOIfVDiAo4DvC13QCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6541.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mainly glad I'm finished with the swim! Nicole van Baelen photo</td></tr>
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The first transition was definitely not going to be under one minute, not so much because of my lack of skills, but the fact that the swim exit was about 500 feet from the transition zone. I got to the bike as quickly as possible, slipped on my shoes, and ran to the mount line where I executed a perfect half-flying mount. My 1:36 T1 ranked me second in my group. Much better!<br />
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The ride was a challenging one: A double loop with over 1,000 feet of climbing in just 16 miles. I made it past the steep ascent out of the transition area and then focused on picking off all those faster swimmers ahead of me. One by one I zipped by them, my average speed climbing from 18 to 19 to 21+ miles per hour. The course included lots of long, gradual ups, with few flat sections, and steep, relatively technical downhills. Every downhill seemed to have a sharp turn at the bottom, so it was difficult to carry speed onto the uphill sections. Still, I was definitely doing better than most riders. No one passed me on the ride, and I passed dozens, including many who were wearing my age group number.<br />
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Finally I was on the steep downhill to the finish. I had taken care to remove my shoes before I got to this section, so I could concentrate on controlling my speed and dismounting at the proper spot. Final pace for the ride: 21.3 mph, the 10th fastest bike leg in the entire field and 2nd in my age group. I nailed the flying dismount and scooted to my rack, where I quickly slipped on my shoes. I did have to take a moment to wipe the gravel off my feet, but I still made it to the run start in 56 seconds, just under my 1 minute goal. Here I am starting the run:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ppkW-KPYMKs/W1Y-vQVA-VI/AAAAAAAACzg/h8wrLclHryoNQ9K9zxD9F5kfvD2h-12GQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ppkW-KPYMKs/W1Y-vQVA-VI/AAAAAAAACzg/h8wrLclHryoNQ9K9zxD9F5kfvD2h-12GQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6542.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to pound the pavement.</td></tr>
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The 5k run started up the same steep hill as the ride, and I accelerated as quickly as I could up the hill, picking off a couple of runners as I went. My target pace for the run was sub-7:00 per mile, but these hills were making that pace a challenge. The first mile featured 108 feet of climbing, and the best I could manage was a 7:36. Mile 2 offered some relief, but there was still 56 feet of climbing. I ran down a hill to an out-and-back, which meant I had to run up the same hill. On the way down I saw a guy walking up; surely I'd be able to pass him at some point. I let that be my motivation as I churned back up the hill.<br />
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Unfortunately, after climbing out of the dead-end, we were turned down yet another downhill out-and-back! I chugged back up this second hill, clicking off a 7:22 Mile 2. There was yet more uphill in store in Mile 3, but here at least I finally caught up to Walking Guy, who was telling another runner he had severe stomach cramps. Thanks, dude, you just ruined my killer instinct by making me feel sorry for you! Not sorry enough to stop and help or anything, but sorry nonetheless. Finally I rounded the last corner and was able to head downhill toward the finish line! I finished Mile 3 in 7:20. Within sight of the finish line, I picked it up to 6:34 for the final 0.2 miles; my watch had the course a bit long, so my overall time for the run was 23:38; not bad but not the 21 and change I was hoping for. Again that was the second-fastest in my age group. Here's a shot of me crossing the finish line:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NIMTnhPR6xg/W1ZBs1k2ZkI/AAAAAAAACzs/BXnSxrbZX90PYV2GMq_wuSb40SRjcO7nACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="732" height="305" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NIMTnhPR6xg/W1ZBs1k2ZkI/AAAAAAAACzs/BXnSxrbZX90PYV2GMq_wuSb40SRjcO7nACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6543.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fortunately the ambulance would prove unnecessary!</td></tr>
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As you might guess, the two second-place finishes on the ride and run put me second overall in my age group. Even without the poor swim, I would have finished second to the winner, Frederic Six, who was first in all three disciplines! Fellow DARTers Rob and Glenn finished soon after, in their first and second triathlons respectively. Rob ended up getting second in his division (Masters Novice), and Glenn was happy with his result as well. Here I am on the podium with my award and the other winners:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v9Nyb93ocfY/W1ZC6K03prI/AAAAAAAACz4/p_u6j5BstDgEQWpLIFxgyzi4BVhST6szgCLcBGAs/s1600/HLT2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v9Nyb93ocfY/W1ZC6K03prI/AAAAAAAACz4/p_u6j5BstDgEQWpLIFxgyzi4BVhST6szgCLcBGAs/s400/HLT2.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Congrats to all! Rob Marcus photo.</td></tr>
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No race is complete without a post-race meal, and Rob and I were able to find a good one in a local diner on the way home. Fabulous burger and tater tots! Eat all the calories! Even if it's just a sprint!<br />
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Details of my race are below.</div>
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<a name='more'></a><a href="http://jonesracingcompany.com/2018-results/lakehickorymales/">Official Results</a><br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="500" src="https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/embed/2868623230" title="Running" width="465"></iframe><br />
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</div>
Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-74197372726560945192018-05-29T01:46:00.001-04:002018-05-29T01:47:04.386-04:00Race Recap: The Amalfi Positano Ultratrail<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As I was running the <a href="http://www.amalfipositanoultratrail.it/aput.html">Amalfi Positano Ultratrail</a> yesterday, I spent some time going over the recap I was planning to write today. I had plenty of time to think about it: I spent over 11 hours on the trail. One thing I WASN’T thinking about, ironically, was how close I was to missing the final time cutoff at Capo Mauro, 43 kilometers in to the 50k race—runners were required to check in here by 5 pm, 10 hours in. Surely I could run what was essentially a marathon in under 10 hours! <br />
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I had signed up for this race six months ago on a bit of a whim. There was this <a href="https://youtu.be/zAm2VaMJYOc">movie</a> online that made the race look absolutely incredible. I convinced my wife Greta and our friend Suzanne to go along: “we’ll make a trip of it! We’ll visit all the parts of Italy we’ve never been to.”<br />
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Before I knew it, the trip was booked. Then, a few days ago, again before I knew it, I was in Italy, getting ready for what I hoped would be the race of a lifetime. <br />
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And again before I knew it, I was at the confusing, frantic start of a race where 90% of the participants spoke a language I hadn’t studied for 30 years. The announcer was trying to relay important information to us, in Italian, when it became clear that the few Americans and Brits in the field weren’t getting it. Finally an Anglophone was found, and he explained that we needed to get our bibs scanned manually at the start line—there was no actual starting mat! I rushed up to get scanned, then lined up at the start. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--bWDi3JJ-84/WwwYpvFUulI/AAAAAAAACwk/PmW55TfP9384RzxKjdCzZZw9lGTqzSDjwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--bWDi3JJ-84/WwwYpvFUulI/AAAAAAAACwk/PmW55TfP9384RzxKjdCzZZw9lGTqzSDjwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6280.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with a bunch of Italian guys</td></tr>
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A few minutes later, we were off. The first mile was on the paved streets of Agerola, high above the Amalfi Coast that gave the race its name, giving the runners a chance to spread out before we hit singletrack. <br />
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Not long after hitting the trail, we were rewarded with our first spectacular views of the coast, 1,500 feet below, shrouded in mist. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PnC05L-fieg/WwwY9tGQQcI/AAAAAAAACws/XYF1x-OjNAk3a_nzSu6sZvS_u8DouvIXQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PnC05L-fieg/WwwY9tGQQcI/AAAAAAAACws/XYF1x-OjNAk3a_nzSu6sZvS_u8DouvIXQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6281.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whoah!</td></tr>
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Soon we would be down there, right at sea level, with barely time to catch our breath before heading up, even higher into the mountains above the dramatic Amalfi coast. The race's organizers practically boasted about its imposing 3,060 meters of vertical gain (and loss) over the course of the event. As Brolympus would say, that's 10,039 feet in American! Here's the elevation profile provided in the race packet:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fVTLzf9lXRs/WwwbI1m5oFI/AAAAAAAACw4/7XXQT_UhvZM1t2TrGCJ65o4gSK_rF03tACLcBGAs/s1600/amalfielev.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="1600" height="177" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fVTLzf9lXRs/WwwbI1m5oFI/AAAAAAAACw4/7XXQT_UhvZM1t2TrGCJ65o4gSK_rF03tACLcBGAs/s400/amalfielev.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I modified the profile (in green) to add the elevation and distance to key landmarks</td></tr>
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As you can see, the race features two major climbs and three big descents, with a lot of "small" hills in between that would be imposing in their own right in any other race. As it turned out, the apartment we had rented for the week of the visit was situated just above the aid station at 10.5 km, so Greta and Suzanne decided to form an impromptu cheer station there. I was supposed to text them when I reached the Fiordo di Furore 8.7 km in to make sure they arrived on time. When I arrived at the Fiordo, a haunting, narrow inlet flanked by steep cliffs, my hands were so sweaty that I couldn't operate the touchscreen on my phone. I was about to give up when I remembered that I was carrying some dry paper towels in a ziploc as an emergency supply of toilet paper. That did the trick, and I was able to send a brief text: "At bottom," which was enough to alert them that I was on the way.<br />
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Before I got to the Fiordo, I descended a seemingly endless staircase. "The longest staircase I've ever seen" according to my new running buddy, a nice fellow from Bristol, England, whose name I never learned. We made our way to a narrow parapet above the coastal highway, where we crawled through a hole in a bricked-off wall that was supposed to indicate the trail was closed, before proceeding along the route. On the other end of the parapet we crossed through another "trail closed" barrier. Apparently this is how Italian trail runners roll.<br />
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We climbed another steep trail out of the Fiordo before emerging onto a paved road. It was here, the day before, that I met another runner on my shakeout run. She was a little freaked out because a sketchy-looking guy seemed to be following her as she previewed the course. I offered to run with her to a nearby cafe -- the same cafe, it turned out, that would be our aid station on the following day. She told me she had previewed nearly the entire course over the previous three days. She wouldn't be able to do the race itself because she and her new husband had to leave that day, so they had run it on their own instead. This paved road, a gradual uphill, turned out to be the fastest, flattest part of the entire course. It lasted about a mile.<br />
<br />
At the end of this mile was the cafe / aid station with my personal cheering squad. Greta and Suzanne were cheering not only for me, but for every runner who passed. I stopped and chatted with them for a few minutes, then grabbed some water and took off. Greta documented the visit:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-44p5olkckH8/WwwfaFa4BdI/AAAAAAAACxI/YIcJshi71uQdlQKMTExzbfzv_1PH6NJFwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-44p5olkckH8/WwwfaFa4BdI/AAAAAAAACxI/YIcJshi71uQdlQKMTExzbfzv_1PH6NJFwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_2834.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the aid station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MRnqt8KmxfY/WwwfZCyaHdI/AAAAAAAACxE/VhmfdM63Kw8Zr6GSlj-TPvuelp8UQRrnACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MRnqt8KmxfY/WwwfZCyaHdI/AAAAAAAACxE/VhmfdM63Kw8Zr6GSlj-TPvuelp8UQRrnACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_2838.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saying arrivederci!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now it was on to the first big climb: 873 meters to the top of Monte Murilo (that's 2,864 feet for my metric-impaired readers). The first part of the climb was on a manageable trail, but soon it turned nearly straight up the side of the cliff. It was at this point that I remembered my friend Carl telling about his recent, extremely technical ultra back home: "It's so steep that if you stop to take a rest you have to hang on to a tree." My response as I made my way up this barren slope was "what tree?" It was so steep that I questioned whether I should have hauled my trekking poles along. Why bother when you can just reach out and touch the hillside directly in front of you?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gwX2kxVJMcY/WwwjQRwTuGI/AAAAAAAACxg/5E2CmuN7DI0GWO37fectCiWUl5sAPBEJwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_6284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gwX2kxVJMcY/WwwjQRwTuGI/AAAAAAAACxg/5E2CmuN7DI0GWO37fectCiWUl5sAPBEJwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_6284.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere on the steepest hill I've ever raced up....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At one point I ran into another pair of the few English-speakers on the trail: two British guys. I passed them and headed up a steep gully. Here the trail was not only steep, there were sticker bushes choking the path. As I finished ascending the sketchiest section, the two Brits emerged above me: They had noticed that the real trail actually looped around this section. "Need a hand?" one of them asked as he passed. Next I caught up to a group headed up an even steeper gully. As I arrived, the Brits again noticed that the actual marked path turned off to the left, avoiding this difficult pitch. I charged past all six of them and headed up the marked path, making a mental note to look for course markings EVERYWHERE.<br />
<br />
Every ten minutes or so, I checked the elevation on my watch. Only 1,500 feet? Really? Then "Only 1,700 feet? Really? And so on until I was at a panoramic viewpoint seemingly overlooking the entire Amalfi coast. I stopped to take a couple pictures:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GDOiTqK-kFY/WwwjVacc6RI/AAAAAAAACxc/VaeGgdwZUHIGLysd0JqViyUd27UcYxdFACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GDOiTqK-kFY/WwwjVacc6RI/AAAAAAAACxc/VaeGgdwZUHIGLysd0JqViyUd27UcYxdFACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6285.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's Amalfi!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7_trXj921xM/WwwjRiiP0GI/AAAAAAAACxY/xK0k60uHKD49hR9wVYmt2s9_xct9yLU7gCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7_trXj921xM/WwwjRiiP0GI/AAAAAAAACxY/xK0k60uHKD49hR9wVYmt2s9_xct9yLU7gCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6286.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm on the Amalfi Coast!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Here the course circumnavigated the top of Monte Murillo before finally arriving at the next aid station (15.5k), where the course split between the 30k and 50k routes. I was checked in with an official time stamp and was able to sample a full Italian aid station, which included apricot tarts (which I didn't try), raisins (which I did), and bread with honey (which sounded better than it tasted). Since according to my trail map there were several water stops before the next aid station just over 10k away, I only took on about a liter of water. My Grand Canyon partner Rich will be glad to hear that there was also Coke -- but lukewarm, not ice cold. Since I knew I had a big descent ahead I tightened my laces and continued on.<br />
<br />
The descent started fairly technical and ended on a long staircase, some parts very rough and others well finished. Down, down we went, until finally entering a town above Amalfi and heading back up. I hadn't spotted any water stops but wasn't too concerned since I knew more were coming. The trail wound up and down, past waterfalls, over creeks, but still with no official water stops. Were we just supposed to fill up at the creek? I didn't have any kind of water purification device, and it seemed like there were plenty of livestock in the area so I guessed the water was not safe to drink. Here are a few photos from this seemingly-endless section of trail.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6WOkt4odegM/Wwwr6pJbSpI/AAAAAAAACx4/I0Akhh6XCeIPngnG84_TiDCou-RPgfd2QCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6WOkt4odegM/Wwwr6pJbSpI/AAAAAAAACx4/I0Akhh6XCeIPngnG84_TiDCou-RPgfd2QCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6287.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deep in the forest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9sFZbKTsFk0/Wwwr0PVVunI/AAAAAAAACx0/GJD5Jl2B7ZoOVy60fxUPscFsqe_qcSYHwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9sFZbKTsFk0/Wwwr0PVVunI/AAAAAAAACx0/GJD5Jl2B7ZoOVy60fxUPscFsqe_qcSYHwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6288.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amalfi...so far away!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xi5zt5zD-Qo/WwwrhmWxRRI/AAAAAAAACxs/voFprYvntTI8JaVWoygolqOGe_p3abMIACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xi5zt5zD-Qo/WwwrhmWxRRI/AAAAAAAACxs/voFprYvntTI8JaVWoygolqOGe_p3abMIACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6289.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm in the mountains! In Italy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
According to my watch I should have been at the 26.8k aid station a while ago, but the long descent to the station hadn't materialized. I began rationing water, taking just a tiny sip every ten minutes or so. I was definitely never completely parched but I certainly wasn't comfortable with the amount I was drinking. Finally, the descent began, and in another mile or so I arrived at the aid station. I was officially over halfway done with the race but I wasn't ready to "count" it until I finished the massive climb that was ahead of me: From 277 to 1,009 meters, or a climb of 2,400 feet.<br />
<br />
This climb started with -- you guessed it -- more stairs. At this point I was much more tired than I had been previously, and the sun was fully overhead, baking me and the other runners. I was also carrying a full 3 liters of water because the map indicated we'd have no water for the next 10k. Taking this all into account, I allowed myself to take intermittent breaks. At one of them I stopped to take a photo of Amalfi behind:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d9Ou8VucsDM/WwwtSCX-YdI/AAAAAAAACyI/NBSlmJHLx9A3KRrf3GlzN8dzNQde28R1QCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d9Ou8VucsDM/WwwtSCX-YdI/AAAAAAAACyI/NBSlmJHLx9A3KRrf3GlzN8dzNQde28R1QCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6292.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stairs above Amalfi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When we finally left the stairs and headed back onto trails, I took a look at my watch and saw that we were still depressingly far from the top of the climb. I knew we'd reach a summit and then run along a relatively flat stretch before reaching the aid station, but for now we ran through a dark forest, up technical trails, up and up some more. Finally I saw we were at an elevation of 3,100 feet and figured this must be the top, but we just kept climbing. I reminded myself that 1,000 meters was more like 3,300 feet. Not yet, Munger!<br />
<br />
Eventually, finally, the trail leveled off. But now this meant I needed to be running. It had been so long since I'd been on a runnable stretch that I had to remind myself how to do it. Slowly, one step at a time, I started running. The trail got more and more runnable, until finally it was an actual <i>road!</i> A gnarly, unpaved road, but a road nonetheless. After a series of 25-plus-minute miles, I was finally running sub-16 miles. I even knocked out a sub-14 mile! I laughed at myself for being happy about a 13:xx mile. The 36k aid station arrived quickly, and I became more optimistic about my prospects. Just 9 miles left! To get an official finish, you needed to come in under 12 hours; I was now at 8:40. I had 3:20 to run 9 miles. Surely I could manage that, especially since the rest of the course was flat-to-downhill. All I needed was 20-minute miles, and I'd finish with 20 minutes to spare.<br />
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Naturally, as soon as I left the aid station I hit another monster hill. A 200-meter hill looks flat on an elevation profile that goes up to 1,200 meters! I did the mental math as I went, and my prospects looked worse and worse. But I consoled myself by knowing the last mile would definitely be on a flat road. Even if I lost 10 minutes to my 20-minute average, I could make it up on the last mile.<br />
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Unfortunately it wasn't just the uphills that were challenging in this section. The downhills were gnarly and rocky. I couldn't pick up speed anywhere. I was running 25, 27-minute miles. Finally I arrived at the last aid station, and the attendant there stopped me. He made a phone call. In broken English, he told me my race was over. They were cutting me off. I missed the cutoff by 8 minutes. I said I would make my own way to the finish, even if it wasn't official. They said no, I needed a medic. A medic? I felt fine. No, I told them, I'd continue on.<br />
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As I left, an older man, probably in his 60s, followed me. "La macchina. Ti guiderò in macchina."—<i>I'll drive you in the car</i>.<br />
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"No," I said. "Puo finire." I figured I'd easily leave this guy in my dust as I headed down the trail. Unfortunately he proved more adept than I anticipated (either that or I was really just that lame). The trail, as always, was quite rough, and the footing was unsteady. Then I stumbled on a rock and toppled into a spiny bush. I was fine, just a couple scrapes, but my calf immediately cramped up. Nothing I couldn't stretch and run on, but the man became more insistent that I give up.<br />
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"Hai bisogno di un medico," he said.<br />
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"No, no medico," I replied.<br />
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I kept moving, but began to wonder what the point of it was. Whether I "finished" or not, I would not be an official finisher. I had run for over 10 hours in some of the most beautiful scenery I'd ever witnessed. I'd still have that experience, no matter what. I decided it wasn't worth arguing about in a foreign language. I'd stop. The man had indicated that the car was a short ways down the trail, where the refreshments were set up. We continued down for a few more minutes and arrived at the refreshment table, which was already being broken down.<br />
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As I sat there filling up on bananas and water, another runner came by. He was much more insistent on finishing, and continued on. Then an Italian woman arrived. She chatted with the aid station workers, then addressed me in English: "Dave, come on, you can finish. I will run with you to the finish."<br />
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I was surprised that she knew my name. "No, I said. This is it for me." She stayed for a few minutes, chatting with the workers, then convinced another runner to go with her to the finish. I hung out for a few more minutes, then asked the workers in broken Italian how long it would take for the car to leave and drive me to the finish. He said he had to wait for all the other DNF runners to arrive. I figured that might take an hour or more, so I decided to make my way to the finish. It had become apparent that there was a shortcut I could take on the roads, so I packed up my stuff and told them I was going. No one tried to stop me.<br />
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Just as I left, a goatherd arrived in the station with 100 or so goats. They were heading down the same road I would travel. While the goats and their herd dog sauntered down the road, the goatherd stopped to chat with the aid station volunteers. So my return to civilization began in the middle of a herd of goats. They were wary of me as I ran down the road, and eventually I started to overtake them. The skittered off the side of the road into the forest, parting so I could pass. When I passed the herd dog, he looked back at his disjointed herd as if to say "what is up with these stupid animals? It's just a dumb human running by."<br />
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The road was smooth and paved, and I was able to run easy 11-minute miles back to the start, about 3.2 miles -- saving myself 1.3 miles and more gnarly trail. I was able to snap one last picture of the glorious Amalfi Coast before descending into the town of Agerola:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8lC9oTAACq0/WwzfTXFrsZI/AAAAAAAACyU/hNhlVdaZrc8fdkoqt8xXOqsDLFut4-71wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8lC9oTAACq0/WwzfTXFrsZI/AAAAAAAACyU/hNhlVdaZrc8fdkoqt8xXOqsDLFut4-71wCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6293.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view west as the Amalfi Coast fades into the mist</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Soon I was back at the start / finish, where confused race officials grilled me on the status of the other runners. How many runners were still out there? Was I running with them? I tried to explain that they had gone on the trail and I'd taken a shortcut, and that there were probably other runners behind us. Then the medic arrived and asked to check me out. I told her I was fine, and she seemed to believe me. Another man asked if I wanted to eat something -- I could walk with him over to the refreshment table. But between us and the food was my car. It sounded much better to get in the car and head back to my lovely rental apartment with a view of the coast. I sent a text to Greta and told her I'd be there in 30 minutes. There was pizza and beer waiting for me. I couldn't imagine a better end to an amazing, wonderful, challenging, confusing, intense, incredible day.<br />
<br />
<b>Postlog</b><br />
My watch tracked the distance I ran on the course as 28.13 miles, plus 3.22 miles to the finish, for a total of 31.35 miles -- just over 50k. I ran 10:08 on the course and 35 and change off the course -- a total of 10 hours and 43 minutes. My watch doesn't seem to want to communicate that 28.13-mile run to my phone and the "official" online sources of Garmin Connect and Strava, so I can't break down the stats of the run much beyond that right now. I'll be able to sort it all out when I get home. I don't think at my current level of fitness I could have run much faster. I'm just not a great runner on technical trails, and there was a ton of technical running on this course. I think if I had done a lot more hill work in training I could have completed the climbs faster, and maybe made up that elusive 8 minutes to avoid the cutoff, but I'm not letting it bother me much. I still got to do an epic run in a beautiful place, so I'm very happy with that. Now I get to enjoy another week and a half of vacation before heading back to the real world. I'll see you then.</div>
Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-5213967049167304752018-04-30T17:00:00.002-04:002018-04-30T17:00:55.290-04:00The Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim Run<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For the past 6 months or so, I've been set on completing what many runners consider a "bucket list" run: The Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim (or R3). It's an awesome task: Run from one rim of the canyon down to the bottom, cross the Colorado River, run up the other side, and then run all the way back—41 to 45 miles, with over 10,000 feet of climbing.<br />
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My wife has tried to explain the run to non-runners and had mixed success. She was telling our neighbor Ed about it, saying "it's a thing for runners." </div>
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"It's not a thing," Ed replied, confidently.</div>
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I guess Ed doesn't read the same fitness websites that I frequent. The Daily Burn rates it as the <a href="https://dailyburn.com/life/fitness/best-trail-running-adventures/">top trail running adventure to try before you die</a>. </div>
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I planned to do the run after a short visit with my mom in Tucson at the end of April. My friend Rich would join me in Phoenix on Wednesday, and we'd drive together to the canyon, do the run on Thursday, and fly home on Friday. After studying the various Facebook groups and websites devoted to this "non-thing," we determined that we could probably finish the run in around 12 hours, a fairly easy average pace of 15 minutes per mile.</div>
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Before I knew it, it was Wednesday, April 25, and Rich and I were "carbo loading" at lunch with beers and burgers in Flagstaff, just an hour away from the canyon. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zCWH2ATlqMc/WuYHgEYeSjI/AAAAAAAACtM/fk_kzYAT7oMArYDCznUUKB5RpffPQMIiQCLcBGAs/s1600/GC%2B-%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zCWH2ATlqMc/WuYHgEYeSjI/AAAAAAAACtM/fk_kzYAT7oMArYDCznUUKB5RpffPQMIiQCLcBGAs/s400/GC%2B-%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burgers are carbs, right?</td></tr>
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After our meal we headed up to the park, checked into our lodge, and took a half-mile stroll from our room to the edge of the canyon for the obligatory pre-run selfies.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e9jNVUCZ6Cc/WuYHjxTnVyI/AAAAAAAACuw/74ByqWy1KEkqKuL1PlAMVgdsM0iSB7tzACEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e9jNVUCZ6Cc/WuYHjxTnVyI/AAAAAAAACuw/74ByqWy1KEkqKuL1PlAMVgdsM0iSB7tzACEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking good!</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6y2XCuGIOt0/WuYHlb08jwI/AAAAAAAACus/abw-vDnQkP4ysGLgctxxpsBv4tlfI4DiQCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6y2XCuGIOt0/WuYHlb08jwI/AAAAAAAACus/abw-vDnQkP4ysGLgctxxpsBv4tlfI4DiQCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling good!</td></tr>
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The sheer verticality of the canyon was evident from a number of vistas:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QFee4MLYLLI/WuYHl2gkG3I/AAAAAAAACu4/YvXBFfzAWBw-iqYArojh_yFoE-8gulbigCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QFee4MLYLLI/WuYHl2gkG3I/AAAAAAAACu4/YvXBFfzAWBw-iqYArojh_yFoE-8gulbigCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B4.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The river crosses the center of the photo; we'd run up the<br />
smaller canyon on the right of the photo tomorrow<br />
before climbing the north rim</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As we discussed our route, a tour group of senior women overheard us. "You're going to hike DOWN THERE?" one of them asked. We explained the run to them and they were awestruck. "That's AMAZING," they said. "You are superstars! Can we take a selfie with you?" We felt a little like imposters as we posed for the photo with them. We certainly wouldn't be challenging Jim Walmsley's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_rDA-7E_ys">sub-6-hour R3</a>!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After a dinner at the pasta buffet at the Yavapai Lodge, we crashed early in anticipation of our 3:30 a.m. alarm. After a bit of a fitful night's sleep, we lumbered out of bed and slathered ourselves with sunscreen. My weather app said it was 31 degrees at the rim, but Rich consulted another app that reported a more-comfortable 43 degrees. We'd be running the first couple hours in darkness, but we expected things to heat up considerably by the time we reached the river. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rAbyn20DyX4/WuYOh7DbF2I/AAAAAAAACvI/Gmo4aM2Yjo8tN9trnbdaddtVSvQbovjWQCLcBGAs/s1600/GCmap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="957" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rAbyn20DyX4/WuYOh7DbF2I/AAAAAAAACvI/Gmo4aM2Yjo8tN9trnbdaddtVSvQbovjWQCLcBGAs/s400/GCmap.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the satellite-tracking <a href="https://share.garmin.com/onartandscience">map</a> of our run. We started the beacon <br />
at our hotel so the first part of this track was our taxi ride to the start!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The plan was to pack enough food for the whole trip, but pick up water along the way. The first 7 miles down South Kaibab trail had no water but we expected it to go quickly, so I carried about 2 liters of water, just in case. At 4:10 we headed out into the darkness to meet the taxi that would take us to the start. As it turned out, it wasn't too cold and our thin jackets kept us reasonably comfortable. By 4:25 we were taking selfies at the trailhead in the dark.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EKrTsdbnuq0/WuYHmQRHH3I/AAAAAAAACuw/RKxPB-H8E3EdDhRWIGYLxsI2LkivMlS-wCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B6.0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EKrTsdbnuq0/WuYHmQRHH3I/AAAAAAAACuw/RKxPB-H8E3EdDhRWIGYLxsI2LkivMlS-wCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B6.0.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, it's dark!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yF5BEvxnu80/WuYSRTqoA4I/AAAAAAAACvU/_CYQpeTW6XUJ7ceUAZrDC45uZACGZFL5gCLcBGAs/s1600/GCR%2B-%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yF5BEvxnu80/WuYSRTqoA4I/AAAAAAAACvU/_CYQpeTW6XUJ7ceUAZrDC45uZACGZFL5gCLcBGAs/s320/GCR%2B-%2B2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rich snapped a slightly better photo of me with his flash.<br />
Yes, that's a really dorky hat I've got but it<br />
definitely was effective against sunburn!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
About 4:30, we headed down the trail and too realized we were overdressed. The temperature probably rose by 20 degrees as soon as we were over the rim. We decided it would be silly to stop after just a quarter-mile so agreed to go a mile before stopping to strip off our outer layers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For the first few miles, we ran carefully. It would be incredibly annoying to suffer a fall having barely started the trip. We could see the headlamps of another group perhaps a mile ahead; we figured they were doing the same thing as us! Unfortunately we missed some of the most spectacular views of the canyon due to the darkness, but after a few miles, the sun started brightening the horizon and we stopped for a couple of photos:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ce-RDrSy9T8/WuYHnVP2lMI/AAAAAAAACu8/ZPBRB8_CQ9MfbCFMhEnt8Q5FiJ8GwCCmgCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B6.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ce-RDrSy9T8/WuYHnVP2lMI/AAAAAAAACu8/ZPBRB8_CQ9MfbCFMhEnt8Q5FiJ8GwCCmgCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B6.3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First decent view of the canyon!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OUcKZlwDRVw/WuYSRzhvKdI/AAAAAAAACvk/1uJoQzrzou8l39zJAlSz2D1HUnJxh36pwCEwYBhgL/s1600/GCR%2B-%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="1600" height="91" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OUcKZlwDRVw/WuYSRzhvKdI/AAAAAAAACvk/1uJoQzrzou8l39zJAlSz2D1HUnJxh36pwCEwYBhgL/s400/GCR%2B-%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I sneak into Rich's panorama</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The run down South Kaibab was comfortable, but I could already tell that my legs were getting pounded. About 5 miles in we caught up with the group ahead of us: Four guys from Ohio, three of them doing their first R3 run. "You guys are fast!" they told us, "I guess we'll see you coming down from the North Rim while we are headed up!" We stayed fairly even with them and reached the bridge across the river at Mile 7 together.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KLeNfGVSR4k/WuYSSUmuLBI/AAAAAAAACvo/Z8FrdJ3FpswUtYLI5S-wcpyOVmapCp5wgCEwYBhgL/s1600/GCR%2B-%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KLeNfGVSR4k/WuYSSUmuLBI/AAAAAAAACvo/Z8FrdJ3FpswUtYLI5S-wcpyOVmapCp5wgCEwYBhgL/s400/GCR%2B-%2B3.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Headed into the tunnel to access the bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--pU-PANFgHc/WuYSSq45qKI/AAAAAAAACvo/_q89-TALvu05rtKAhLwMNZEE5muIsnfbwCEwYBhgL/s1600/GCR%2B-%2B4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--pU-PANFgHc/WuYSSq45qKI/AAAAAAAACvo/_q89-TALvu05rtKAhLwMNZEE5muIsnfbwCEwYBhgL/s400/GCR%2B-%2B4.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Ohioan friends snapped our photo on the bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tgH8ryzzD-0/WuYHoU0tH0I/AAAAAAAACu4/VV_rYUISB3csGpWBH4Mll34HGywAeRMbACEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B6.5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tgH8ryzzD-0/WuYHoU0tH0I/AAAAAAAACu4/VV_rYUISB3csGpWBH4Mll34HGywAeRMbACEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B6.5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Colorado from the bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another half-mile and we had reached Phantom Ranch, where the bell called the guests from their cabins to "second breakfast" at the restaurant. We sat outside on the picnic tables eating our Uncrustables and filling up with water. I decided 2 liters would be plenty to get me to the Cottonwood Campground (6.4 miles in) where there would surely be water. We had heard a trip report saying there was also water at the Manzanita rest stop and the North Rim, and the entire route up to Roaring Springs 8.6 miles from Phantom Ranch went along a creek with water that could be filtered if necessary.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Back on the trail, the first few miles were very runnable, going through a narrow canyon that crossed the Bright Angel Creek several times on well-constructed bridges. I glanced at my watch a couple times, where I was being given credit for knocking off a 9:20 mile. I was pretty sure I wasn't going that fast, which meant that my Garmin's mileage would be way off. With no real way to know exactly where we were, the only thing to do was to continue plugging along. The narrow canyon was beautiful, and would be enormous anywhere else in the world, but here we knew we were in just a tiny corner of a canyon system that stretched many times farther and deeper. If we had been suddenly transported to this canyon, we'd have no idea what incredible expanses lay beyond. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qzncF-2bfZk/WuYHo09XP4I/AAAAAAAACu4/LOmWCvSvWVQ_MpooUUl8mDV7MBd6VLFjgCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B6.9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qzncF-2bfZk/WuYHo09XP4I/AAAAAAAACu4/LOmWCvSvWVQ_MpooUUl8mDV7MBd6VLFjgCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B6.9.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entering the small canyon formed by Bright Angel Creek</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IiNoCmbpvM0/WuYHpQNmixI/AAAAAAAACu8/NyG07Klpw10vY0mwEyAMwvYIrogNznQkgCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IiNoCmbpvM0/WuYHpQNmixI/AAAAAAAACu8/NyG07Klpw10vY0mwEyAMwvYIrogNznQkgCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rich coming up the trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
After a few miles of this, the canyon opened up a bit, and we had the first bits of direct sunlight. It was going to be a long, hot day. The North Kaibab Trail was 13.5 miles long, and we'd be running both directions on it. More than a marathon on just the north half of the canyon alone!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qlWklX4aP8k/WuYHgXNNQfI/AAAAAAAACuw/zK2nwI2KE-oK0S6gGS88RB12DC24kqbyQCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qlWklX4aP8k/WuYHgXNNQfI/AAAAAAAACuw/zK2nwI2KE-oK0S6gGS88RB12DC24kqbyQCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B13.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cactus beginning to bloom in the morning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wMflYHr2kkc/WuYHg_87leI/AAAAAAAACu4/g9wPYI3NRsQht_eYoZsgjgCVWP71WLY2gCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wMflYHr2kkc/WuYHg_87leI/AAAAAAAACu4/g9wPYI3NRsQht_eYoZsgjgCVWP71WLY2gCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A flowering, pink prickly pear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Throughout the run we had seen quite a bit of wildlife: Deer, squirrels, ravens, butterflies, but nothing dangerous--until I rounded a corner and heard something I'd never heard in person: The unmistakable razzing of a rattlesnake! Fortunately this guy decided to move off the trail as soon as he saw me coming:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZGVpHG_ueGE/WuYHhTZU_uI/AAAAAAAACu8/4aBBe6-Fs7sY0fUW8ck2mGX-NIB-0XbiACEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1502" height="212" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZGVpHG_ueGE/WuYHhTZU_uI/AAAAAAAACu8/4aBBe6-Fs7sY0fUW8ck2mGX-NIB-0XbiACEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B16.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glad this was a shy fellow!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
It was quite a slog to the Cottonwood Campground, which was buggy and had no water other than the creek. Since we were pretty sure there would be water at Manzanita 1.4 miles away, we kept going. Sure enough, we reached Manzanita and found a tap and plenty of cold water. The Ohioans were here too, but just heading out. I guess they weren't as slow as they thought (or we weren't as fast)!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After Manzanita, it would be 5.7 miles and 3,600 vertical feet to the North Rim. The trail ascended steeply and there was very little running, just steady hiking as the day got progressively hotter, even though we were now over 4,600 feet in elevation. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-64_qBPIZlqQ/WuYHgLIxdHI/AAAAAAAACuo/yCshUa8E8iYNPqUjIpHPJ7AUjhgAyhFpACEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-64_qBPIZlqQ/WuYHgLIxdHI/AAAAAAAACuo/yCshUa8E8iYNPqUjIpHPJ7AUjhgAyhFpACEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B12.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roaring Springs emerges from the side of a cliff</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4UvRKWHVXn4/WuYHhy4407I/AAAAAAAACus/T9uZzD_VIY4bgPYDe2q5bcxXMSxaNX04wCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4UvRKWHVXn4/WuYHhy4407I/AAAAAAAACus/T9uZzD_VIY4bgPYDe2q5bcxXMSxaNX04wCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B17.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the canyon from North Kaibab trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-prduIg4ddv4/WuYHiVuf-0I/AAAAAAAACuk/1lCpSSJq-Ss5q_9NnFKeMLlc4Mb8Klb6gCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-prduIg4ddv4/WuYHiVuf-0I/AAAAAAAACuk/1lCpSSJq-Ss5q_9NnFKeMLlc4Mb8Klb6gCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B18.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm in a canyon!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ctH8LNF7u8U/WuYHiwd4e4I/AAAAAAAACuw/uzM7YkSwc58IXCwNnNqFJmjLIR-SodiSwCEwYBhgL/s1600/GC%2B-%2B19.0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ctH8LNF7u8U/WuYHiwd4e4I/AAAAAAAACuw/uzM7YkSwc58IXCwNnNqFJmjLIR-SodiSwCEwYBhgL/s400/GC%2B-%2B19.0.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rich heads up the North Kaibab Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I also made a short movie which should give you a sense of what it was like to climb this section:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/eAokIx-1ws8/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eAokIx-1ws8?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
About three miles from the rim, Rich sat down on a rock. He looked absolutely exhausted. We weren't even halfway through the run and here he was almost totally spent. I didn't feel great but I was pretty sure I was in better shape than Rich. I didn't want to stop. I suggested that I could go on ahead and he could turn around if he needed to. He agreed that might be a better plan. If he was really exhausted, I'd probably catch up to him, depending on where he turned around, and we could finish together. So I plodded ahead by myself.<br />
<br />
After another mile I met up with two of the Ohioans, who also looked to be mightily struggling. I stopped to refill my soft flasks with water from my main bladder. I had about a liter of water left, so I was in good shape to get to the top where I could refill. "Do you think you could spare a little water?" asked one of the guys, "I miscalculated and I'm completely out!" I gave him a half-liter, figuring even if I went without water for the last half-mile or so I'd be fine.<br />
<br />
We hiked together towards the rim, eventually running into the first two Ohioans on their way down. "There's nice cold water at the top," they told us. "You are nearly there! We've only been descending for 8 minutes tops." I picked up the pace and soon was at the top ahead of the Ohioans. I had started cramping in a new spot, my left hamstring near the knee. I've had problems with my high hamstrings for years, but never down by the knees. The pain was excruciating!<br />
<br />
Then I sat down for a moment. Big mistake ... I got a massive camp in my right calf (the OTHER leg) and it took a tortuous minute for me to stretch it out. I decided to stay on my feet for a while as I limped over to the faucets to fill my flasks. I drank nearly a liter of refreshing, cool water from the tap and finally felt almost human again.<br />
<div>
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By then the second two Ohioans had arrived. "You saved us, dude!" one of them told me, "we were both out of water and I don't think we would have made it without your help." We chatted and ate for another ten minutes or so. They wanted to do something to thank me, so I took a couple of "fun size" Payday bars as a fair trade for the water. As it turned out, I would be glad I did.<br />
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Finally I decided it was time to go. I filled all my bottles with 3 liters of water, took a quick selfie at the North Kaibab Trail sign and then headed back down.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3OjoK6EtPRA/WuYHjRCui4I/AAAAAAAACu4/u96EH3OUHAwyyp8CbnfKbZD0tkJe7EDXgCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/GC%2B-%2B19.5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3OjoK6EtPRA/WuYHjRCui4I/AAAAAAAACu4/u96EH3OUHAwyyp8CbnfKbZD0tkJe7EDXgCPcBGAYYCw/s400/GC%2B-%2B19.5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halfway!</td></tr>
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Due to the cramping in both legs, I decided to go easy at the start. Honestly I don't think I could have run if I had wanted to. Walking seemed just fine for now, even if the downhills are supposed to be where you make up time on this route. Amazingly, five minutes down the trail, I ran into Rich, headed up. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I got three miles from the North Rim and then turned around," he explained. He actually looked much better than he had when I left him.<br />
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"That's awesome," I said. I briefly entertained the notion of running back up to the top with him, but then thought the better of it. "You go up to the top, take a nice break, fill up with water, and then head on down. I will just walk until you catch up to me." My legs still didn't want to run, so this seemed like a better idea than joining Rich at the top and then possibly getting dropped by him later!<br />
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So I made my way down at a steady walking pace, taking time to shoot photos as I went.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t51EEexZE5E/WuYHj3ff7hI/AAAAAAAACuk/U-yznzQvWvgJc9VgxManDyp0iaWoH9PogCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/GC%2B-%2B20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1067" height="298" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t51EEexZE5E/WuYHj3ff7hI/AAAAAAAACuk/U-yznzQvWvgJc9VgxManDyp0iaWoH9PogCPcBGAYYCw/s400/GC%2B-%2B20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Redbuds blooming on the trailside</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wPugNX_1u9A/WuYHkL7t7cI/AAAAAAAACu8/3kITI6-tB0oiExLXY8lrdVGvlBqmBcSGgCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/GC%2B-%2B21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wPugNX_1u9A/WuYHkL7t7cI/AAAAAAAACu8/3kITI6-tB0oiExLXY8lrdVGvlBqmBcSGgCPcBGAYYCw/s400/GC%2B-%2B21.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An imposing cliff</td></tr>
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I made another video crossing a neat bridge deep in the canyon:<br />
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About five miles from the rim, Rich finally caught up with me, and we picked up the pace a bit as we headed towards the Manzanita rest stop. We took a quick break, refilled with water, and continued on down the canyon. We were drinking much more water along this section as the day got progressively hotter and we spent more time in the sunlight. I had been carefully applying sunscreen all day and didn't notice any sunburn. My dorky hat was really paying off in this section, keeping my face and neck shaded so I didn't have to worry about the sun in those areas (though I slathered the sunscreen there as well, just in case!).<br />
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It was here, about 8 miles from Phantom Ranch, that Rich and I both began to experience painful blisters. Mine was on the left heel, and Rich's was on his toe. His got bad enough that he decided to stop, only to realize that neither of us had anything to pierce it with. Frustrated, he pulled his shoe back on and continued down. He couldn't run on steeper downhills but managed to pick it up to a run on the flatter sections, which fortunately were becoming more frequent as we got closer to the bottom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fxTSKwBc3Qg/WuYHkRZgYaI/AAAAAAAACu8/L1RLqBX05ZEb6G7uxviHa72HT2FORBFwwCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/GC%2B-%2B22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1058" height="301" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fxTSKwBc3Qg/WuYHkRZgYaI/AAAAAAAACu8/L1RLqBX05ZEb6G7uxviHa72HT2FORBFwwCPcBGAYYCw/s400/GC%2B-%2B22.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cactus flowers now in full bloom</td></tr>
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We re-entered the narrow canyon near Phantom ranch and once again my Garmin started reporting irrationally fast paces. At one point I logged a 5:28 mile, which if it had any basis in reality would have been my fastest mile ever. This close-up of my Garmin route seems to show me springing from canyon wall to canyon wall when in reality I was just plodding along the trail at the bottom:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spider-Man would have difficulty duplicating this route!</td></tr>
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We knew we were getting close to Phantom Ranch but we weren't sure exactly how close. We passed the two lagging Ohioans, who had again run out of water. They didn't ask us for any because we all believed we were near the ranch and the creek was right there if they really needed it. I was expecting to see the ranch around every corner, but it took us about 30 minutes longer than our least-optimistic estimates to finally arrive, despite being able to run much of this section of the trail.<br />
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Rich and I were hoping that the Phantom Ranch Cantina would be open and stocked with cold Coca-Colas. Unfortunately it was closed; It was nearly 6 pm and the cantina closed at 4. We weren't even close to making it.<br />
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Again we sat at the picnic tables outside, eating our Uncrustables and refilling our water bladders. There were lots of campers lounging around this area, and while they had all hiked at least 7 miles to get there, to us who had just run 34 miles in the blazing heat, they may as well have been lazy full-service resort guests. They all seemed somewhat in awe of us, and amazed that we still had 9.3 miles to go. The Ohioans made it to the ranch and we traded notes for a while until it was time for me and Rich to make the final push home.<br />
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Both of us were already nearly totally spent. The thermometer at the ranch read 95 degrees in the shade. But the sun was going down, so we were hopeful that temps would decline on our way out of the canyon. There would be no running from here on out; it was a 9.3-mile hike to the rim.<br />
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We crossed the river on the second bridge and turned onto the Bright Angel Trail, which, depressingly, didn't immediately head out of the canyon, but instead proceeded along the river for nearly 2 miles. I took my last photo of the trip here, of a blooming cactus above the river:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SI_kDDr0krA/WuYHk2EoG9I/AAAAAAAACuo/GTNMU299AvkAMbPRp46QtioSVOWawR-4ACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/GC%2B-%2B23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SI_kDDr0krA/WuYHk2EoG9I/AAAAAAAACuo/GTNMU299AvkAMbPRp46QtioSVOWawR-4ACPcBGAYYCw/s400/GC%2B-%2B23.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely!</td></tr>
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We finally reached an attractive-looking beach where the trail turned up the side of the canyon. We decided that if we ever came back to run the canyon, we'd just run down to this beach, hang out for a few hours, then climb out, skipping the brutal heat of the North Kaibab Trail to the North Rim.<br />
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A quarter of a mile up the trail, I began to hear the bleating of sheep. I hadn't realized there were sheep in the canyon; we might as well have been in Scotland with all the racket from the sheep. But I never saw one. Finally I realized that I wasn't hearing sheep at all; the noise was produced by frogs croaking in nearby Pipe Creek. But though we crossed the creek several times, I never spotted one of these curious croaking frogs in the water.<br />
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After a while, the creek dried up and the trail hugged the side of a cliff. The moon had risen and cast a subtle glow on the trail, making us think we might not need our headlamps even though we would probably not arrive at the rim until after 10:00. Just then I heard a rattling from the spot where I was getting ready to step. Another snake! This one was smaller than the first, but coiled in position to strike. I stopped just in time, and used my trekking pole to try to guide it off the trail. It moved only reluctantly. There was a cliff extending upward on the left of the 4-foot-wide trail, and a drop-off on the right. I guess it was understandable that the snake didn't want to leave the trail. I nudged it to the edge of the trail and then quickly moved past it.<br />
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Since Rich didn't have trekking poles, I waited for him, then tried to keep the snake pinned to the side of the trail so Rich could pass. Then snake kept rattling and trying to move to the center of the trail. Understandably, Rich didn't want to go by. Finally I got the snake to move aside a bit, and Rich zipped past. It was the fastest I'd seen him move all day! After that we decided maybe it would be better to wear our headlamps so we could spot snakes sooner!<br />
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Soon the creek reappeared, and we crossed it several more times. At one crossing, it was unclear which direction to go. There was a faint trail heading up the canyon wall to the left, or a drop-off back down to the creek. The trail didn't seem distinct enough to be our route, but there was no other sign of a trail in the darkness. We didn't want to head up a trail only to have to turn back. Finally we decided to cross the creek again, and fortunately found the trail on the other side!<br />
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The trail climbed up and up until finally we reached Indian Gardens campground. Halfway to the top in terms of distance -- yeah! But then I looked at the altimeter on my watch and realized that our elevation was just 3800 feet. We'd climbed 1400 feet but had another 3000 feet of climbing to get to the rim! I decided to focus on the positive and only told Rich the part about being halfway there. I ate my last Uncrustable and the last Payday bar the Ohioans had given me. We refilled our water and continued on. Even in the darkness, well after sunset, the thermometer here read 80 degrees.<br />
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Slowly, steadily, we plodded on up the hill in the darkness. Some of the steps carved into the trail were very tall for our tired legs; I dreaded whenever we came to one of these, and struggled to avoid cramping as I stretched my leg to climb it. Rich had to stop several times. I wanted to keep moving but didn't want to leave Rich behind, so I stuck with him at these moments. We could see a pair of headlamps far below -- that must have been the Ohioans. Ahead of us was another set of headlamps that seemed to be getting closer, but we could never quite catch up.<br />
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We reached the 3-mile rest house. At an elevation of 4700 feet we had barely completed half the climbing to the rim, despite having hiked over two-thirds of the distance. We kept moving. There was water at the 1.5-mile rest house, but we still had over 1000 feet of climbing to go. We did finally catch the headlamps that were ahead of us, a pair of hikers who had wisely only gone to the river and back that day. As we continued, slowly the silhouettes of buildings on the rim came into view above us. A couple more switchbacks and we had made it! We were at the top. It was 11:15 pm.<br />
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We walked down to the shuttle stop and could see that no shuttles were running. It was still two miles to our lodge, but fortunately Rich had phone service (mine did not), so we could call a cab. The dispatcher told us it would be 20-25 minutes. We didn't care; we waited. For the first time in 19 hours, I was cold, so I put on my emergency jacket and a long-sleeve shirt that had gotten soaked earlier in the day when I hadn't screwed the top all the way on my water bladder. I didn't care; it was definitely warmer than wearing nothing.<br />
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Finally our taxi arrived and Rich and I stood up to get in. After a few seconds the driver unrolled the window and asked if we had called for a cab. Couldn't he see we were moving toward him? Then I realized we were actually moving like sloths in slow-motion. From the driver's perspective, we weren't moving at all! Hilarious. "Yes," I said. "And do you know if there's any place still open on the rim were we can get a Coke?"<br />
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As it turned out, there was not. Even the vending machines in our lodge were broken, so we made due with Miller Lite (don't ask why we had these) and potato chips in our room. Rich had two sips and was asleep on his bed. I managed to finish a whole beer and a half-bag of chips before showering and turning in. I finally got to bed around 1:00 am, but had to set an alarm for 6:00 so we'd be able to complete the 3.5-hour drive to the airport in Phoenix in the morning. Somehow I managed to do that drive without my legs cramping up, and successfully caught the flight home. I had done it. We had done it. An amazing experience, one I'll never forget. Sure, it had taken us about 6 hours longer than expected, but we had survived, and both of us had completed the entire trip, under our own power.<br />
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I'm a tall guy, 6'2", and I'm usually not able to sleep on airplanes, but that day, I slept for all but 30 minutes of the flight home. I guess I was tired....<br />
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More details of the R3 run are below:<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Partial Strava recording (watch battery died 12 hours in):<br />
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<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="405" scrolling="no" src="https://www.strava.com/activities/1534722349/embed/c5026c91a41fb9dfc53ddba3ddd84844a8474f9b" width="590"></iframe><br />
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Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-2119915109438358442018-04-09T18:13:00.003-04:002018-04-10T10:42:58.788-04:00Race Recap: The National Sprint Duathlon Championship<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
National Championship races are an attractive challenge for me. I've competed in two of them and really enjoyed myself both times. Yet I've never been anywhere near the top of my age group. The best I did was 7th out of 12 in the <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2014/11/race-recap-us-national-12k.html">.US National 12k in 2014</a>.<br />
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This year I decided to break up my ultra-training with yet another national championship: The <a href="https://www.teamusa.org/USA-Triathlon/Events/National-Championships/2018/2018-Duathlon-National-Championships">National Sprint Duathlon Championship</a> on April 8. I even hired a bike coach to write up a training plan specifically for the event -- a first for me. A duathlon is combination of biking and running, typically in the format of Run-Bike-Run. I've run two duathlons but in both cases it was because the swim portion of a triathlon was cancelled; this would be the first time I'd trained specifically for a duathlon. </div>
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For this race, the "no-drafting" event (as opposed to the draft-legal event held the day before), we'd run 5k, then ride 11.2 miles, then run another 2.85k (1.85 miles). My plan was to run the first 5k at roughly a 6:45 pace, then ride in the 22-23 mph range, then hang on for the final run, going as fast as I could and hopefully keeping my pace somewhat close to what I did in the longer first leg.</div>
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In such a short race, transitions are critical, so most duathletes, like triathletes, wear shoes with stretchy laces so they can change in and out of running shoes quickly. I don't like the stretch laces, but I figured out that I could wear normal laces for the first run and just use a different pair of shoes for the second run. My wife Greta was there to cheer me on and take photos, so she got a picture of me at the finish line before the race.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0nDkEkLcFpc/WsvWaDagDNI/AAAAAAAACsQ/bAjUuYf-BRMg7oJrNcCH6Su9J4toGc8MQCLcBGAs/s1600/d1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="800" height="370" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0nDkEkLcFpc/WsvWaDagDNI/AAAAAAAACsQ/bAjUuYf-BRMg7oJrNcCH6Su9J4toGc8MQCLcBGAs/s400/d1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sealed in like a sausage ready for cooking!</td></tr>
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It was a cool day for April in South Carolina, which was just fine by me. I wore gloves while I warmed up but decided I wouldn't need them for the race and left them with Greta. At age 51, I would start in Wave 3 with all the men 50 and over. I decided to start off a few rows back to quell the urge to start too fast. Before I knew it, we were off, headed downhill towards a sharp right-hand corner. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and a few of the faster masters</td></tr>
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The corner turned us about 110 degrees and onto a narrow cart-path, headed up towards the highway where we'd run most of the race. There was some jostling as we rounded the corner but fortunately there were no geriatric casualties! I looked down at my watch and saw that I was running quite a bit faster than planned -- 5:35 per mile -- yikes! I dialed back the speed as we headed up the first hill of the course. Soon we were at the first turnaround and I had settled into something closer to 6:30. I was breathing hard but didn't feel like the pace was unsustainable, so I kept it up. </div>
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Mile 1, 6:33, Mile 2: 6:48.</div>
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About two miles in, I noticed my right shoe had come untied. So much for my brilliant plan of using standard laces for the first run! I couldn't double-knot the shoes because then they'd be too hard to untie, so I ran the risk of them coming untied and that's just what had happened. I decided to press on without tying the shoe, a situation much more unnerving than the "wobbly" feel I don't like about stretch laces. Argh.</div>
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Mile 3: 6:44.</div>
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My Garmin has the course a tenth of a mile short -- possibly because of those turnarounds. There were four in the race and I always find my Garmin shorts me on turnarounds. In this case, that's good news, because it means I've finished the 3.1-mile course in just 20:07, or a 6:28 pace! Wow! And as a bonus, I didn't run out of my shoe or trip over my shoelaces.</div>
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Transition 1 didn't go great. I stood up to put my helmet on before putting on my shoes, so I had to sit down again to do that, then get up again and hustle out. My time for the transition ended up at 1:36, or over twice as long as the fastest athletes. It's faster to clip your shoes into your pedals and then run barefoot (or in stocking feet) to the bike exit, but I hadn't practiced that so I didn't try to do it.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally getting going on the bike</td></tr>
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On to the ride. I was expecting good things. There was a bit of a traffic jam at the start as the route wound through some narrow roads before getting onto the open road. I chewed out a clueless kid on a mountain bike who was riding all the way to the left. Technically it is illegal to pass on the right, but me and another guy did because there was no room on the left. The bulk of the ride was on four-lane highways, one of which had been completely closed to traffic. While the roads were nice and open, they were also quite hilly. There was no section of the ride that was completely flat. I knew I'd get relief on the downhill sections, so I hit the climbs hard. I was passing lots of riders as I caught the women's wave and the stragglers from the first wave (men 49 and under). One guy passed me but I saw a "64" on his leg and let him go. Funny that my pride wasn't damaged in the least that this old guy was passing me. I only had to worry about men in the 50-54 group!</div>
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64 and I ended up trading leads over the next couple miles: He'd pass me at the start of hills but I caught him at the tops. Both of us were still passing other riders by the half-dozen. The ride was one big out-and-back, and I knew the turnaround was the highest point in the race. When the turnaround was in sight, I picked up the pace and passed another seven or eight riders. I'd have a nice long downhill to recover on, so why not? My split for the first half of the ride had me at over 23 mph.</div>
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Turning around, I realized that part of the reason for the fast first half was that there was a tailwind. Despite weather forecasts of 2 mph winds, it was clear the wind was blowing harder. Even though the ride home was a net downhill, I ended up going slower on the second half. My official overall average speed was 21.7 mph. A little slower than I'd hoped but the course was also hillier than I realized, with a total of 748 feet of climbing in 11.2 miles. </div>
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I hopped off my bike and noticed that the guy two bikes ahead of me was in my age group. Could I catch him on the run?</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Svaqs1pPnxI/WsvWavXl3TI/AAAAAAAACsg/O0kBTwVkCQUxMKz4uKGJ_BiPuyW1gvMDgCEwYBhgL/s1600/d4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="800" height="382" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Svaqs1pPnxI/WsvWavXl3TI/AAAAAAAACsg/O0kBTwVkCQUxMKz4uKGJ_BiPuyW1gvMDgCEwYBhgL/s400/d4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who entered the transition zone without pressing "lap" on his watch? This guy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The guy ahead of me had a gray pony tail and was much smoother in the transition, opting to take his shoes off while riding and smoothly running in stocking feet to his station, which happened to be right across from mine. While I fumbled with my shoes, he was off, and before I knew it I was a solid 15 seconds behind him. Meanwhile I finally realized that I hadn't stopped the timer for my ride, so I quickly clicked "lap" twice to fast-forward to the second run portion of my event.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More importantly, my legs simply did not want to move at this point. I was struggling to hit an 8-minute-mile pace, and I wanted to be running sub-7-minute miles. I limped and lurched up the hill to the highway, and finally seemed to shake the kinks out of the legs about a half-mile into the race. A couple people had passed me, and I started to reel them back in. But pony-tail dude would not be caught; he was stubbornly 15 seconds ahead of me, almost precisely matching my pace as I ran faster and faster.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was breathing heavily, but I reminded myself that this run was less than two miles. It'd be over before I knew it. Sure enough, soon I was sprinting down the finish chute, still the same 15 seconds behind Mr. Pony Tail, who turned out to be Richard Hendry of St. Petersburg, FL.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XKBIB6Dqhcw/WsvWa1kuBCI/AAAAAAAACsk/ioqlE7o87HEv0r7E-vnYUhgRTcqUBhJ0gCEwYBhgL/s1600/d5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XKBIB6Dqhcw/WsvWa1kuBCI/AAAAAAAACsk/ioqlE7o87HEv0r7E-vnYUhgRTcqUBhJ0gCEwYBhgL/s400/d5.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking strong, but not strong enough to catch Hendry!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the end I managed a 12:04 for the final 1.85-mile run, for a pace of 6:31. Not too shabby! Overall my time was just over 1:06, good for 11th place out of 25 in my age group. Still not a podium finish, but better than I'd done in any other national championship, so I'll take it!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I enjoyed the experience tremendously and I think I might be hooked on this duathlon thing. Unfortunately there aren't a lot of them around, but the nationals are coming back to Greenville next year, and I'm going to make of point of returning!</div>
<div>
<br />
Below is the Garmin record of my race!<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<iframe frameborder="0" height="598" src="https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/embed/2610587541" title="Greenville County Multi-Sport" width="465"></iframe><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-85711841321477420922018-02-25T12:11:00.000-05:002018-02-25T15:47:27.049-05:00Race recap: The Somewhat Legendary 50k<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">For some reason this year I have decided to try my hand at ultras once again. I had first given ultrarunning a shot in 2014, when I <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2014/03/race-recap-leatherwood-mountains-50.html">DNFed at the Leatherwood 50-miler</a>. This year my interest was piqued by an <a href="http://www.amalfipositanoultratrail.it/aput.html">epic race in Italy</a>, so I figured while I'm at it I might as well do a couple of tune-up races.<br />
<br />
The first of these -- my first actual finish in an ultra, was a race that I made up myself (inspired by Laz's <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=35790">Big Backyard Ultra</a>). The concept was to run DART's 6.2-mile Irma Loop—the same route my running group (The Davidson Area Running Team, or DART) runs nearly every day—but run it once every hour for 10 hours. That's a total of 62 miles, or 100 kilometers. I called it the "DART 100k Challenge." My friend Jeff McGonnell suggested that might be too tough for most people (including me!), and said we should probably offer a fun run version of the race where you only had to do five loops, one every hour and 15 minutes. Since we jokingly refer to Jeff as a "Somewhat Legendary" runner after a description of him in a local magazine article (he's run hundreds of ultras), the "Somewhat Legendary 50k" was held on the same day as the 100k, February 24, 2018.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't recommend being the race director of an ultra while simultaneously participating in it. I could only do it because it was a familiar course to many of the racers, and because I had several enthusiastic volunteers to keep things going. My pre-race evening included laying out the course for an hour and a half and responding to emails of last-minute entrants in the race. Not exactly the relaxing carbo-loading I prefer on the eve of a race.<br />
<br />
In the morning, I not only had to make sure I had all my personal racing gear, but also everything we would need to host the race. Naturally I forgot the extension cord for the race clock, but since I live just a five-minute drive from the start / finish, that turned out to be easily resolved.<br />
<br />
After an hour and a half setting up the start / finish, I watched my watch tick down to 8:00 am, then started the official race clock and took off running with about 25 other crazies. Then I realized I hadn't actually put my watch in race mode. I quickly started it up, fortunately acquiring the satellite signal quickly and only losing about 10 seconds of "official" race time.<br />
<br />
My plan was to try to limit my pace to 10 minutes a mile or slower, while walking most of the steeper climbs on the course, thus saving my legs for grueling final laps. 1:15 per 10k works out to an average of 12:04 per mile, so this should give me plenty of time to do what I needed to do at the aid station at the end of each lap.<br />
<br />
I spent my first two loops enjoyably conversing with Kristy-Ann, who was only planning on doing three loops since she had run a marathon last week and was planning another marathon next week. We were near the back of the pack, which was fine with me (and Kristy-Ann), since no official lap times were being taken in the race. Since everyone starts each lap together, the only time that "counts" is your last lap: The first person to finish the final lap is the winner.<br />
<br />
Lap 3 is where I started to feel a bit fatigued. This time I ran with Carl, who was also planning on doing the entire 50k. Carl liked my walk-run plan but he tended to do the run portions a bit faster than me. I caught up with him on the walking sections, and again we had an enjoyable conversation. However I was starting to notice some chafing in my shirt, so I decided to go shirtless for loops 4 and 5 (very unusual for me since my chest is considered a public nuisance in the Town of Davidson).<br />
<br />
At the aid station after Lap 3 I noticed that I felt significantly better after 18-plus miles of running that I could ever remember. <i>That's</i> why ultra-runners always advise going almost uncomfortably slow! I took off my shirt and lathered up with sunscreen (the temperature was approaching 80 degrees).<br />
<br />
On loop 4 I tried to stay with Carl again but found he was running farther and farther ahead of me. I still wanted to save something for loop 5 so I didn't push it and stayed in my own zone. Some of the other runners who had been in our vicinity were starting to drop off the pace, including first-time ultrarunner Kallup, who had recently overcome a substance addiction. If there was a "race" on the final lap of the event, it would be between me and Carl.<br />
<br />
Loop 5, my final loop, would be interesting because we'd start at the same time as the remaining 100kers, who would be on their sixth loop. Only two runners, Martin and Pat, had made it this far, and they started with me and Carl, along with Sam, who had hopped in the race on loop 3 and was running with Pat. All of the runners, included Carl, quickly outpaced me. This would not be a race against the others, but one between me and the clock. I finished Mile 1 in 10 flat, so I had 2 minutes in the bank. Mile 2 had some climbs, which I walked, but I still finished in around 11:30. 2:30 in the bank. Mile 3 was mostly downhill. Somehow I managed to run the whole thing, again in about 10 minutes. 4:30 in the bank. Mile 4 was where the climbs started, and I walked a lot but still came in at 12 flat. Still 4:30 in the bank. Only 2.2 miles to go and I could average over 14 minutes / mile and still be an official finisher! Somehow I kept the pace under 12 minutes for each of these miles, and finished to the cheers of the aid station volunteers and a few spectators. My first ultra!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ghxfhyjRrco/WpLq7sUDpmI/AAAAAAAACrA/Mv2gc23NBUciDUgfBB2czKuoV0ikQAddwCLcBGAs/s1600/28279755_10216211349382883_3243346359264577450_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ghxfhyjRrco/WpLq7sUDpmI/AAAAAAAACrA/Mv2gc23NBUciDUgfBB2czKuoV0ikQAddwCLcBGAs/s400/28279755_10216211349382883_3243346359264577450_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The official leaderboard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Only two people finished the 50k in the allotted time, but we decided to give credit to J.Owen Jackson and Kallup McCoy, who completed the course that day. No one finished the 100k, with Martin and Pat dropping out after 60k. So we decided to save this year's prize for completing the 100 until next year. The award is a bottle of North Carolina whiskey. We'll add another bottle to the stash each year until someone completes the challenge!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Svg6AD3u2UM/WpLrKCOHHnI/AAAAAAAACrE/MD7uciw-3mgP2DgEGwzFuvr9GHYyZlgKwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Svg6AD3u2UM/WpLrKCOHHnI/AAAAAAAACrE/MD7uciw-3mgP2DgEGwzFuvr9GHYyZlgKwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_6025.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
After collapsing in a chair for 30 minutes guzzling water and awaiting the two stragglers, Chad and I broke down the finish area and he drove me home, where I spent a few moments contemplating my achievement. I had finally finished an ultra, four years after my first efforts to do it. One down, two to go. And the first year of the DART 100k / Somewhat Legendary 50k was in the books. I'll definitely do it next year -- but probably only as a race director / spectator. I'll save my own ultras for when someone else is in charge!<br />
<br />
Details of yesterday's race are below.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="500" src="https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/embed/2518895591" title="Davidson Running" width="465"></iframe><br />
</div>Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-509097847656607271.post-56236805410293689892017-12-10T18:32:00.000-05:002017-12-10T18:32:14.278-05:00Race Recap: The Kiawah Island Half Marathon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>Sometime in September</b>: I've been intrigued for months by the Nike <a href="https://www.nike.com/us/en_us/c/running/breaking2">Breaking 2</a> project and finally decide to buy the the Nike Zoom Fly shoes that were inspired by the project. At $150, they aren't cheap, but they are a steal compared to the $250-if-you-can-find-them Vaporfly 4% shoes that are the actual ones used for the sub-2-hour marathon attempt.<br />
<br />
<b>A little later in September</b>: The Zoom Flys aren't working for me. I had thought they could be my Chicago Marathon shoes, and they definitely "feel" faster than my usual training shoes, but after 7 or 8 miles, my feet start to develop hot spots on the Achilles tendon and also on the ball of my foot. There's no way I want to run 26.2 miles in these shoes. I decide to go back to my backup shoes and <a href="http://mungerruns.blogspot.com/2017/10/race-recap-chicago-marathon.html">run a lackluster Chicago Marathon</a> in them. I mostly attribute this performance to the warm conditions on race day.<br />
<br />
<b>Mid-October: </b>After posting about my problems in the Facebook "Running Shoe Geeks" group, I find that others who have had the same issues with the Zoom Flys find that the Vaporflys work great for them. I search online for the Vaporflys, only to find they are sold out everywhere. You can only find them on reseller sites for $300-350. Suddenly $250 is starting to look like a bargain.<br />
<br />
<b>10 Days Ago: </b>Someone in Running Shoe Geeks posts a link to a store that's selling the Vaporflys at list price! And they have my size! Impulsively I click on "buy now" to purchase the most expensive running shoes I've ever bought. A bargain at $250! And there will be just enough time to test them out for a shakeout run before I race on them at the <a href="https://kiawahresort.com/recreation/kiawah-island-marathon/">Kiawah Island Half Marathon</a>.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Last Tuesday:</b> They arrive! Just in time for a shakeout run the next morning.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tEJ2B2QuqpA/Wi2x2-FKvUI/AAAAAAAACpk/GYtuNhJ3fOQvpw3PZMK1_3lH4sS3-5OBwCLcBGAs/s1600/k1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tEJ2B2QuqpA/Wi2x2-FKvUI/AAAAAAAACpk/GYtuNhJ3fOQvpw3PZMK1_3lH4sS3-5OBwCLcBGAs/s400/k1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All really expensive running shoes are required to look like clown shoes. It's a rule.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Last Wednesday: </b>Danielle agrees to join me for a shakeout run with 2 miles at my "stretch" race pace -- 7:00/mile, which would be good for a sub-1:32 half marathon and a qualifying slot in the New York Marathon. My best half marathon since I was injured a few years back was 1:37 and change in Wrightsville Beach this spring, and I haven't recovered well since my disappointing race in Chicago two months ago. And I still haven't managed to shed those ten pounds I've been trying to lose since last August. A 1:32 marathon would be a real stretch indeed. But maybe the shoes will make up for my lack of actual running fitness. As we start off on our warm-up miles, the shoes really do feel fast. Perhaps even faster than the Zoom Fly, but much smoother and gentler on my feet. We clock off two easy 8-minute miles out Concord Road, the flattest road route in town, to match the flat conditions I'll face in Kiawah. Then we turn around and pick up the pace. A 7:00 pace seems much easier than I expect. But still, after a mile, I can tell it would be tough to keep this up for another 12+ miles. I make it through the second mile in 7:03 and I'm happy with the performance of the shoes but pretty sure I won't be able to sustain a 7:00 pace in the race. I settle on 7:15-7:20 as my goal pace, which should give me something like a 1:35 half-marathon if I can hang on. If I can do it, it would be my best half marathon in over 4 years.<br />
<br />
<b>Saturday, race day:</b> After a fitful night's sleep listening to the rain fall on a beautiful home owned by a friend of a friend at the Kiawah Island Golf Resort, I get up at 6 am and join my housemates Rob, Amber, Morgan, Kim, and Thomas as we get ready to race. At 7:00 we pile into Morgan's car and my wife Greta drives us to the start, where we find a nice indoor table at a cafe to await the 8 am start of the race.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-snInRk9I2YA/Wi22AiTksMI/AAAAAAAACpw/UzyNIg8Bsd0ikSGY0RI5wCDnBtclw5W4ACLcBGAs/s1600/k3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-snInRk9I2YA/Wi22AiTksMI/AAAAAAAACpw/UzyNIg8Bsd0ikSGY0RI5wCDnBtclw5W4ACLcBGAs/s400/k3.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wearing throwaway Goodwill clothing like the pros do:<br />
Rob, Kim, Morgan, Thomas, me, and Amber</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>7:45:</b> We head for the start. At 41 degrees, the rain has stopped and it looks to be absolutely perfect race weather. I decide to check my throwaways so I can wear them post-race and walk to the start line wearing my tri shorts and a compression t-shirt, and of course the Vaporflys. I'm feeling strong. I have a water bottle, three GUs, and a caffeine tablet that I'll take before the race. Somehow I've lost Thomas, though, who was planning a similar pace to me. I see a few friends getting themselves ready for the race, fist-bumping Chad, who I had been randomly placed in a relay with a few years back. A couple people notice the shoes and ask me if they are really 4% faster. I say we'll find out today; this is only the second time I've worn them.<br />
<br />
<b>8:00:</b> Some confetti guns go off. This is the only notice we have that the race is starting. The crowd starts to move forward. I've purposely lined myself up a ways back from the start so I don't start out too fast. "Take it easy, Munger," I tell myself, "You've got 13 miles to go. Don't shoot your entire load in Mile 1."<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 1:</b> In a rarity for me, I do manage a slow-ish start, 7:23. I've minimized the bobbing and weaving around traffic, and am running comfortably.<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 2: </b>I run right past Thomas, who looks to be having an off day. I make up for my reasonable start by clocking off a 6:57. Whoah Nelly! This isn't going to be sustainable, Munger. Or is it?<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 3:</b> 7:00 and feeling good. Could this be my day?<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 4: </b>7:10 and feeling okay. No this is not going to be your day. Just be reasonable and maybe you'll pull off that 1:35.<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 5: </b>7:08 and still feeling okay.<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 6:</b> 7:11 and this is starting to feel not so okay. I'm less than halfway there. But it's not supposed to be easy, right? Just keep pushing, Munger.<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 7: </b>I remember to eat my second GU before I get to the aid station at Mile 6.5. It's starting to feel like real work now. I slow to 7:21. That 7:15-7:20 pace is starting to seem less realistic now.<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 8: </b>I'm in the pain zone now. Just trying to hang on, and it's seeming harder and harder to keep up the pace. I slow even more, to 7:36 per mile, 16 seconds slower than my planned pace. Can I really keep this up for 5 more miles?<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 9:</b> The route takes us out a muddy gravel road pockmarked with puddles. We are briefly rewarded with a view of the ocean before taking another gravel road away from the coast. The universal opinion of the runners is that it is NOT WORTH it to run on this road in order to see the ocean for 30 seconds. I slow even more. 7:49. Really?<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 10:</b> Somehow this mile is even worse than Mile 9. 7:52. Barely faster than recovery pace. Pick it up, Munger.<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 11: </b>My legs hurt, my hamstrings are screaming at me, my breathing is...easy? Yes, my breathing IS easy. Perhaps because I'm running so damned slow. Sure my legs don't feel good, but they're not <i>supposed</i> to feel good. If I'm not breathing hard, I'm not trying hard enough. I pick up the pace. 7:36. Yes! Maybe I can salvage a sub-1:37 race.<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 12</b>: With just over 2 miles to go, we are now running the same course as the marathon finish (though the marathoners haven't reached this point yet). It means we get a bonus mile marker for the marathoners 0.1 miles before we get to the half-marathon marker. I manage to pick up the pace a bit more: 7:26. Keep pushing!<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 13</b>: There seem to be a lot of runners around my age near me. If I can hang on, is it possible that I could get an age group award? Just run, Munger. 7:30 for the mile. Not great, but I'm nearly done now.<br />
<br />
<b>THE FINISH! </b>I run hard for the finish line and stop my watch as I cross. Somehow I have willed myself to pick up the pace after flagging in the later miles of the race. My official finish time is 1:36:53. It's not a 1:35 but it's still my best race in four years.<br />
<br />
Soon I hear Amber's name called, just a minute behind me. She's set a 4-minute PR! Then Kim sprints furiously over the line. Thomas comes in with a bit of a disappointing time; he had been looking to PR but came several minutes short. Then we see Rob, who completes a strong sub-2-hour first half marathon, followed by Morgan, who is recovering from injury and happy with her effort. Here's a photo of the whole group near the finish line:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GD3wWILTn7I/Wi2_g851OxI/AAAAAAAACqA/mH4mUxL5O9EjRBvd0g28aSpXoO17w10swCLcBGAs/s1600/k5%2B-%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GD3wWILTn7I/Wi2_g851OxI/AAAAAAAACqA/mH4mUxL5O9EjRBvd0g28aSpXoO17w10swCLcBGAs/s400/k5%2B-%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating the fact that we can all still lift one of our legs in the air</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Amber and I have managed to earn age group awards: I ended up first in my 50-54 age group and she was fourth in her group!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1kmY1JfwvEQ/Wi3ABSM4-DI/AAAAAAAACqI/iZRfe5Famc4iUgGdpTlJ-jWVrs9BDDfaQCLcBGAs/s1600/k4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1kmY1JfwvEQ/Wi3ABSM4-DI/AAAAAAAACqI/iZRfe5Famc4iUgGdpTlJ-jWVrs9BDDfaQCLcBGAs/s400/k4.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perhaps the shoes really do work!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I didn't quite make my goal pace of 7:15-7:20 but thanks to that fast start, I was close; officially I averaged 7:23 per mile. I also feel like I had a real mental breakthrough at Mile 11. I think if I can apply that lesson earlier in the race, I might be able to do even better. My next half is Houston in 5 weeks. I'm going to be a little more aggressive in that race; let's see where it will take me!<br />
<br />
And what about the shoes? I think they helped me. My feet felt <i>much</i> better than they have in any half-marathon, and the shoes really do seem to launch you forward and make it easier to sustain higher speeds. Are they worth the $100+ premium over "normal" racing flats? I'm not sure. But I'm sure I'll be wearing them in my next half marathon, and probably even my next full marathon.<br />
<br />
Details of my run are below.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="500" src="https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/embed/2372627336" title="Kiawah Island Half Marathon" width="465"></iframe><br /></div>
Dave Mungerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05538554189437081090noreply@blogger.com0