Left black rock campground with Lani, John, and Nick just as the sun came over the ridge and hit the trailhead. I was carrying 3L of water(a 2L bladder and two Salomon flasks). There was patchy snow above covington flats but the frozen ground made for good early progress. Warmed up quickly and shed my long sleeve shirt for a singlet. The wind was chilly a couple times after that but nothing gloves and arm warmers couldn't handle. I left a couple drawings in the sand for the Lani who was going for the women fkt. Only passed a few groups of hikers. There were four heading up from Ryan campground and gave my card to one named Will Lemmoon at Geology Tour road hoping he can vouch for my fkt attempt (he emailed me later in the day). Faced some stubborn 10mph headwinds for the second half of the run. That combined with the sand made for tedious plodding away. Felt like I wasn't moving hardly at all and got incredibly demotivated when I realized it wasn't all downhill to the finish. It is mostly but the elevation profile is deceptive. Ran out of water 1.5 miles from the end and kept thinking the miles were longer than miles but soon enough I saw the trailhead entrance and followed the rocks lined up towards the end.
I collapsed for a bit and reveled in the fact that it was over, then strapped up and hiked back out to see if I could meet the rest of the crew finishing. After 3 miles I found John and Lani. John is an established thru-hiker that wanted to escape the winter in Utah and try out some trail running. Lani was about to finish the route in a potential female FKT which was something I didn't want to miss. We didn't find out till later that Nick had decided to call it a day.
37.3 miles +3000' 5:10
3L water, 4 Laurabars, 1c Tailwind
Strava GPS route
2.01.2017
NO REWARD FOR 4TH PLACE
...shouted another runner as I climbed from Two Harbors heading back towards Avalon. At 10am the race had already been going for 5 hours and I was moving up the field. In 5am darkness I had gone out conservatively through drizzling rain, up the winding fire road to the ridge, picking off runners steadily as the sun came up and we made our way along the island. Nearing Two Harbors some of the folks who had begun the route earlier than the official race start began giving passing updates on my progress. Caught sixth heading towards the turn-around stopping every couple hundred yards to bend over and stretch his calves. The pain of starting out too fast was beginning to show. By the time I found myself in 4th I was surprised to be doing that well and thought it was going to be a struggle to stay in the top 5, hoping desperately that I hadn't made the same mistake and wasted my energy in the first half of the race.
KEEP PICKING THEM UP AND PUTTING THEM DOWN said Hal an 85 year old man doing the race for his 25th time. Winding back across the Island towards the start trying not to look back but occasionally tempted to peer across the winding fire roads and spot any chasers, we overlapped the 50k course where runners were strung out consistently along the path. As the course climbed slowly back towards the ridge and a final 10k descent into Avalon I sunk into my breath and tried to relax my legs between strides, running every step of the uphills. Calves ached, hamstrings cramped. It was mentally encouraging to always have someone on the horizon to chase even though they weren't my competition. A buffalo grazed in the phosphorescent green grass by the trail but there was no time to take a photo. Too much to focus on as I caught up to a guy who began running along and asking questions about the day. Said his legs were shot and he wasn't going to PR. 'Just one of those days' he said. 'Word is the runner in first place looks great but 2nd place is fading and might not finish. Maybe you can catch him.' Grateful for the company but realizing he was the 3rd place runner I moved on.
THAT'S WHAT WE LIKE TO SEE said runners from the 50k who were walking as I jogged past. One girl told me there was another 50 miler just ahead and he was walking. I felt a surge of nervous energy. Around a bend in the road spotted him at an aid station tent. A quick refill of my water flask sent us both up the last climb to the ridge - matching stride for stride. I asked him how he was doing and he grunted something indistinguishable. Either he was hurting so bad he couldn't answer or he was chalk full of grit and wasn't going to let me pass him. Clearly despite his condition he had wheels and would be able to keep up once we got to the last descent. Just before gaining the ridge he slowed to a walk and faded back leaving the door open to put some distance on him. The last time I peered back before the drop to Avalon I saw him rounding a corner not 200 meters behind. I raced the cars that tried to pass me on the tight corners winding down the hillside. I disregarded my aching legs and pounded the downhill pavement. I asked a spectator if he saw anyone in a yellow shirt behind me. At the final straight away I spun round one last time to be sure he wasn't on my heels and then enjoyed a 2nd place finish by the beach.
Avalon Benefit 50 mile (7:25) +8000'
12 dried figs, 1c tailwind
Strava GPS data
KEEP PICKING THEM UP AND PUTTING THEM DOWN said Hal an 85 year old man doing the race for his 25th time. Winding back across the Island towards the start trying not to look back but occasionally tempted to peer across the winding fire roads and spot any chasers, we overlapped the 50k course where runners were strung out consistently along the path. As the course climbed slowly back towards the ridge and a final 10k descent into Avalon I sunk into my breath and tried to relax my legs between strides, running every step of the uphills. Calves ached, hamstrings cramped. It was mentally encouraging to always have someone on the horizon to chase even though they weren't my competition. A buffalo grazed in the phosphorescent green grass by the trail but there was no time to take a photo. Too much to focus on as I caught up to a guy who began running along and asking questions about the day. Said his legs were shot and he wasn't going to PR. 'Just one of those days' he said. 'Word is the runner in first place looks great but 2nd place is fading and might not finish. Maybe you can catch him.' Grateful for the company but realizing he was the 3rd place runner I moved on.
THAT'S WHAT WE LIKE TO SEE said runners from the 50k who were walking as I jogged past. One girl told me there was another 50 miler just ahead and he was walking. I felt a surge of nervous energy. Around a bend in the road spotted him at an aid station tent. A quick refill of my water flask sent us both up the last climb to the ridge - matching stride for stride. I asked him how he was doing and he grunted something indistinguishable. Either he was hurting so bad he couldn't answer or he was chalk full of grit and wasn't going to let me pass him. Clearly despite his condition he had wheels and would be able to keep up once we got to the last descent. Just before gaining the ridge he slowed to a walk and faded back leaving the door open to put some distance on him. The last time I peered back before the drop to Avalon I saw him rounding a corner not 200 meters behind. I raced the cars that tried to pass me on the tight corners winding down the hillside. I disregarded my aching legs and pounded the downhill pavement. I asked a spectator if he saw anyone in a yellow shirt behind me. At the final straight away I spun round one last time to be sure he wasn't on my heels and then enjoyed a 2nd place finish by the beach.
Avalon Benefit 50 mile (7:25) +8000'
12 dried figs, 1c tailwind
Strava GPS data
8.07.2016
SEEKING CLARITY / BALDY 10 SUMMITS
At 6am I leave the gate of Baldy village Ranger Station heading up Bear Creek trail. The lactic builds up in my quads immediately as the steep switchbacks waste no time leading up and away from town through the forested canyon. I catch the sun coming over Telegraph peak to the east at the top of the severe Bear Flat switchbacks. I divert off trail to the West Baldy having seen only one other person on the trail. After a breather I head for Baldy proper. It's one of those windy days where the air whips across the ridge line having risen from thousands of feet below. If you stay ten feet away from the edge you can escape the worst of it but I'm careful that a sudden gust doesn't steal my hat.

On the way down the scree fields lots of folks are making their way up and down. I avoid most of them hopping and sliding around on the rocks doing my best to maintain balance but also keep a fluid pace. With all the climbing in this route I know that the only time I can make up is in the descent. At the saddle with rim of the world trail I divert left up to Harwood peak with it's weather surveillance robot. On the way down to the notch I encounter a lot of runners. Many on the way up. Impressed by this increase in popularity of mountain running I refill my 2 liter pack at the water fountain and begin the climb to Thunder Peak. A jet ski is stranded on the slopes near the top of the chair lift, anchored to the rocks like a ship on dry land. Telegraph peak is one of my favorites. It's so rocky and sits so prominently that the views are unbeatable.

The fatigue of the first five peaks begins to set in as I continue toward the third T. I meet a guy who says I am doing great and that it encourages him. I also meet a girl who asks how far I've come. It's always nice getting to share that you are on a bit of an adventure. I find a water bottle on the way down to icehouse saddle (aargh). I grab the trash and begin the climb to Cucamonga. A little ways up the switchbacks past the big horn saddle I meet a woman asking how far it is to the summit. I try to encourage her but she is skeptical of my mileage estimation. It's not like Ive climbed this peak 10 times or anything! O well. Hope she made it.
After cucamonga I head further east towards a lesser known 8660' peak called Etiwanda. It's quite a descent to approach the peak and after a little trouble determining which one it is I climb a rocky false summit. O well extra miles! Then I get the real thing. I climb back over the Cucamonga ridge and drop back down to bighorn saddle. I get out my headphones for the off-trail climb to Big Horn peak. This is a frustrating, steep ridge that climbs almost 1000' in less than a mile to an anticlimactic peak(in my opinion) I dont spend long, wanting to get on to the final push.By this time Im running out of water. I know I can ration and make it to the peak, but I dont know if the springs in icehouse canyon are flowing which means I may have a long thirsty trek back to the village.

We train in difficult conditions to be emotionally prepared for the onslaught of difficulty. The world doesn't go the way you want it, so instead of trying to change it, which is our usual mode of operation, we must teach ourselves to be flexible and always smile. After summiting Ontario I do my best to roll down through icehouse and down highway 2. The springs are flowing but pretty low so I decide not to risk it. I arrive on the other side of the ranger station gate after 10hrs feeling humbled by these mountains but lucky to have enjoyed so much of them. The great part of this course is that you can see all ten peaks from most places on it.
10 PEAKS, 52k +12,000'
Gps of route:
www.strava.com/activities/667100352
6.09.2016
Crippling Obsession & Benefits of Mediocrity
The customary rattle and clang of my rickety rav4 bounces along forest route 2E18, balanced on a thin line between a machine capable of self-locomotion and a heap of lifeless metal. As the route climbs steadily it rounds the eastern slopes and ridges of Sugarloaf Mountain near Big Bear. Views of the desert floor stretching to the horizon thousands of feet below draw a stark contrast to the alpine forest and oft snow-capped peaks nearby. Stopping for the tenth time to check the photocopied sheet of hand drawn maps marking remote ‘yellow-post’ campsites doesn’t reassure me that I haven’t already passed site #57. The everlasting possibility that it may be around the next bend keeps me inching my way further into the wilderness.
Approaching a saddle at 8500’ the single lane track intersects another fire-road. The campsite is supposed to be off to the left and although this road is not marked on the map it seems diligent to confirm it is not the place. The road quickly deteriorates into loose scree and scraggly brush whistling as it encroaches, scraping the side of the car. It’s the kind of road that a non-4wd vehicle has no business navigating but one of those situations where, once you’ve invested in a bad plan, you keep on investing because to self-arrest is to waste all of that effort already paid. Three quarters of a mile down, at the bottom of the steep rocky descent, the road is closed off to vehicles. There is a meadow fed by Wilhorse spring which is probably not the site but a heavenly place to camp regardless.
The green pasture, the serenading chirps of countless birds, the lack of any traffic noise all descends on me a little riotously. After a moment of withdrawal and panic I settle in to my primitive existence. As breathing slows, the senses flow. The sun sets and a vast star scape scatters above the silhouettes of towering pines. The next morning, having depleted what little water I brought with me, I trek down to the spring to fill up some bottles. After a slow morning of repacking I warm up the engine and decide to give the road a go. The first section near camp is flat but rocky with a deep trench running diagonally which prevents me from gaining speed before hitting the next most steep section, a visibly crumbling slope of ‘golf-ball’ to ‘bowling-ball’ sized boulders and other loose debris. There’s only a few inches to maneuver on each side.
The car stutters as I try to keep the momentum going. Then it lurches and tumbles up onto the slope eventually swerving side to side and grinding loudly as the wheels kick out loose gravel and eventually spin into soft sand beneath. I reverse down the hill. Shaky, I examine the scene of the crime on foot. Then try my approach again angling to the right up the hill a bit. This only causes the loose sand on the hill to collapse as the front wheels slide down laterally getting stuck in a new depression. After reversing and trying again my attempts seem to be getting worse and probably making the road worse too. I stand there for a while listening intently wondering what to do. A distant hum turns out to be nothing more than a plane. In fact, looking up I can see unreachable jetliners heading for LA. I keep an ear out for any passing cars on the parallel fire road 100 meters above me. 0-3 cars drive this traverse on a weekend day.
An adequate answer for the smartass that asks why I brought my measly vehicle out here escapes me as I begin clearing the biggest loosest rocks from the road. I try to drive it again and this doesn’t help a bit. I get out and stand there panting. I clear a few more rocks on the lower section hoping to get a better run up. But when revving the engine the wheels just spin despite the flatter terrain. Akin to riding a bike up a hill covered in coconuts. Stressing out doesn’t help. A chill followed by a warm burning courses through my spine as I realize how STUCK DOWN HERE I am. I'm resigned to trying again despite feeling increasingly helpless. After clearing as much of the loose gravel as I can in the worst areas I give it a little gas and the wheels kick and spin but then miraculously catch and bobble an inch or two ahead then catch and lurch forward a foot swiveling to one side before grinding up a couple feet till they finally spin to a halt.
Cleared patches and brake rocks still in place.
This time, having made it past the original ‘difficult’ portion I throw on the parking break and jump out. Placing big rocks behind each wheel to keep them from rolling back I dig out all the sand and pebbles around the tires. Ankle deep in dirt and rocks, desperation grows. Rest before the next go. It’s difficult even to climb into the car because it’s situated at such a steep angle. It seems the whole thing may just slide backwards at any moment. I unload everything that has any significant weight, jump back in and start it up. I let the car ‘rest’ back on the supporting boulders then accelerate forward till the wheels spin. I repeat this process rhythmically rocking until the wheels finally bounce forward out of the old troughs. It’s going, it’s going? it’s going! Hang on, keep the gas even, don't let head smash into window. The road levels off before curving and rounding another treacherously steep loose area with big misshapen rocks. Somehow I manage to get through on my first try and finally reaching the intersection with the other road I pull the car into some shade and shut it off.
It takes a moment for the shock to lift and the fact that I have actually excavated myself to sink in. Relief washes over me. Silly how it feels like a new lease on life. As I trudge up and down the hill with sleeping bags and camera gear dangling from my limbs I consider how illustrative this experience is. In these moments the great analogy is about the empowerment of overcoming obstacles in all walks of life. But something else teases me. The idea that anyone can experience enlightenment by defeating long odds, but to become a master of any endeavor you must encounter and overcome those particular obstacles time and time again. We train endlessly so that we can sharpen our ability to do this. So that it becomes second nature and doesn’t require conscious effort. If I wanted to become an off-road champion(which I am sure that I don’t) after just narrowly managing to navigate the ascent and escape the ravine I should turn around and drive right back down to the bottom of the hill! This is where many endurance athletes get into dangerous water. By realigning perceptions to view challenges as training, we forget the benefits of paying attention to fear and discomfort. Namely that these intuitions keep us ‘safe’ or sometimes ‘healthy’. If I had listened to the part of me that didn’t want to risk going down an unmarked road which clearly became increasingly difficult, I might have spared myself the panic and potential hazard of getting stranded. Then again one might argue that if we always lived like this we may never come across the unmapped meadows that lie just around the next bend...
Approaching a saddle at 8500’ the single lane track intersects another fire-road. The campsite is supposed to be off to the left and although this road is not marked on the map it seems diligent to confirm it is not the place. The road quickly deteriorates into loose scree and scraggly brush whistling as it encroaches, scraping the side of the car. It’s the kind of road that a non-4wd vehicle has no business navigating but one of those situations where, once you’ve invested in a bad plan, you keep on investing because to self-arrest is to waste all of that effort already paid. Three quarters of a mile down, at the bottom of the steep rocky descent, the road is closed off to vehicles. There is a meadow fed by Wilhorse spring which is probably not the site but a heavenly place to camp regardless.
The green pasture, the serenading chirps of countless birds, the lack of any traffic noise all descends on me a little riotously. After a moment of withdrawal and panic I settle in to my primitive existence. As breathing slows, the senses flow. The sun sets and a vast star scape scatters above the silhouettes of towering pines. The next morning, having depleted what little water I brought with me, I trek down to the spring to fill up some bottles. After a slow morning of repacking I warm up the engine and decide to give the road a go. The first section near camp is flat but rocky with a deep trench running diagonally which prevents me from gaining speed before hitting the next most steep section, a visibly crumbling slope of ‘golf-ball’ to ‘bowling-ball’ sized boulders and other loose debris. There’s only a few inches to maneuver on each side.
The car stutters as I try to keep the momentum going. Then it lurches and tumbles up onto the slope eventually swerving side to side and grinding loudly as the wheels kick out loose gravel and eventually spin into soft sand beneath. I reverse down the hill. Shaky, I examine the scene of the crime on foot. Then try my approach again angling to the right up the hill a bit. This only causes the loose sand on the hill to collapse as the front wheels slide down laterally getting stuck in a new depression. After reversing and trying again my attempts seem to be getting worse and probably making the road worse too. I stand there for a while listening intently wondering what to do. A distant hum turns out to be nothing more than a plane. In fact, looking up I can see unreachable jetliners heading for LA. I keep an ear out for any passing cars on the parallel fire road 100 meters above me. 0-3 cars drive this traverse on a weekend day.
An adequate answer for the smartass that asks why I brought my measly vehicle out here escapes me as I begin clearing the biggest loosest rocks from the road. I try to drive it again and this doesn’t help a bit. I get out and stand there panting. I clear a few more rocks on the lower section hoping to get a better run up. But when revving the engine the wheels just spin despite the flatter terrain. Akin to riding a bike up a hill covered in coconuts. Stressing out doesn’t help. A chill followed by a warm burning courses through my spine as I realize how STUCK DOWN HERE I am. I'm resigned to trying again despite feeling increasingly helpless. After clearing as much of the loose gravel as I can in the worst areas I give it a little gas and the wheels kick and spin but then miraculously catch and bobble an inch or two ahead then catch and lurch forward a foot swiveling to one side before grinding up a couple feet till they finally spin to a halt.
Cleared patches and brake rocks still in place.
This time, having made it past the original ‘difficult’ portion I throw on the parking break and jump out. Placing big rocks behind each wheel to keep them from rolling back I dig out all the sand and pebbles around the tires. Ankle deep in dirt and rocks, desperation grows. Rest before the next go. It’s difficult even to climb into the car because it’s situated at such a steep angle. It seems the whole thing may just slide backwards at any moment. I unload everything that has any significant weight, jump back in and start it up. I let the car ‘rest’ back on the supporting boulders then accelerate forward till the wheels spin. I repeat this process rhythmically rocking until the wheels finally bounce forward out of the old troughs. It’s going, it’s going? it’s going! Hang on, keep the gas even, don't let head smash into window. The road levels off before curving and rounding another treacherously steep loose area with big misshapen rocks. Somehow I manage to get through on my first try and finally reaching the intersection with the other road I pull the car into some shade and shut it off.
It takes a moment for the shock to lift and the fact that I have actually excavated myself to sink in. Relief washes over me. Silly how it feels like a new lease on life. As I trudge up and down the hill with sleeping bags and camera gear dangling from my limbs I consider how illustrative this experience is. In these moments the great analogy is about the empowerment of overcoming obstacles in all walks of life. But something else teases me. The idea that anyone can experience enlightenment by defeating long odds, but to become a master of any endeavor you must encounter and overcome those particular obstacles time and time again. We train endlessly so that we can sharpen our ability to do this. So that it becomes second nature and doesn’t require conscious effort. If I wanted to become an off-road champion(which I am sure that I don’t) after just narrowly managing to navigate the ascent and escape the ravine I should turn around and drive right back down to the bottom of the hill! This is where many endurance athletes get into dangerous water. By realigning perceptions to view challenges as training, we forget the benefits of paying attention to fear and discomfort. Namely that these intuitions keep us ‘safe’ or sometimes ‘healthy’. If I had listened to the part of me that didn’t want to risk going down an unmarked road which clearly became increasingly difficult, I might have spared myself the panic and potential hazard of getting stranded. Then again one might argue that if we always lived like this we may never come across the unmapped meadows that lie just around the next bend...
3.04.2016
ACUPUNCTURE
We don't often allow ourselves to sit and do nothing. Despite our increasingly sedentary lifestyles we are 'going' at 90mph more than ever. Arguably most of us are doing things that don't amount to much like checking Instagram 90% of the time, but to our brains we might as well be hunting our dinner.
My initial curiosity with acupuncture came from a sticky running injury (plantar fasciitis) which I have been battling (on and off) for over two years rendering me with the desperate willingness to try anything that could remotely help. I had all but given up on running, resorting to walking a mile on 'good' days. At first I assumed that, living in LA, I just drive to much which didn't letting my right foot recover. So I bought a bike to avoid running errands in the car and wallah I was back on the move. Pretty soon I was taking 40 mile rides and my calves were so tight I could hear people commenting on them in Trader Joe's. That seemed to aggravate my PF(the tight calves, not the complements) so I quit biking. Actually my bike was stolen so I didn't have a choice. This lit a fire for me to fix this once and for all. I threw everything I could think of at it... night splints, orthotics, rollers of every shape and kind, A R T massages, chamomile to relax the muscles and fish oil to reduce inflammation(not at the same time).
So I explain this saga as well as the stabbing pain in my foot and tightness in my achilles/calf to the acupuncturist who has a Phd in eastern medicine. After conversing a bit he swabs a couple areas on the lower leg and sticks just three needles in my leg the first time, sometimes adding one on recurring visits. They aren't deep and most of them go in painlessly, but the muscles on the inside of my heal are super sore given all the nerves in the feet. I flinch every time one of those is tapped in. Then he places electronic pulse massager pads over the painful areas and leaves me in the dimly lit room for 45 minutes with this meditative trance-inducing ohm music playing over the buildings intercom/stereo system. On his way out of the room he always says, "lets have you rest".
Okay, so here I am trying to figure out the best way to be a patient of this holistic medicine. I immediately realize that it's better to leave the phone in the car if I'm to resist the urge of taking pictures of the needles sticking out of my leg. After decidedly placing my phone as far away as possible I begin to relax. Pretty soon I find myself breathing in time with the music and almost falling asleep. Thoughts about the day float in and out of my mind but mostly I'm imagining the pain melting away like butter in a pan. Im imagining oxygen flowing through my veins to my whole body. Im suddenly struck by the thought that the needles' ability to heal me is completely controlled by me. And even if they don't physically/scientifically change my nerves and muscles, it's beneficial taking this time to release the stress that is built up by never letting my mind just be. If my insurance covered meditation rooms I would pay the copay just to use them! but wait, i know what you're thinking, I can do this on my own can't I? While it's the permission of a doctor telling you to rest that expels the anxiety pervading the rest of life (potentially because it's what our parents used to do?), there's no reason we can't learn to set aside that time each day or at least once a week for some golden concentrated nothingness. We'd probably be better mentally prepared to take on the world.
The doctor comes back after my time is up and takes out the needles which have numbed up. The one in my foot doesn't hurt when he pulls it out. Of course this is just one element of proper recovery, and wether it's the deadening of the nerves or the care of a medical practitioner or the meditative time spent zen-ing out I feel that it helps. In any case...
✓ tried acupuncture
My initial curiosity with acupuncture came from a sticky running injury (plantar fasciitis) which I have been battling (on and off) for over two years rendering me with the desperate willingness to try anything that could remotely help. I had all but given up on running, resorting to walking a mile on 'good' days. At first I assumed that, living in LA, I just drive to much which didn't letting my right foot recover. So I bought a bike to avoid running errands in the car and wallah I was back on the move. Pretty soon I was taking 40 mile rides and my calves were so tight I could hear people commenting on them in Trader Joe's. That seemed to aggravate my PF(the tight calves, not the complements) so I quit biking. Actually my bike was stolen so I didn't have a choice. This lit a fire for me to fix this once and for all. I threw everything I could think of at it... night splints, orthotics, rollers of every shape and kind, A R T massages, chamomile to relax the muscles and fish oil to reduce inflammation(not at the same time).
So I explain this saga as well as the stabbing pain in my foot and tightness in my achilles/calf to the acupuncturist who has a Phd in eastern medicine. After conversing a bit he swabs a couple areas on the lower leg and sticks just three needles in my leg the first time, sometimes adding one on recurring visits. They aren't deep and most of them go in painlessly, but the muscles on the inside of my heal are super sore given all the nerves in the feet. I flinch every time one of those is tapped in. Then he places electronic pulse massager pads over the painful areas and leaves me in the dimly lit room for 45 minutes with this meditative trance-inducing ohm music playing over the buildings intercom/stereo system. On his way out of the room he always says, "lets have you rest".
Okay, so here I am trying to figure out the best way to be a patient of this holistic medicine. I immediately realize that it's better to leave the phone in the car if I'm to resist the urge of taking pictures of the needles sticking out of my leg. After decidedly placing my phone as far away as possible I begin to relax. Pretty soon I find myself breathing in time with the music and almost falling asleep. Thoughts about the day float in and out of my mind but mostly I'm imagining the pain melting away like butter in a pan. Im imagining oxygen flowing through my veins to my whole body. Im suddenly struck by the thought that the needles' ability to heal me is completely controlled by me. And even if they don't physically/scientifically change my nerves and muscles, it's beneficial taking this time to release the stress that is built up by never letting my mind just be. If my insurance covered meditation rooms I would pay the copay just to use them! but wait, i know what you're thinking, I can do this on my own can't I? While it's the permission of a doctor telling you to rest that expels the anxiety pervading the rest of life (potentially because it's what our parents used to do?), there's no reason we can't learn to set aside that time each day or at least once a week for some golden concentrated nothingness. We'd probably be better mentally prepared to take on the world.
The doctor comes back after my time is up and takes out the needles which have numbed up. The one in my foot doesn't hurt when he pulls it out. Of course this is just one element of proper recovery, and wether it's the deadening of the nerves or the care of a medical practitioner or the meditative time spent zen-ing out I feel that it helps. In any case...
✓ tried acupuncture
2.25.2016
Harmony in the Details
Exercise is good for you.
Exercise is bad for you.
Running makes you smarter.
Running shrinks your brain.
Scientific news at best has it's limits and is at worst completely frustrating. Reading through the sources of scientific journals where these sound bites are derived may seem pointless for the layman. If you have the patience to bore through the terminology keeping an eye out for the broad strokes you generally find that the science often proves a single common sense principle... moderation and balance. There are far fewer good things and bad things than we tend to perceive. Just because a particular vitamin is essential for life doesn't mean that taking (ample) amounts of it extracted into a pill will be better for the body. Timothy Ferris followed a similar principle in his 4 hour body self experiments attempting to find just the right amount of input to get the desired results from his body, believing that any more was unnecessary and potentially harmful. In this article about free radicals and antioxidants it mentions both the purpose of free radicals and the damage they can do when out of control. So there is a benefit to taking antioxidants but you don't want your body to stop producing them. The same way you don't want to completely wipe out your gut microbes with antibiotics if you can help it. They are there for a reason.
A running injury that has plagued me for the last year+ seems to be a similar imbalance. Friends and family shrug and nod as if to say yea of course every runner gets injured cause it's hard on your body and that's what the doctors have said all along. I was admittedly one of those Born to Run folks who believe that we are all natural runners, and injury is just us not taking care of our bodies. Running on pavement in 'technologically' advanced shoes that are supposed to make you a better runner, whatever that means. Maybe everyone else was right and I should go back to eating spaghetti and hitting the gym when I can bear it. Start complaining about my age and lack of time over my third beer. There's still this breeze that beckons me to start over. While I have a bent towards the extreme and am attracted to purism there's work to be done to fix the imbalance that's hurting my foot and get back to doing what makes me the happiest - moving over the land. All the time remembering to care for my body as much as I enjoy forgetting that it's there.
The Transeurope Footrace Project
Long Distance Running and Knee Osteoarthritis
Adverse Cardiovascular Effects from Excessive Endurance Exercise
Exercise is bad for you.
Running makes you smarter.
Running shrinks your brain.
Scientific news at best has it's limits and is at worst completely frustrating. Reading through the sources of scientific journals where these sound bites are derived may seem pointless for the layman. If you have the patience to bore through the terminology keeping an eye out for the broad strokes you generally find that the science often proves a single common sense principle... moderation and balance. There are far fewer good things and bad things than we tend to perceive. Just because a particular vitamin is essential for life doesn't mean that taking (ample) amounts of it extracted into a pill will be better for the body. Timothy Ferris followed a similar principle in his 4 hour body self experiments attempting to find just the right amount of input to get the desired results from his body, believing that any more was unnecessary and potentially harmful. In this article about free radicals and antioxidants it mentions both the purpose of free radicals and the damage they can do when out of control. So there is a benefit to taking antioxidants but you don't want your body to stop producing them. The same way you don't want to completely wipe out your gut microbes with antibiotics if you can help it. They are there for a reason.
A running injury that has plagued me for the last year+ seems to be a similar imbalance. Friends and family shrug and nod as if to say yea of course every runner gets injured cause it's hard on your body and that's what the doctors have said all along. I was admittedly one of those Born to Run folks who believe that we are all natural runners, and injury is just us not taking care of our bodies. Running on pavement in 'technologically' advanced shoes that are supposed to make you a better runner, whatever that means. Maybe everyone else was right and I should go back to eating spaghetti and hitting the gym when I can bear it. Start complaining about my age and lack of time over my third beer. There's still this breeze that beckons me to start over. While I have a bent towards the extreme and am attracted to purism there's work to be done to fix the imbalance that's hurting my foot and get back to doing what makes me the happiest - moving over the land. All the time remembering to care for my body as much as I enjoy forgetting that it's there.
The Transeurope Footrace Project
Long Distance Running and Knee Osteoarthritis
Adverse Cardiovascular Effects from Excessive Endurance Exercise
1.09.2016
THE MT. KENYA CIRCUIT (DEC 2013)
OLD MOSES CAMP 10,000'
I wake in the early hours, my body relaxed and ready. I crawl out of the tent quietly and find the wind has died down for the first time since we drove up through the forest to camp above tree line two days ago. The quiet calm now draped over the land buoyed my spirit like a warm blanket while a bright sliver of moon cast silvery shadows. I find my way to the wooden outhouse fitted with a flushing toilet.
Twenty minutes later Steve(my brother) and I are dressed and leaving the campsite behind. Lights from Kisumu, miles away on the valley floor shimmer at us as we follow the marshy trail up into the star dappled sky. Dew from swamp-grass lining the trail brushes our legs. We move swiftly trying to keep our feet dry, wanting to make good use of our early departure. Dropping down and climbing out of yet another marshy ravine through landscape reminiscent of the vertical bog on MacKinders route, we stop briefly to remove wind jackets and pants. We knew how silly we would look in bare running garb whilst every other person on the mountain had boots, poles, packs and other 'proper' hiking gear. We just hoped we weren't fools for attempting an alpine approach to this 16,000' peak circuit.
View of the peaks as we approach from the North
SHIPTON'S CAMP 14,100'
As the sky reveals an approaching dawn we cross laterally into a large valley, between two 'ribs' of the mountain, which the trail follows. The dark Goliath rock formations atop those ribs cast titanic shadows across the valley letting us know that we have entered a different scale of a place. We stop to fill our packs with water from a stream just before passing by the teams sleeping in Shiptons hut, a camp where people typically stay the night before summiting the next day. Above this the real climb through scree fields begins. The trail is difficult to pick out amongst the rocks. Somehow every time you turn around it seems that you have missed the main route and are following at best goat trails which criss-cross it.
Scree slope, Batian and Nelion towering in the background
POINT LENANA 16,335'
The shear scale of the mountain rising out of a land that rolls forever away into the distance begins to sink in as the hint of altitude begins it's subtle advancement. I'm struggling to catch my breath, getting aggravated at the unsure footing and my inability to keep pace. The sun is already scorching despite the bitter wind that whips up from the south.
Steve analyzing best route to the summit
We've crossed onto the ridge that runs east up to point Lenana. 2000 feet below on the other side, Harris tarn glistens it's emerald green waters inviting us to take a swim and relax on it's inviting shores. We cross an icy patch of snow which quickly reminds us that the environment is becoming increasingly hostile. Stark jagged spires stand silhouetted against a deep blue sky above us. My chest pounds as we bolder steadily up the west side to arrive at the summit.
Looking south from summit towards Chogoria route
We stay for long enough to soak in the 360 view. Far below the wispy vapors of infant clouds rise on turbulent winds channeling up the walls of the valleys gaining mass as they rise. To the south we can see the gorge that runs beside Chogoria route, to the north on the far side of Lewis glacier the peaks of Batian and Nelion rise sharply towering above 5000m. We can make out a red spec climbing up the face, a climber on his way to the top. As we descend along the eastern ridge towards the MacKinders route we loose the trail but some guides resting near Austrian hut call to us and point the way.
Summit glee, a long ways yet to go
MACKINDERS VALLEY 13,780'
We take off down the eastern scree slope haphazardly as any effort to brake causes immediate skidding. The better time we make here the more we increase our chances of completing the circuit before weather moves in. We refill our packs for the second time when we reach the bottom of MacKinder's valley where a river takes glacier melt away from the peaks.
We installed filters in our packs and drank from mountain streams
We follow the trail down this valley till we can see MacKinders hut and smell the kerosine stoves preparing stews for the guided expeditions. Just before reaching camp we follow a branch of the trail which climbs up the south side of the valley. I find myself involuntarily stopping to rest too often. The sun feels like it is microwaving us, it's rays somehow magnified by the whispy cloud cover brewing above. We check the map multiple times as we pass between Hut tarn and Nanyuki tarn. Confident of our route around the north side of Batian and Nelion we push on into a dense fog. We scramble across black ledges built for giants. Up and over scree covered ridges running off the peaks then back down across more ledges.
Climbing towards the peak circuit trail, MacKinders hut in background.
HAUSBERG COL 15,060'
My head feels as though it has a stake running straight through it. The physical manifestation of this sheer pain forces me to squint my eyes and reach for something to hang to. The world around me dims and brightens, spins and shakes. We climb up towards Hausberg col, a sandy slope where every step forward slides your foot back to where it started. Progress seems impossible like running on a hamster wheel while someone hits you on the head with a hammer. Eventually somehow, I hear Steve ahead saying it's close. The ground begins to level off and sure enough we stammer across the top. I want to sit and weep and sleep but my legs know better. They simply continue over the far side and begin descending into the high bogs above Shipton's hut. We lose our route than find it again multiple times passing through a misty marsh with astute Senecio keniodendron growing around us.
Descending the far side of Hausberg Col
NO WARM SOUP WAITING... BACK TO OLD MOSES
Shipton's is now bustling with activity. Porters and cooks are washing vegetables, setting up tables, and preparing accommodations for the tourists who will arrive here later in the day. They will stay a night or two before climbing to Lenana. We pass a group of them on the trail below camp. One of the guides who knew about our attempt, was curious whether we were successful. The group congratulated us and shook our hands as we passed. It doesn't matter to me if no one in the world knows what we set out to do, but it felt nice that someone was genuinely excited for us to accomplish our goal.
Steve descending to Shipton's, Batian and Nelion in background
Back down on the trail we ascended earlier in the day my headache begins to substantially subside. The clouds turn into heavy mist and we stop to put on jackets. Guides and tourists marching solemnly through the highlands gaze curiously up at us from under their gortex hoods when we run by, ready to be done with it all.
Mist turns to light rain as we reach the final miles
Winding back through the marsh my mind wanders over and over how far we've come from the initial brainstorm of an idea to actually completing the run! It was hard to imagine anything being so satisfying and surprising. Like finding out you have an extra holiday you weren't expecting. But I know that some kind of stubborn confidence got us there and pushed us through. When your perceived chances of success are very narrow and the work necessary to achieve that success is great, motivation doesn't well up inside you. Sometimes all you can do is tell yourself it can be done, and start making steps in the right direction. As my dad likes to say, "it's never too late to plan ahead."
Old Moses to Mt Kenya circuit route
41k +7875' 7:53:33
www.strava.com/activities/104649572
I wake in the early hours, my body relaxed and ready. I crawl out of the tent quietly and find the wind has died down for the first time since we drove up through the forest to camp above tree line two days ago. The quiet calm now draped over the land buoyed my spirit like a warm blanket while a bright sliver of moon cast silvery shadows. I find my way to the wooden outhouse fitted with a flushing toilet.
Twenty minutes later Steve(my brother) and I are dressed and leaving the campsite behind. Lights from Kisumu, miles away on the valley floor shimmer at us as we follow the marshy trail up into the star dappled sky. Dew from swamp-grass lining the trail brushes our legs. We move swiftly trying to keep our feet dry, wanting to make good use of our early departure. Dropping down and climbing out of yet another marshy ravine through landscape reminiscent of the vertical bog on MacKinders route, we stop briefly to remove wind jackets and pants. We knew how silly we would look in bare running garb whilst every other person on the mountain had boots, poles, packs and other 'proper' hiking gear. We just hoped we weren't fools for attempting an alpine approach to this 16,000' peak circuit.
SHIPTON'S CAMP 14,100'
As the sky reveals an approaching dawn we cross laterally into a large valley, between two 'ribs' of the mountain, which the trail follows. The dark Goliath rock formations atop those ribs cast titanic shadows across the valley letting us know that we have entered a different scale of a place. We stop to fill our packs with water from a stream just before passing by the teams sleeping in Shiptons hut, a camp where people typically stay the night before summiting the next day. Above this the real climb through scree fields begins. The trail is difficult to pick out amongst the rocks. Somehow every time you turn around it seems that you have missed the main route and are following at best goat trails which criss-cross it.
POINT LENANA 16,335'
The shear scale of the mountain rising out of a land that rolls forever away into the distance begins to sink in as the hint of altitude begins it's subtle advancement. I'm struggling to catch my breath, getting aggravated at the unsure footing and my inability to keep pace. The sun is already scorching despite the bitter wind that whips up from the south.
We've crossed onto the ridge that runs east up to point Lenana. 2000 feet below on the other side, Harris tarn glistens it's emerald green waters inviting us to take a swim and relax on it's inviting shores. We cross an icy patch of snow which quickly reminds us that the environment is becoming increasingly hostile. Stark jagged spires stand silhouetted against a deep blue sky above us. My chest pounds as we bolder steadily up the west side to arrive at the summit.
We stay for long enough to soak in the 360 view. Far below the wispy vapors of infant clouds rise on turbulent winds channeling up the walls of the valleys gaining mass as they rise. To the south we can see the gorge that runs beside Chogoria route, to the north on the far side of Lewis glacier the peaks of Batian and Nelion rise sharply towering above 5000m. We can make out a red spec climbing up the face, a climber on his way to the top. As we descend along the eastern ridge towards the MacKinders route we loose the trail but some guides resting near Austrian hut call to us and point the way.
MACKINDERS VALLEY 13,780'
We take off down the eastern scree slope haphazardly as any effort to brake causes immediate skidding. The better time we make here the more we increase our chances of completing the circuit before weather moves in. We refill our packs for the second time when we reach the bottom of MacKinder's valley where a river takes glacier melt away from the peaks.
We follow the trail down this valley till we can see MacKinders hut and smell the kerosine stoves preparing stews for the guided expeditions. Just before reaching camp we follow a branch of the trail which climbs up the south side of the valley. I find myself involuntarily stopping to rest too often. The sun feels like it is microwaving us, it's rays somehow magnified by the whispy cloud cover brewing above. We check the map multiple times as we pass between Hut tarn and Nanyuki tarn. Confident of our route around the north side of Batian and Nelion we push on into a dense fog. We scramble across black ledges built for giants. Up and over scree covered ridges running off the peaks then back down across more ledges.
HAUSBERG COL 15,060'
My head feels as though it has a stake running straight through it. The physical manifestation of this sheer pain forces me to squint my eyes and reach for something to hang to. The world around me dims and brightens, spins and shakes. We climb up towards Hausberg col, a sandy slope where every step forward slides your foot back to where it started. Progress seems impossible like running on a hamster wheel while someone hits you on the head with a hammer. Eventually somehow, I hear Steve ahead saying it's close. The ground begins to level off and sure enough we stammer across the top. I want to sit and weep and sleep but my legs know better. They simply continue over the far side and begin descending into the high bogs above Shipton's hut. We lose our route than find it again multiple times passing through a misty marsh with astute Senecio keniodendron growing around us.
NO WARM SOUP WAITING... BACK TO OLD MOSES
Shipton's is now bustling with activity. Porters and cooks are washing vegetables, setting up tables, and preparing accommodations for the tourists who will arrive here later in the day. They will stay a night or two before climbing to Lenana. We pass a group of them on the trail below camp. One of the guides who knew about our attempt, was curious whether we were successful. The group congratulated us and shook our hands as we passed. It doesn't matter to me if no one in the world knows what we set out to do, but it felt nice that someone was genuinely excited for us to accomplish our goal.
Back down on the trail we ascended earlier in the day my headache begins to substantially subside. The clouds turn into heavy mist and we stop to put on jackets. Guides and tourists marching solemnly through the highlands gaze curiously up at us from under their gortex hoods when we run by, ready to be done with it all.
Winding back through the marsh my mind wanders over and over how far we've come from the initial brainstorm of an idea to actually completing the run! It was hard to imagine anything being so satisfying and surprising. Like finding out you have an extra holiday you weren't expecting. But I know that some kind of stubborn confidence got us there and pushed us through. When your perceived chances of success are very narrow and the work necessary to achieve that success is great, motivation doesn't well up inside you. Sometimes all you can do is tell yourself it can be done, and start making steps in the right direction. As my dad likes to say, "it's never too late to plan ahead."
Old Moses to Mt Kenya circuit route
41k +7875' 7:53:33
www.strava.com/activities/104649572
10.27.2015
the Rest of it
Going through phases of life and work feeling like it's a race. Chasing deadlines, rushing through errands, trying to catch up with the world. There's too much to do and never enough time. Stuck in traffic, hurrying to get nowhere, missing out on everything. It's boring being so busy and never feeling like it's enough. This is what is so attractive about racing and even adventure running. Set up some arbitrary goal and once you cross that finish line it feels GOOD. Getting to one peak often brings into view another but it also opens up space to reset and redefine priorities. Distractions which fill up life and make us feel overwhelmed seem a helluva lot less tempting when you've tasted the rewards of reaching a goal. It suddenly becomes obvious to ignore the constantly bombarding peripheral impulses which tend to suffocate by posing as distractions that can insulate you from the demands of having agreed to take on more than you can handle. You run out of time by not taking the time to stop and be. Its not just about doing. Its about breathing. A rhythm without space between the beats is just noise. It takes confidence to stop drowning out insecurities and make room for the quiet spaces.
10.18.2015
Twin Peaks Ultras
After flying home from two weeks in Nepal on Wednesday I was hungry to be back in the so cal mountains. I claimed my free entry to Twin Peaks 50 and two days later discovered how tough 50k can be on almost no training. My lungs were burning 1 mile into the climb up Indian Truck Trail out of Corona, following a pack of 5 leaders who were moving effortlessly away. I was already sweating profusely despite it still being dark. Already in survival mode at mile 10 dropping down into Trabuco Canyon getting passed by one then another runner I was forced to let go of what feeble attempts at competition I may have been dreaming of. Climbing the 8 miles (4000+ gain) out of Trabuco canyon towards Santiago peak my legs cramping and powerless. It's a fresh and raw feeling like my first 50k a couple years ago. Gritting my teeth, quads-a-blazing with pain, wondering how I would ever get my failing body to the finish. Then open my eyes and see an amazing view that I would've missed if not for the race. Low clouds rush into a canyon below, the deep orange sun streaking through the pines. After summiting and beginning a rocky descent I grapple with how far I have fallen from the seemingly invincible 100 mile training days a year ago when I was beginning to think 50k shouldn't really be considered an ultra. But ultimately I'm happy to be alive and in the mountains. I'm grateful my house didn't get destroyed in an earthquake. Starting to see that it's not all about being your fittest or racing to win. Sometimes you just step back and enjoy being out there even if you're not in shape. It's great to be a part of the community again, sitting at the finish with fellow sufferers cussing about how difficult the race was, listening to race director Jessica laughing on the radio than proudly announcing the mounting number of people who have succumbed and dropped from her race.
05:56
33 miles
+8600'
paksitphotos.us
05:56
33 miles
+8600'
paksitphotos.us
10.14.2015
Resilience as a State of Being
Several month after two major earthquakes rattled Nepal, the rebuilding has only just begun. Piles of rubble where temples used to be and skeleton-like frames of houses with the walls blown out, reveal how powerful the quakes must have been, from Kathmandu all the way up into the higher elevations. Those living in the hardest hit areas remark how for a month there were numerous aftershocks each day rating up to 5.0 or more. As the process of clearing rubble and trying to start over begins, buildings with cracks in the walls are still braced with long 2 x 4's, a desperate measure to help them hold together. Local Nepali's aren't out complaining or asking for a hand out. They smile and greet every passerby, earnestly recounting tales of those lost in the rubble when prompted, then persuasively returning to the task at hand. First and foremost they need to restore access routes for supplies, goods, and tourists(business). Young and old chip in and help clear trails to remote mountain villages which were cutoff by the many landslides that wiped out access to this steep volatile region. Resilience at it's finest. Women use head straps to carry 20-30lb rocks from the field to a road where groups of men smash the stones into form fitting shapes which they piece into the new cobblestone road. Their strength inspires me.
vimeo.com/stats/video/148932074
vimeo.com/stats/video/148932074
8.30.2015
HOOD to COAST 2015 - Team Relay
Jorge asked me if I wanted to be recommended for a running team at work. I'd heard their stories of spending 24+ hrs in a van during long relay races around California and while Im a bit of a trail snob, preferring to avoid pavement at all costs, it struck me as an adventure I needed to try once in my life. As the team went through its natural cycle of people dropping out with last minute disillusionment or scheduling conflicts a spot opened up and I threw my name in the hat for their next race.
Hood to coast is the biggest relay event in the world. It was established in 1982 with 8 teams of ten runners making their way from Mt. Hood to Seaside, OR. This year 1200 teams consisting of 8-12 people take turns running legs that vary in length from 3-8 miles until they cover the 197 miles. Despite knowing this I wasn't prepared for the scale of this event. From start to finish there was never a stretch of road without several runners strung along it making their way steadily to the coast. And there were truly people of all kinds(speeds, ethnicities, shapes & sizes) out there. Each persons goal (besides running several legs) is to recover from your pervious leg while cramped in the team van heading to the next exchange point where a new runner will be dropped off. We made the mistake once of navigating to the wrong exchange point and having to go back to get our runner who had been waiting there for an hour! Each runner cannot continue for more then their own leg so this was a total waste of time. This means that even when you're not running you need to become a very efficient and conscious team keeping track of what is going on. There's no rest.
What made this year special was the weather. After three weeks of gorgeous summer days Oregon was slated to get a heavy downpour the night of the race. Lightning and rain hit around 9pm as we got through Portland. I was selected for a particularly hilly night leg in the forest on gravel roads. I waited at the starting point with a bright vest they make you wear at night and a bib. Molly cruised in from her run and slapped the race band on my wrist as my team cheered. My inexperience at running these shorter distances was displayed as I red lined out of the gate. After weeks of anticipation and two days of thorough discussion about every aspect of the race the feeling is that of a caged bull waiting to be ridden. I was ready to get the damn thing off my back. Quickly I realized my pace-induced asthma was not going to get me very far. Instead of slowing down I tried to breath deeply and relax my body. The rain kept down the dust from the gravel road somewhat and kept me cool as the steady string of headlamps ahead created a continuous supply of carrots to chase. There ware fern bushes and silhouettes of gigantic pine trees over hanging the winding road as it disappeared into the darkness beyond my light. After sprinting to the finish and handing off to the next runner I jumped in the van and tried to dry off. My legs cramped up as we drove to the next exchange.
It wasn't until the morning as we neared the coast that 50-60 mph winds blew rain and debris like sheets of stinging bees into our faces. Jorge, Lani and Josh had the last three legs which were particularly inhospitable. When we pulled up the exchange the wind was shaking our car as if at any minute it would take flight. Running head first into these winds was like running on a treadmill. The worst part was standing at the checkpoint in the freezing gusts waiting for our runner to show up trying not to get blown over. This pales in comparison to the 3000 volunteers along the course who were posted out in the open assisting all the athletes. They have my complete respect and admiration.
We ran the last 100 yards through cheering crowds to a make-shift finish line in Seaside. The real finish line had blown over along with major portions of scaffolding from the giant after party tents which was cancelled. I was more in need of a shower and sleep than a party so I couldn't have complained. We had our own team gathering and celebrated an epic 200 mile adventure together. Its strange how one night can transform strangers into the most familiar faces... The camaraderie of working together towards a unified goal was something I will savor from this experience.
Jorge handing off to Josh for the final leg
Our team in front of the torn down after party
Hood to coast is the biggest relay event in the world. It was established in 1982 with 8 teams of ten runners making their way from Mt. Hood to Seaside, OR. This year 1200 teams consisting of 8-12 people take turns running legs that vary in length from 3-8 miles until they cover the 197 miles. Despite knowing this I wasn't prepared for the scale of this event. From start to finish there was never a stretch of road without several runners strung along it making their way steadily to the coast. And there were truly people of all kinds(speeds, ethnicities, shapes & sizes) out there. Each persons goal (besides running several legs) is to recover from your pervious leg while cramped in the team van heading to the next exchange point where a new runner will be dropped off. We made the mistake once of navigating to the wrong exchange point and having to go back to get our runner who had been waiting there for an hour! Each runner cannot continue for more then their own leg so this was a total waste of time. This means that even when you're not running you need to become a very efficient and conscious team keeping track of what is going on. There's no rest.
What made this year special was the weather. After three weeks of gorgeous summer days Oregon was slated to get a heavy downpour the night of the race. Lightning and rain hit around 9pm as we got through Portland. I was selected for a particularly hilly night leg in the forest on gravel roads. I waited at the starting point with a bright vest they make you wear at night and a bib. Molly cruised in from her run and slapped the race band on my wrist as my team cheered. My inexperience at running these shorter distances was displayed as I red lined out of the gate. After weeks of anticipation and two days of thorough discussion about every aspect of the race the feeling is that of a caged bull waiting to be ridden. I was ready to get the damn thing off my back. Quickly I realized my pace-induced asthma was not going to get me very far. Instead of slowing down I tried to breath deeply and relax my body. The rain kept down the dust from the gravel road somewhat and kept me cool as the steady string of headlamps ahead created a continuous supply of carrots to chase. There ware fern bushes and silhouettes of gigantic pine trees over hanging the winding road as it disappeared into the darkness beyond my light. After sprinting to the finish and handing off to the next runner I jumped in the van and tried to dry off. My legs cramped up as we drove to the next exchange.
It wasn't until the morning as we neared the coast that 50-60 mph winds blew rain and debris like sheets of stinging bees into our faces. Jorge, Lani and Josh had the last three legs which were particularly inhospitable. When we pulled up the exchange the wind was shaking our car as if at any minute it would take flight. Running head first into these winds was like running on a treadmill. The worst part was standing at the checkpoint in the freezing gusts waiting for our runner to show up trying not to get blown over. This pales in comparison to the 3000 volunteers along the course who were posted out in the open assisting all the athletes. They have my complete respect and admiration.
We ran the last 100 yards through cheering crowds to a make-shift finish line in Seaside. The real finish line had blown over along with major portions of scaffolding from the giant after party tents which was cancelled. I was more in need of a shower and sleep than a party so I couldn't have complained. We had our own team gathering and celebrated an epic 200 mile adventure together. Its strange how one night can transform strangers into the most familiar faces... The camaraderie of working together towards a unified goal was something I will savor from this experience.
8.23.2015
The Hardest Choice is Often the Right One
The ultra mindset often puts me in a compromising position of wanting to seize every opportunity, feeling like I can do everything and almost being stubborn to accept anything less which would be a form of mediocrity. You find yourself behaving like an addict, suddenly waking up mid run to the glaring reality that you should be resting that swollen ankle before heading to the airport if you plan to continue running the rest of the year! Or like what the hell was I thinking running 10 miles on a stress fractured shin anyway? Denial is the first method of treatment for any injury. Like a pile of dirty clothes building up in the corner. You deeply hope with some jedi optimism that what you choose not to see will magically disappear. If only those invisibility sunglasses were real. The ultimate conflict is that you want to do the training as long as you 'might' do the race. Even if your injury will get worse, prohibiting you from running the race, you feel compelled to keep training for it.
8.13.2015
Cautious Optimism
It's easy to write about the crunchy days. Ones full of grit and sweat. Mistakes and perseverance. A story without conflict is a contradiction.
I have these moments, that are easily forgotten, where my fitness, motivation, nutrition, and pace converge into perfection. It's hard to describe these brief periods of time without sounding like some utopian dream or by alluding to a drug induced euphoria.
Usually in the back half of a long trail you slide into these highs and feel invincible, like you could run forever. Not because of physical prowess but because of mental problem solving. Theres a deeper sensation that you are discovering a piece of yourself that was always there waiting to be discovered. To better yourself. To realize the future. You are at once present, aware of the universe, and also removed from the pain and mortal risk of being alone in the wild. It just feels good.
Remembering positive moments is important to balance out the drama that pervades and tends to define our lives which are more realistically mundane and confined in nature. We can usually be grateful things aren't a whole of a lot worse.
The rare blissful moments stand out poignantly in stark contrast to the adrenal fatigue and OTS I was experiencing a year ago. Exhaustion was all I remember. It felt bizarre needing to take a seat after being winded from putting on my shorts and shoes to go for jog. Unable to train except for short bouts here and there made me even more lethargic. I would walk to the trail head then find some grass to lay down on. I was increasingly confused and despondent. Unable to sleep well exacerbated the situation. Eventually as I focused on routine sleep and regular nutrition my underlying energy rose. This is what makes getting back to 'feeling like myself' so amazing.
I have these moments, that are easily forgotten, where my fitness, motivation, nutrition, and pace converge into perfection. It's hard to describe these brief periods of time without sounding like some utopian dream or by alluding to a drug induced euphoria.
Usually in the back half of a long trail you slide into these highs and feel invincible, like you could run forever. Not because of physical prowess but because of mental problem solving. Theres a deeper sensation that you are discovering a piece of yourself that was always there waiting to be discovered. To better yourself. To realize the future. You are at once present, aware of the universe, and also removed from the pain and mortal risk of being alone in the wild. It just feels good.
Remembering positive moments is important to balance out the drama that pervades and tends to define our lives which are more realistically mundane and confined in nature. We can usually be grateful things aren't a whole of a lot worse.
The rare blissful moments stand out poignantly in stark contrast to the adrenal fatigue and OTS I was experiencing a year ago. Exhaustion was all I remember. It felt bizarre needing to take a seat after being winded from putting on my shorts and shoes to go for jog. Unable to train except for short bouts here and there made me even more lethargic. I would walk to the trail head then find some grass to lay down on. I was increasingly confused and despondent. Unable to sleep well exacerbated the situation. Eventually as I focused on routine sleep and regular nutrition my underlying energy rose. This is what makes getting back to 'feeling like myself' so amazing.
8.08.2015
KNOWING WHEN TO SAY WHEN
The hardest decisions in life are not the ones that baffle or escape the mind. They are the choices that lay clearly before us, to which we already know the answer. The ones that lead us against our nature, away from the path of least resistance, towards what we suspect we already knew was the right way. It takes great courage and presence of mind to avoid slipping back at the critical moment. We must rise to the occasion and bring ourselves, despite every impulse within and without, to hear the subtle prodding of our deepest convictions telling us to do the right thing.
The admiration I have for my brother's decision to quit a race after 75 miles is greater than if he had suffered through to the end. He took a difficult situation and handled it with composure deciding not to further damage his knee just for a finishers buckle. Or perhaps more pertinently to avoid a DNF. As he laid there on a cot at 3am trying to decide wether or not to continue, there was a faint panicking voice inside me wanting to pull him back from the edge. The never-quit attitude was at risk and about to take quite a blow. These are the moments. This is what it's all about. This is when we pull together to get him to the finish no matter what. Right? What are we doing out here if not to throw leg and limb at this damn thing? Giving up is probably the last thing I expect from anyone in my family. Had he not appeared so lucid I would have tried to be more of a mental life raft. He seemed completely cognizant of what he was doing and I found it hard to argue with his reluctant determination to make the call.
I hate seeing my brother suffer. It's strange because he's my biggest inspiration when it comes to endurance. He's stoic in the face of extreme mental and physical punishment. Wether it be climbing a mountain in a sub-freezing blizzard or going without food and sleep for several days, his adventuresome resolve is astounding. It's frightening to see weakness in someone you respect. 100 miles has the unique ability unlike anything Ive witnessed to break a man. You will see the toughest fellow weeping in a ball on the side of the trail. Perhaps for this reason it is one of the few sporting activities where quitting is nearly as common as finishing.
Ive always found it difficult to quit even a training run when something doesn't feel right. My brother is just as stubborn if not more so. If you are trying to learn to push through the pain where do you draw the line? We've always been baffled by those that could foster the courage in tough moments to call it a day and enjoy getting back to running without injury sooner. When my brother became one of those people I was humbled. It took more will power and presence of mind to make that choice than it would have been to keep slugging it out.
In a world of losers, everybody gets a trophy. Quitting hasn't all of a sudden become acceptable behavior and everyone shouldn't get a medal for starting the race. Being a 'quitter' and choosing to DNF are different. In life the real challenge is to tackle complex situations by making determined choices. In a race we pit ourselves against heat, sleep dep, and physical exhaustion to see how our brains can cope. My brother took an onslaught of challenges and handled the situation with a composure that I can only aspire to.
The admiration I have for my brother's decision to quit a race after 75 miles is greater than if he had suffered through to the end. He took a difficult situation and handled it with composure deciding not to further damage his knee just for a finishers buckle. Or perhaps more pertinently to avoid a DNF. As he laid there on a cot at 3am trying to decide wether or not to continue, there was a faint panicking voice inside me wanting to pull him back from the edge. The never-quit attitude was at risk and about to take quite a blow. These are the moments. This is what it's all about. This is when we pull together to get him to the finish no matter what. Right? What are we doing out here if not to throw leg and limb at this damn thing? Giving up is probably the last thing I expect from anyone in my family. Had he not appeared so lucid I would have tried to be more of a mental life raft. He seemed completely cognizant of what he was doing and I found it hard to argue with his reluctant determination to make the call.
I hate seeing my brother suffer. It's strange because he's my biggest inspiration when it comes to endurance. He's stoic in the face of extreme mental and physical punishment. Wether it be climbing a mountain in a sub-freezing blizzard or going without food and sleep for several days, his adventuresome resolve is astounding. It's frightening to see weakness in someone you respect. 100 miles has the unique ability unlike anything Ive witnessed to break a man. You will see the toughest fellow weeping in a ball on the side of the trail. Perhaps for this reason it is one of the few sporting activities where quitting is nearly as common as finishing.
Ive always found it difficult to quit even a training run when something doesn't feel right. My brother is just as stubborn if not more so. If you are trying to learn to push through the pain where do you draw the line? We've always been baffled by those that could foster the courage in tough moments to call it a day and enjoy getting back to running without injury sooner. When my brother became one of those people I was humbled. It took more will power and presence of mind to make that choice than it would have been to keep slugging it out.
In a world of losers, everybody gets a trophy. Quitting hasn't all of a sudden become acceptable behavior and everyone shouldn't get a medal for starting the race. Being a 'quitter' and choosing to DNF are different. In life the real challenge is to tackle complex situations by making determined choices. In a race we pit ourselves against heat, sleep dep, and physical exhaustion to see how our brains can cope. My brother took an onslaught of challenges and handled the situation with a composure that I can only aspire to.
7.12.2015
Santa Barbara 100k
Most long races at some point disgust you but I savor a special kinda hatred for this barb ridden, rattlesnake snake infested, inhospitably gorgeous backcountry course.
This guy Bryan, a local favorite(he's run sub20 at the born to run 100mile), takes off from the start looking determined and in good shape. I hang back and join a solid chase pack as the sun hits the boulder strewn hills above. I push up this steep single track climb to the first aid station and see Bryan there. More importantly, he sees me. If I can just scare him a little, and meanwhile stay within myself, he'll dig a hole he can't climb out of. I let him take off. Back down and up onto the other side of the canyon the trail is overgrown and unmaintained. Suddenly I spot Bryan a little ways up. I didn't expect to see him this soon and definitely didn't want to take the lead this early but when i pull up beside him and say hi he doesnt respond. Maybe he's the competitive new-school ultra athlete that doesn't understand the camaraderie typical of earlier generations. Or maybe his music is blaring so loud in his headphones that he can't hear me. I hang with him as we wind back down to the canyon floor. When we hit the tarmac he slows. At the aid station he sits down and begins asking his crew for a coke. I cant pass up an opportunity like this so I rush through. The course director passes me in his truck going up a baking dirt road. "You're looking a lot better than Bryan. Nows the time to make a gap." I try not to over-heat on the way out out to the big climb of the race. That's kind of a joke because baking in the direct sun under the inland coastal magnification makes the 95+ degree hot dry wind blowing in your face hard to compete with. The heat reflects off the ground baking from all angles. I'm feeling decent though so I figure that despite all the advice to be cautious and responsible, sometimes in life you should take a chance. The idea is to push yourself and see what happens. If you blow up then hurray, everyone loves fireworks and carnage. Just maybe if you risk it all you will be rewarded.
As we head further into remote backcountry the trail is spotty at best. It hasn't seen any foot traffic since the same race a year ago. It's overgrown for miles with the kinds of needle sharp barbs and hideously armored briers that have a penchant for working their way into and lodging themselves in every nook and cranny of your shoes and socks. Not to mention attacking your bare legs which are by now covered in poison oak. I run out of water on the way up to the turn around point at the top of the escarpment but find that I've got about a 5 minute lead on the chase pack. Bryan looks like he's in bad shape. It's that look in his eyes, he will drop at the aid station. Trying to put as much distance on them as I can I nearly stumble upon the nastiest looking rattlesnake I have ever seen. The tail of a silvery-black mature specimen as thick as my upper arm and about 4 feet in length is sticking out across the trail. I can't see his head and there isn't room to go around because to the right is a steep embankment and to the left a drop down the side of the mountain all covered in brush. The snake hasn't begun fussing so I take a couple steps back, get a running start, and leap past. The last I see of him is his neck coiling up and raising his head to strike. Further down the trail I stop on to wet my head in a pool. I'm hurting bad and out of water again. In this barren, dry, hostile environment there are accents of the most brilliantly colored blue wild flowers and vividly pink bristles. I savor these images while I work my way back to the canyon where the blacktop pavement has been preheating.
The heat is stifling. Just when I'm getting into a rhythm winding in and out of undulating track I am startled by a sudden angry hiss like an overzealous faucet has been opened near my feet. This rattler is even uglier! I see it's black head pointed at me it's neck wound 6 inches off the ground in striking position by the trail. His black split tongue methodically weaving in and out of it's mouth. I look for a rock to chase it away with but the trail has only hard packed sandy clay. I'm already running out of water but with no other option I spray the last of it at the snake and he scuttles off sounding very annoyed. Who's the big tough guy now? My mouth at this point has been increasingly parched and my throat burns. My kidneys throb in my lower back from all the sugar and lack of hydration. As I begin the final climb I plummet. I'm nauseous and faint. A hot wind blows from the furnace below and I'm having trouble walking straight. There's a breeze at the top and a view of the sun beginning to set over the vast surrounding canyons. I descend back towards the finish on beat up legs but still moving smoothly. I enjoy the views and even smile a little making a concerted decision to enjoy the end. If you're going to get snaked in the final stretches of a race, you want it to be done in style. Kevin doesn't disappoint. He comes flying past me out of nowhere and I try to give chase. Im red lining and he's DISAPPEARING down the trail. He put 5 minutes on me in 3 miles. It was an impressive finish. I was in so much pain and had absolutely no response. The only thing that kept me pushing was the fear of getting passed again!
After leading 95% of a race it's humbling and the regret is borderline cliche. I shouldn't have gone out so hard! I should have been more patient more confident! I shouldn't have wasted ten extra seconds at each aid station on the way back! It's the kind of a negative reaction you have from what is basically regarded as one of the worst things that can happen in a race. But Im really proud of my effort. I dug deeper than I ever have to try and keep a good pace through nausea, dehydration, and cramping legs. I never thought Id get close to 12 hours for this race. And even though it seems like the win was mine for the taking, this is a way better story right? If I had won there wouldn't be much to tell about or learn from. As it is theres a number of things to work on and that excites me. If I want to continue to improve I have to see my own weaknesses.
2nd place, 12:19:20
39 registered runners
8 runners didn't start
11 runners didn't finish
20 = official finisher
51% finisher rate
San Pedro National Forest
A friendly looking thistle
This guy Bryan, a local favorite(he's run sub20 at the born to run 100mile), takes off from the start looking determined and in good shape. I hang back and join a solid chase pack as the sun hits the boulder strewn hills above. I push up this steep single track climb to the first aid station and see Bryan there. More importantly, he sees me. If I can just scare him a little, and meanwhile stay within myself, he'll dig a hole he can't climb out of. I let him take off. Back down and up onto the other side of the canyon the trail is overgrown and unmaintained. Suddenly I spot Bryan a little ways up. I didn't expect to see him this soon and definitely didn't want to take the lead this early but when i pull up beside him and say hi he doesnt respond. Maybe he's the competitive new-school ultra athlete that doesn't understand the camaraderie typical of earlier generations. Or maybe his music is blaring so loud in his headphones that he can't hear me. I hang with him as we wind back down to the canyon floor. When we hit the tarmac he slows. At the aid station he sits down and begins asking his crew for a coke. I cant pass up an opportunity like this so I rush through. The course director passes me in his truck going up a baking dirt road. "You're looking a lot better than Bryan. Nows the time to make a gap." I try not to over-heat on the way out out to the big climb of the race. That's kind of a joke because baking in the direct sun under the inland coastal magnification makes the 95+ degree hot dry wind blowing in your face hard to compete with. The heat reflects off the ground baking from all angles. I'm feeling decent though so I figure that despite all the advice to be cautious and responsible, sometimes in life you should take a chance. The idea is to push yourself and see what happens. If you blow up then hurray, everyone loves fireworks and carnage. Just maybe if you risk it all you will be rewarded.
As we head further into remote backcountry the trail is spotty at best. It hasn't seen any foot traffic since the same race a year ago. It's overgrown for miles with the kinds of needle sharp barbs and hideously armored briers that have a penchant for working their way into and lodging themselves in every nook and cranny of your shoes and socks. Not to mention attacking your bare legs which are by now covered in poison oak. I run out of water on the way up to the turn around point at the top of the escarpment but find that I've got about a 5 minute lead on the chase pack. Bryan looks like he's in bad shape. It's that look in his eyes, he will drop at the aid station. Trying to put as much distance on them as I can I nearly stumble upon the nastiest looking rattlesnake I have ever seen. The tail of a silvery-black mature specimen as thick as my upper arm and about 4 feet in length is sticking out across the trail. I can't see his head and there isn't room to go around because to the right is a steep embankment and to the left a drop down the side of the mountain all covered in brush. The snake hasn't begun fussing so I take a couple steps back, get a running start, and leap past. The last I see of him is his neck coiling up and raising his head to strike. Further down the trail I stop on to wet my head in a pool. I'm hurting bad and out of water again. In this barren, dry, hostile environment there are accents of the most brilliantly colored blue wild flowers and vividly pink bristles. I savor these images while I work my way back to the canyon where the blacktop pavement has been preheating.
The heat is stifling. Just when I'm getting into a rhythm winding in and out of undulating track I am startled by a sudden angry hiss like an overzealous faucet has been opened near my feet. This rattler is even uglier! I see it's black head pointed at me it's neck wound 6 inches off the ground in striking position by the trail. His black split tongue methodically weaving in and out of it's mouth. I look for a rock to chase it away with but the trail has only hard packed sandy clay. I'm already running out of water but with no other option I spray the last of it at the snake and he scuttles off sounding very annoyed. Who's the big tough guy now? My mouth at this point has been increasingly parched and my throat burns. My kidneys throb in my lower back from all the sugar and lack of hydration. As I begin the final climb I plummet. I'm nauseous and faint. A hot wind blows from the furnace below and I'm having trouble walking straight. There's a breeze at the top and a view of the sun beginning to set over the vast surrounding canyons. I descend back towards the finish on beat up legs but still moving smoothly. I enjoy the views and even smile a little making a concerted decision to enjoy the end. If you're going to get snaked in the final stretches of a race, you want it to be done in style. Kevin doesn't disappoint. He comes flying past me out of nowhere and I try to give chase. Im red lining and he's DISAPPEARING down the trail. He put 5 minutes on me in 3 miles. It was an impressive finish. I was in so much pain and had absolutely no response. The only thing that kept me pushing was the fear of getting passed again!
After leading 95% of a race it's humbling and the regret is borderline cliche. I shouldn't have gone out so hard! I should have been more patient more confident! I shouldn't have wasted ten extra seconds at each aid station on the way back! It's the kind of a negative reaction you have from what is basically regarded as one of the worst things that can happen in a race. But Im really proud of my effort. I dug deeper than I ever have to try and keep a good pace through nausea, dehydration, and cramping legs. I never thought Id get close to 12 hours for this race. And even though it seems like the win was mine for the taking, this is a way better story right? If I had won there wouldn't be much to tell about or learn from. As it is theres a number of things to work on and that excites me. If I want to continue to improve I have to see my own weaknesses.
2nd place, 12:19:20
39 registered runners
8 runners didn't start
11 runners didn't finish
20 = official finisher
51% finisher rate
San Pedro National Forest
A friendly looking thistle
6.27.2015
FROM THE GROUND UP
If you aren't making things better, then things are going to be whatever they will be. In a sense, change is essential to thriving. The ability to change begins with yourself. Behavioral modification in the present derived from focus on fundamental life values, something I learned about in my visit to the psychiatric hospital. They give you this sheet when you're discharged with 'keys to a healthy life'. A list of things like exercise, sleep, cleanliness, sunshine. It seems so elementary to list these things but when you approach life like something to be managed and mastered there's no room for the noise that invades and distorts the goal--living better. You always return to the basics. If you can champion the basics you can accomplish quite a lot. It is arrogance to ignore this simple truth. You go about attempting to modify neurochemical pathways by performing basic tasks diligently. This is the basis of habit formation. Once you understand and appreciate how simple the process of change is you can apply it to anything. Break down your goal into bite sized actionable tasks that can be absorbed and performed routinely. Once these are mastered others can be taken on building to a more complex pattern of success which was once difficult and all of sudden it's easy. There will be a point in every journey where it becomes perceptibly difficult and usually seems impossible. This is the point where you remember that no-one said it would be easy. If it were easy everyone would be doing it. So you step back, rediscover the basics, and keep going.
The only thing you have in this life, are the choices you make. So live like you mean it.
The only thing you have in this life, are the choices you make. So live like you mean it.
6.26.2015
THE BEAUTY OF UNKNOWING
When stuff like this happens how can you not believe in God? -- Crank the engine. A half hearted response and then silence. Stay calm. You only have 6 deadlines to catch up on and your 30 minutes behind schedule for the day after skipping the morning run, skipping the shower, and skipping breakfast. Priorities. 2 hours necessary to meet your first deadline, 5 hours short on sleep, 7 days straight with no moment to even brush your teeth. Triage. Leave the dead car and take the over-ripe garbage bag to the dumpster. Let the car relax and think about it's actions. Second attempt and the same half-hearted churn before it finally tips over and momentum catches. A million tiny explosions >>> VRRRROOOOM! I'll never take that thunder for granted again. The miles disappear in my rear view mirror. So... the mechanic doing my oil change last week was right, my battery IS dying. Not just the ordinary rue where they make up a myriad of expensive mechanical problems that this clueless dysfunctional urbanite will fall for. Back to the mechanic, buy that new battery. Need us to install it? Nah. How hard can it be to put a battery in a car? I'm done being a helpless city-dweller. Another week slow cranking my car twice a day trying to decide between buying the tools you apparently need to swap out a battery in my car and the humility of going back to the mechanic with my tail between my legs. Wait long enough, the answers come. In the brush next to a parking lot in the forest, while sitting in some shade eating a watermelon with my brother, I luckily spot a discarded wrench in the dirt. The exact wrench I need to change my battery. My brother gapes at me. Yes I still don't believe in God. How ironic. I change my battery and I go on smiling. My life is not the center of the universe. I don't blame the dark side when my car battery dies on the way to the most important day of work and I don't thank the light shown on me by a deity above if I find a wrench in the sand. Bad stuff happens. Then good stuff happens. Repeated since forever. The choice is to make the world a better place even when your own luck won't change. I do see the magic in life. The mystery worth exploring and trying to understand. Something we get glimpses of and can only comprehend temporarily. However, in my observation, the moment we put our finger on this imperceptible truth, label it, start trying to please it, and telling other people how to gain it -- it's lost.
6.25.2015
CATCHING THE DOWNWARD SPIN
When I realize that I've made a bad decision I can get into a self-propelled cycle that lead's down a road towards making the same bad decisions again. It's important to be aware in those moments and know that it's never too late to plan ahead. To begin taking tiny steps to improve from the moment of realization when a new path is open to you.
6.23.2015
(IFTTT) THEOREM OF POTENTIAL
IF you prepare the body and mind for performance (P) through training (T)
AND training is a cyclical process that includes breaking down / exercise (E) + building up / recovery (R)
THEN the one who exercises (E) and/or recovers (R) best will win (P)
IF P = T
AND T = E + R
THEN E + R = P
Competitive endurance sports is a Roller Derby-esque, Rhino Charge-like, Darwinian contest of survival. Everyone who wants to push themselves to their absolute maximum potential trains to the brink of their ability, and the one who get's as close as possible without twisting an ankle, pulling a meniscus, or suffering complete endocrine failure by race day will win. The ultra-endurance sport is an interesting one to participate in because the scientific research, let alone the experiential knowledge base, is still in it's infancy. Only now is a spotlight being shown on the physical and emotional toll that extended participation can take. Some of us, given the knowledge of what could happen, would take the risk anyway. Others might think twice and be thankful someone told them it was a bad idea before they got to mile 75 and still had a marathon to go. As many runners have been told be well-meaning friends, "Running 100 miles, that's like the dumbest idea ever." Ultimately realizing that training isn't just about pushing yourself as hard as possible, that it's also about recovering as completely and efficiently as possible, can be rewarding. It's a reminder that being your best doesn't just mean running the fastest race. It also means enjoying life and encouraging others. If we can take our goals and ambitions seriously but not take ourselves too seriously, we are bound to achieve more and pass through the gates of something greater than ourselves.
AND training is a cyclical process that includes breaking down / exercise (E) + building up / recovery (R)
THEN the one who exercises (E) and/or recovers (R) best will win (P)
IF P = T
AND T = E + R
THEN E + R = P
Competitive endurance sports is a Roller Derby-esque, Rhino Charge-like, Darwinian contest of survival. Everyone who wants to push themselves to their absolute maximum potential trains to the brink of their ability, and the one who get's as close as possible without twisting an ankle, pulling a meniscus, or suffering complete endocrine failure by race day will win. The ultra-endurance sport is an interesting one to participate in because the scientific research, let alone the experiential knowledge base, is still in it's infancy. Only now is a spotlight being shown on the physical and emotional toll that extended participation can take. Some of us, given the knowledge of what could happen, would take the risk anyway. Others might think twice and be thankful someone told them it was a bad idea before they got to mile 75 and still had a marathon to go. As many runners have been told be well-meaning friends, "Running 100 miles, that's like the dumbest idea ever." Ultimately realizing that training isn't just about pushing yourself as hard as possible, that it's also about recovering as completely and efficiently as possible, can be rewarding. It's a reminder that being your best doesn't just mean running the fastest race. It also means enjoying life and encouraging others. If we can take our goals and ambitions seriously but not take ourselves too seriously, we are bound to achieve more and pass through the gates of something greater than ourselves.
5.09.2015
Memories
my mom is the kind of person who sits with you all night if you're too sick to lay down and go to sleep. my earliest memory of her is holding a brownie splattered beater out the window and cooing my name until I came riding around the corner on my tricycle to collect the indisputable treat. she's not only generous but noble and strong. I remember her playing tennis at Parklands sports club the way she so controlled and commanded the ball where to go. It scared me a little the first time I realized she had such force within her. I had never seen this less diminutive side of her unleashed so gracefully. Or maybe it was the fear that I sensed in her opponents! She would allow me and my brothers to be ball boys sprinting across the bright red dirt court or give us a few Kenya shillings to run and get sodas from the bar. I have a lot of memories where I know she was around but wasn't very clear what she was up to. I knew for certain that she was never far away, always ready to come running and rescue me if I broke my wrist or got stung by a bee. Or she'd be busy making sure there was a good meal waiting for us at the end of the day. One time after summiting mt kenya and driving all the way home with my dad and brothers, she was there with a thick chicken noodle soup to greet our wearied bodies. I'll never forget that meal or many of the others that we ate together as family. Home was a warm place for me, as it should be thanks to her. Only now do I realize how rare and special that was. One time while I was being homeschooled we had our morning chai around 10am sitting out on the green grass in the backyard. She was telling me how she would miss living in that house because we needed to move across town. It was a vulnerable moment that I appreciated. I know she was also thinking of me. Like the time we gave our dog away and I cried so my parents went to take it back from the new owner! I always felt that my parents would take care of me even if were driving through a riot or didn't have water and electricity. I never felt nervous. Somehow they would find a way to make everything better. One of the funnest memories I have was a time when my dad took my two older brothers to climb mt kenya and we bought treats from the store and watched movies together. It was great.
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