Injury, A Sick Dog, & Getting Through a Bad Experience

I call it the 24-hour rule… which is that after a big success or a bad failure, give yourself 24–48 hours to celebrate the success or grieve the defeat. But then, get back to doing the work itself.

The longer that you stew in a loss or ride the dopamine high of a win, the more you are becoming addicted to that. Whereas if you go back to doing the work itself, it’s a very embodied way of reminding yourself that, Hey, what I really like is the activity, not all the fortune, fame, external validation from the activity.”

That is sage advice from Brad Stulberg, author of Peak Performance and The Passion Paradox. I’ll return to it soon.

The past couple of weeks have been full of emotional highs and lows, frustration, elation, anger, and gratitude. I’m pleased that I came out feeling good in the end despite some disappointment. The big picture is this: I was unable to run the Grand Traverse Run on 8/31.

One week out – Toe pain

Metatarsalgia, aka ball-of-foot pain, roared to life exactly one week plus one day prior to the race. I’d had this in the past but hadn’t felt it in over a year. It was during an interval run. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The pain typically subsides quickly but this time it didn’t. Anger/panic set in.

The 40.7 miles of high mountain running was already intimidating. My prior long race was a trail marathon at 26.2 mi. This was almost 15 mi. longer and it topped out at 12,000 ft. of elevation. I was staring into the unknown. Now, on top of it, a true painful problem was ominous. I was genuinely worried, not just nervous. This was the 2nd year in a row that an injury threatened to derail this deeply meaningful project. All the hard work I’d put in might be for nothing.

I scheduled time with a physical therapist. She assessed some surprising weakness in my hip abductors, specifically the glute medius. That muscle contributes significantly to foot posture. Her assessment gave me valuable information on how to address a weakness in my running but that solution would take time, weeks or months. I had to race in just a few days.

I also met with Dr. Nick Studholme at Studholme Chiropractic in Denver. He’s helped me in the past. He taped my feet to unload the area under the 2nd toe. This wasn’t a fix, but something to help me get through the race. Unfortunately, a short test run the day after the taping wasn’t good. My foot still hurt a lot. I was despondent.

Finally, I had a cortisone shot. I am not a fan of cortisone. The long-term effects of too much cortisone aren’t good. Cortisone is definitely not a fix, but rather a powerful band-aid. For my purposes in this situation, cortisone was exactly what I needed. It was time to run. I would deal with the injury later.

Fast-forward to the day before the race: I felt good. I had no foot pain. We were in Crested Butte and I felt positive. In the course of a week, I’d gone from despondent to optimistic.

A sick dog, a super wife, & damn you Google

Race time was 6 am. I would get up at 4:15 am to get ready. My wife and our dog, Diva, would make the 3+ hour drive to Aspen and meet me at the finish. We all needed rest.

Diva started a hacking cough/dry heave Friday afternoon as we checked into our hotel. We didn’t know why. Dogs do this some time. She gobbled grass. Lots of it. This also happens sometimes. She finally threw up. Typically that’s the end of the story but not this time. She kept hacking. Constantly. We figured it would stop any time. It didn’t. This kept on into the night. Diva paced and coughed, coughed and paced. No one slept.

Finally, around 11 pm, my wife got online and found two 24 hr vets in Gunnison, about 30 miles away. She would take our dog and let me sleep. A super wife! Time ticked away rapidly. Race time was racing my way. I slept.

I woke up, middle of the night. They hadn’t returned They came in a little while later. Both 24-hour vets were closed. Google lied! Our dog was still sick but not worse. The prospect of racing was slipping away. My wife was seriously sleep deprived. Driving would be unsafe. We thought our dog probably needed a vet visit. I hadn’t had much more sleep. The reality of the situation dawned and it was clear I couldn’t race. I didn’t have words for this defeat. Rotten, bloody hell… Nothing else to do.

We headed home. Diva continued to improve. My wife and I had good conversation on the way back. No strife.

The rollercoaster continues

I’d built all this fitness so why waste it? I registered for the Sage Burner 55k in Gunnison at the end of October. We’ve only passed through Gunnison and never spent time there. Though this race didn’t have the epic appeal of the Grand Traverse, I was very happy and excited to run it and to spend time in Gunnison. More despair was around the corner though.

Sunday, the day after the race, I ran with the Denver Trail Runners at Gorgeous Kenosha Pass. It was a perfect, bright, cool day. No crowds on the trail. Three miles in the toe pain returns, just like before. I’m crushed, furious. No sense in running further, I’ll just hurt it more, I turned around and headed back to the trailhead.

On the return, I started to play with how my foot hits the ground and how I push off. I biased heavily to the outside of the foot. Not that I’m walked with my foot completely inverted but I deliberately created more pressure and more pushed through the outside of the foot. The pain decreased. I started jogging with this outside bias. Pain decreased more. I ran back to the parking area with virtually no pain. I turned around and ran back out to meet the group on the return. I finished having run just shy of 13 miles. Greatness! This was the polar opposite of missing the race. Another occasion where words don’t work to describe the feelings! Spectacular! I felt like this:

WAAAHOOOO!

Gratitude & no whining

Hard times and defeat always provide a learning opportunity. I can’t decide how I feel but I can decide how I react to those feelings. The pain of missing this race for the 2nd year in a row was powerful. Made me sick to my stomach. How could I react? Pout, gripe, and rage? Did my wife need to hear repeatedly how bad I felt, even though she already knew? Would complaining change the past? Nonsense nonsense nonsense! Complaining about something over which I have no control is a waste of energy and it may even be bad for my mental health. It’s bulls%it, to put it another way.

I did grieve the race though. I spent about 24 hrs feeling the disappointment. I felt sad and incredibly frustrated. There was no use in ignoring those feelings. But griping and whining had no place in the process. It was time to get back to work in preparation for the Sage Burner. My coach, Andrew Simmons of Lifelong Endurance has been a tremendous help. He’ll be guiding me for another couple of months.

There was a time in my life when I felt like my life was lacking a lot of things. I fixated on my failings and what I didn’t have. That wasn’t useful. Now I try to be grateful for the multitude of good people and things in my life. Specifically, in this case, I was and am grateful for the following: grateful that Diva got well; grateful for my wife who supported my efforts; hugely grateful for that good Sunday trail run during which my foot felt bad and then good; grateful for my friends, clients, and family who donated to NRDC (You can still donate btw!); grateful for being a trail runner with the chance to do something few people will ever imagine.

Everything isn’t always perfect, but most things are pretty good.

Running Out of Time to Donate

The Grand Traverse Run is August 31 which means I have a little bit of time to raise a few more bucks for the Natural Resources Defense Council. You may have already donated and if you have then I thank you. If you’re seeing this for the first time and you’d like to help out a good organization doing good work then please follow this link where you can donate. Much thanks!

Near the beginning of the race – looking back at the Whetstone Mountains.

It’s seven weeks to the Grand Traverse Trail Run, my first ultramarathon. (Also, seven weeks remain to raise $3000 for Running Out of Time, my effort on behalf of the Natural Resources Defense Council. Do you want to help save the outdoors? Can you donate? Please do!) I ran a little over 40 mi. last week, which is high mileage for me. I’ll run about 35 mi. this week. That’s included some hard intervals, hill climbs, and heat. I’m also fitting in a few bike rides. I am feeling all that hard work. Deeply. I fade early in the evening, sleep hard, and wake up tired. (But I LOVE the process!) This isn’t alarming. It’s 100% normal for this stage of training. Consequently, I have little left for weight training.

Typically I do well with twice-weekly weight workouts. With all the running though, I’m averaging a weight workout once per week, and sometimes those workouts are minimal with just one or two exercises. I only have so much time and energy to expend. I can’t put my all into everything. This is the reality of resource allocation when it comes to physical activity.

The timing of lifting sessions and running workouts is important. Lifting compromises running performance in the short-term due to soreness and a diminished ability to generate force through the legs. I need strong legs for speed workouts and long runs, so I need to be strategic in planning runs and lifting sessions. This article from Runner’s World discusses research pertaining to lifting and running. It suggests several ways to combine them:

Run first before lifting if running and lifting on the same day.
Separate runs from lifting sessions by at least six hours
One example:
- Day 1: Hard run
- Day 2: AM easy run, PM weight workout OR
- AM hard run, PM weight session on the same day

Fortunately, strength training once per week is entirely adequate to preserve strength and some research indicates I can get stronger with training only once per week. Paul Ingram at PainScience.com has summarized research on lifting frequency.

The benefit to constrained lifting opportunities is that I’m forced to focus on those lifts that will benefit my running the most. I must drill down to the essentials. Constraints like this are benefits disguised as obstacles.

Balance and strength on one leg is essential for successful running.

Consider three truths:

1) Running is a series of hops from one foot to the other. Upon landing, you perform a partial, one-leg squat in preparation for the next hop.

2) Research suggests that strength training aids running performance, and

3) The principle of specificity says that to improve at a given physical task, training should resemble that task.

Given these truths, it seems clear you can benefit by including single-leg squats as part of a regular strength program. The hop-and-land sequence of running demands strength and stability in order to perform well and avoid injury.

To continue reading, follow this link to my latest article on PodiumRunner.com.

This is why I do it. (Photo credit to Woody)

I ran the Collegiate Peaks 25 Mile Trail Run on Saturday 5/4. My wife and I stayed in Salida, about 30 min away from the start in Buena Vista. That meant a dark and early wake-up of 4:30 am. Such is life sometimes.

We had superb weather: sun, clear skies and temps in high 30s at the start and highs in the 60s. Views of the Collegiate Peaks (above) were prominent and dramatic. For me, this is going to church.

The well-marked race course was mostly non-technical and followed Forest Service roads. There were some prolonged sandy spots which made for slow going at times but it wasn’t terrible. The sand was much less of an issue than the sand in Moab at the Behind the Rocks Race. A few of the climbs and descents were steep but most slopes were mild. The final few miles came through some fun singletrack of medium technicality. (I MUST come back with the mountain bike!) Here’s the course elevation profile:

Collegiate Peaks Race profile

Runners encountered a shin-deep water crossing at about mile 10. I brought extra socks with me and changed into them soon after the crossing. I thought about gambling and continuing to run in wet socks but I didn’t want to risk blisters. My cold hands made removal of tight compression socks aggravating though. It took a little longer to change than I wanted but again, such is life.

This was a small race with 212 finishers. I finished in 5:05:38. That put me just in the top half overall and among men. I finished just barely out of the top half of men in my age group. I hoped to do better in that category but I’m not overly distressed. I prepared well, ran hard, and did my best. I do this for the experience, not with the expectation of winning.

Minor cramping

I’ve had some bad adductor and hamstring cramps in both legs in some longer races. I’m pleased this time that cramps only happened in my right adductor. They were minor. A sudden cramp hit with maybe three miles to go. I stopped briefly and stretched the area. I continued to sort of stretch it in a weird way while running. The cramp vanished in a few minutes and didn’t bother me any further. Minimal cramping in a long race gives me confidence that I’m on the right track with my strategy of direct strengthening of my cramp-prone muscles.

Not only will I continue with the strength program, but I also plan to run with mustard packets. Sound strange? You may have heard about the anti-cramping powers of pickle juice. The same anti-cramp effect seems to work with mustard too. The research is limited but it seems that the vinegar in both substances is probably the key. Apparently, the vinegar stimulates certain receptors in the mouth that trigger a neurological reset of cramping muscles.

No calf problems

The left calf gave me no problems. It feels strong and I will continue my strength program.

Metatarsalgia

Metatarsalgia or ball-of-foot pain in my left food reared its head in the final few miles. I’ve battled it in the past. It hasn’t been an issue at all since I’ve placed metatarsal pads in my shoe inserts. This could be a problem for the Grand Traverse. I plan to take the same approach as I have with my cramp-prone muscles and the calf: strengthen it. I have some ideas on how to specifically strengthen the toes.

Finally

Overall I had a fun experience. I liked the course, I liked the small size of the race, and my wife and I both liked Buena Vista. We look forward to a return. If you want a full-on Colorado trail race experience then the Collegiate Peaks Trail Race fits the bill.

When to Walk. When to Run

I’m fortunate to be able to run in the Rocky Mountains. Every trail run features ascents and descents that are often long and/or steep which means significant changes in pace. I often run with a group and I’ve noticed that it’s not uncommon for runners to run too hard on the ascents. It’s easy to hit the redline on ascents, to burn out, and have the run reduced to a stagger. (Sometimes I’m the one running too hard.) This isn’t optimal for racing or training. Running harder isn’t always better.

Check the ego

“I’m a runner! Therefore I must run!”

I’m probably not the only runner who feels self-imposed pressure to by god keep running! Walking can feel like an embarrassing moral failure, especially when running with a group. I want to compete and keep up with my peers. In this case, my brain, wired to prefer short-term rewards over long-term goals, works against me. A simple question illuminates the right course of action:

What’s the goal?

Is my goal to “win” a training run of no consequence? Or is it to train effectively for a specific race? The answer is the latter. Put another way, the purpose of a training run is not to prove fitness, but to improve fitness.

In my case, I’m training for long trail races. That means low-intensity running and hiking for a long duration. Thus I need to train my aerobic energy system, not my phosphocreatine or glycolytic systems. The goal for long training runs is to build a bigger aerobic engine. If I run too hard, drive my heart rate too high, and generate too many hydrogen ions (Neither lactate nor lactic acid is responsible for burning muscle. It’s a buildup of H2 ions. The myth must die!) then aerobic conditioning is deemphasized. I’m training wrong and impeding my goal if I do that.

(There is a time and place for hard running. The training plan may call for harder efforts: hill intervals for instance. That’s a different topic.)

What I think I’ve learned

At some point walking up a slope is more economical than running. Running economy matters more as races go longer. For a short race, running up a steep hill may be fine because I’m not limited by energy reserves, but for long races, conserving energy matters a lot.

Research from CU Boulder has investigated running vs walking up a range of slopes. One of the researchers, Nicola Giovanelli, Ph.D., discussed the research on the Science of Ultra podcast. He suggests that walking makes sense on slopes starting at about 15-20 degrees.

Running coach David Roche offers further analysis in this article at TrailRunner.com:

“The study found that ‘on inclines steeper than 15.8°, athletes can reduce their energy expenditure by walking rather than running.'”

“While that study looked at relatively fresh athletes, it’s likely that the optimal grade for walking decreases as the length of the race increases and muscles fatigue. In long ultras, like 50- and 100-milers, most racers are hiking on anything over eight to 10 percent later in the race—grades they’d usually bound up. So if you are doing a short race with steeps or a long race with normal hills, knowing how to walk can save energy. Here are three form tips to unlock your hiking prowess.”

Walk early. Walk often.

For my purposes, I’ve translated the research into this: Walk early. Walk often. I start walking/power hiking well before I blow up. I stop running and start hiking before I truly need to start hiking. I start before the slope gets very steep. This is similar to efficient uphill cycling in that a rider should shift into a low gear early and before he or she struggles at a very low cadence.

I find that I can keep pace with and often pass other runners when I hike instead of run. They work harder yet we move at about the same rate. The ascent often resembles a slinky type of process where we pass each other a few times before we hit the peak. Often, the other harder working runners are completely gassed at the top while I can resume running.

Low-end speed

I’m not an elite-level runner, so there’s no question that I will spend significant time hiking and walking during my races, especially during the 40-mile Grand Traverse Run. Therefore my training should resemble the race. If I prioritize my low-end speed, get faster at going slower, then that should help my performance more than developing higher-end speed.

An Abrupt End to the Racing Season :-(

It is with a ~~snarling, frustrated,~~ ~~heavy~~ relieved, accepting, grateful heart that I must call an abrupt end to my 2018 trail racing season. I’ll miss both the Pikes Peak Ascent and my main event, the Grand Traverse. It’s all due to a gimpy left calf and a bad decision on my part.

Good decisions

The calf strain came a few weeks ago while climbing during a race. I did the right thing. I quit the race and avoided further injury. I took two weeks off from running. I saw Dr. Nick Studholme who taped my foot and calf and helped me understand the injury. We decided on a collection of exercises to help the area heal and get stronger. I did calf and lower-leg strength work to my level of tolerance.

Last Monday I did an easy road run for the first time and I felt good. Great! Then I had a decision to make: Do I continue a slow, gradual return to running protocol? Or do I jump quickly back into hard training?

A bad decision

I chose option two, a seven-mile trail run with intervals. Everything felt fine until about mile three. I took a big step off a rock, landed on my left foot, and felt some pain low in the calf, the same area that was hurt in the race. I didn’t crumple in agony but there was noticeable discomfort. I kept running. I hoped the pain might fade out or simply be a minor annoyance. It hurt more as I ran and hurt less when I walked. That is a clear-cut indication of an acute injury that must be unloaded and allowed to rest. I made the wrong decision.

The Pikes Peak Ascent is two weeks away. Uphill running will put my calf under massive stress. I was running uphill when I hurt it the first time. Two weeks is probably enough time to start running again, but by god isn’t nearly enough time to prepare for an 8000 ft. ascent.

Madness

The 40+ mile Grand Traverse is four weeks away. Four weeks… That’s not much time… Is it enough time…? If you’re an endurance athlete then you may recognize the following line of “reasoning.” The conversation I had with myself went something like this:

“I’ve heard of athletic miracles, of players coming back from near-disastrous injuries and illness with incredible performances. Can that be me?”

“Can I replace running with mega-miles on the bike, rehab the calf, and get to the start line of the Grand Traverse?”

“Are there miracle drugs? Can steroids help? If so, should I attempt to use them?”

(I’ve never considered steroids but I did learn a few things about them. The good news is that several significant factors including ugly/weird other effects put me off this route.)

Panic

I screeched into a blistering panic for about 48 hours. I came up with all sorts of irrational, desperate thoughts. It was agonizing and depressing. The emotional part of my brain had a flailed and reeled as the rational part held up the facts about my injury and the reality of running a 40-mile race in four weeks.

Waaah! The poor privileged white man may not get to run recreationally through the woods!

In the context of the wider world, of suffering, of true hardship, this was not an actual problem… but sometimes things bother me.

Sanity and calm

I spoke with my coach, Andrew Simmons of Lifelong Endurance. He helped me. He did what a good coach should do: Tell the truth. We both agreed that Pikes was out. As for the GT, he said there was a far outside possibility that I could jog/hike the race, stagger across the finish line in misery, damage my calf severely, and destroy my ability to run for 60-90 days. These were the facts. My decision was crystal clear. No more racing. Heal up. Get ready for next year.

We agreed to reconnect again in several weeks. He recommended I be able to run 20-25 miles per week with 10-12 mile long runs before I commit to serious training.

To be very clear, I place no blame on Andrew or the running plan for my injury. I was making solid progress and I have been entirely satisfied with Andrew’s coaching. I fully intend to enlist his help again on future races.

The upside

Adverse events are guaranteed to happen. Any athletic endeavor comes with risk. Trail running is risky. Ultra-distance running even more so. There are innumerable variables that must align for a successful race and a successful season. It’s entirely likely that something or several somethings can go wrong. How does one react? To me, that’s a crucial issue. Does one wallow in self-pity and self-criticism or is there a better way? I choose to observe several positive details:

First and most importantly, my mind is right. I love the training: running in the mountains, preparing to race. My motivation is sky high—I love the process! — and I am deeply grateful for my time on the trail in the mountains. I have every intention of running the races I missed this year. I carry no negative emotions around trail running.

Second, I try to be resilient in these circumstances. I’m not Mr. Spock, I have emotions and I definitely experience the intense anguish familiar to any athlete who’s hobbled by an injury. Once the teeth gnashing and the freakout is over though I try to move forward in a positive way. Ruminating and stewing over past events is wasted energy, it won’t heal my calf faster, and unless you have a time machine I can borrow so I can go back and fix my mistake, I’ll never be able to change the past. Move forward.

Third, I recognize the significance of my weak link. My left lower-leg/ankle/foot/calf is a continual problem. I do just enough rehab/strength work to push the problem away, then I ignore the weak link and the problems return. I believe the recent hard running I’ve done has exposed the weak link again. Calf work is boring for me. I don’t like it so it’s easy to avoid it. The problem is that it’s critical for my running success. (I’ve discussed this in the past.) It stares me in the face. I have a choice: I can continue to follow the same process and thus I should expect the same problem to return. Or I can devote significant energy to build up my lower leg, armor it, make it strong and resilient, and expect to perform better. I have a chance to make a better choice going forward and address my calf strength the way I should.

Finally, I had a great experience working with my coach. We moved my running in the right direction. Specifically, we worked on tempo runs. I got faster over longer distances. The hard runs felt good and I made progress. My final long run of 20 miles felt superb. I fully believe that I’ll return to a high level of performance with Andrew’s guidance.

There is always an upside to a regrettable situation. Always. Now I get to spend a lot of time on the mountain bike!

A 20-Mile Confidence Boost & a Race This Weekend

I’m in the thick of training for several races, the big one being the 40-mile Grand Traverse on September 1. Yesterday, 7/8, I completed my first 20-mile run for this project. I started with two miles out and back along the Burning Bear Trail then ran out and back on the Abyss Lake Trail for about 16 miles. Both trails are located along Guanella Pass between Georgetown and Grant, CO.

It was a pristine morning, cool and quiet. Rain fell sometime in the night. There were no crowds, just a few people at the start and a few more when I finished.

At this point in my training, I’ve accumulated a lot of miles and fatigue. I’m often sore (not injured, sore). My mood and enthusiasm for running are low some days. This isn’t a surprise. I’ve gone through it before.

I was intimidated going into this run. Last week I ran 17 miles and it was a nasty slog. (Forest fire smoke was a significant factor last week, not this week.) Twenty miles is a genuinely long run, even if I’ve been hovering near that distance for a while.

I finished surprisingly strong on this run. I wasn’t beat up, beat down, or overly brutalized. Tired, yes but not dead. This was a breakthrough run for me. This was a huge confidence boost for me as I head into the Under Armor Copper Mt. 25k.

I believe one of the reasons I felt so good is that I took three acetaminophen tablets at Abyss Lake, a little further than halfway through the excursion. I’ve used acetaminophen on several long runs after I read about the performance-enhancing effects of the drug discussed in Endure by Alex Hutchinson and in this Runner’s World post by Amby Burfoot. (Yes, it’s a drug. Yes, I took it. Call the cops if you want.) I’ve taken two tablets in the past. I’m big, about 200 lbs., so I thought I’d take a little more and observe the effects. I don’t intend to take more. I will continue the acetaminophen consumption on my long runs.

Time to trail run

Springtime is hurtling our way and that means it’s time to trail run! I’m working up to what is for me a pretty giant bite of a trail race this fall. I have several races on the schedule as I work up to the final big event in September. They are these:

Dirty 30, June 3, Golden Gate Canyon, CO – I’m running the 12-miler
Under Armor Mt. Running Series, July 14, Copper Mountain, CO – I’m running the 25k (about 16 miles).
Pikes Peak Ascent, August 18, Colorado Springs – 13.32 miles. I’m not running the full marathon, I’m only “running” up to the top.
The Grand Traverse Run, September 1, Crested Butte to Aspen – 40.7 miles!? My god, is that right?! Amazingly, 40-ish miles is sort of small potatoes in the world of ultra-running.

The best part of this is that I love trail running and I love the process! I love the training I did last year for the Imogene Pass Run. Being in the mountains is… exquisite. Language doesn’t suffice… It’s more than fun. Trail running is a deeply spiritual thing for me. I have enormous enthusiasm toward the preparation for the Grand Traverse, and I’m grateful to get to do it.

Time to suffer

I’m reading Endure by Alex Hutchinson. It’s an excellent book. An ever-present concept, maybe the foundation of the whole book, is the experience of suffering. Suffering defines endurance. We don’t have to endure that which doesn’t induce suffering.

As it pertains to my races: There will be suffering…. especially in the Grand Traverse. I’ve suffered in two marathons and the Imogene Pass Run. I suffered through a bad half-marathon. I’ve biked up Mt. Evans twice. There’s some suffering. Two-a-day football practice in the Texas summer = suffering. The Grand Traverse is almost 41 miles, about 6200 ft. of climbing and 7000 ft. of descending. That equates to more suffering than I’ve ever experienced. I will suffer for many hours. Every bodily fiber from my toes to my eyebrows will be in agony. I will despair, get angry, and maybe feel hopeless. I’ll want to quit, maybe multiple times. How do I get through that?

Hutchinson discusses the idea of preparing to suffer. How will I react? Will I succumb to negative thoughts? Or will I employ a strategy like positive self-talk, a touchy/feely sort of thing that actually has quantifiable positive effects on performance? Maybe I’ll deliberately smile to myself which has been demonstrated to reduce perceptions of effort.

One thing I won’t do is try to ignore the pain. It can’t be done. Research has shown a more effective way to manage pain and suffering is to inspect your pain in a clinical way and have a calm conversation about your suffering. There’s a difference between pain and the emotions we feel about pain. Awareness and examination of this divide can help lower the perception of pain and suffering. I am in control of my thoughts on pain. This will help.

Much of Endure compares “mental” vs. “physical” endurance. (In truth, there is no difference between mental and physical. It’s all atoms and molecules. It’s all connected. There should be no delineation. Try having a mind without a body or vice versa. Rene Descartes was wrong. Maybe it’s useful to say “psychological” vs. “mechanical” endurance to indicate the perception of pain by the brain vs. the muscles’ inability to generate high force.) I’m learning about the multitude of ways and the degree to which the brain generates feelings of effort, pain, and suffering during exertion. The best athletes don’t suffer less than everyone else. They are able to suffer more and manage their suffering better than the rest of us. Hutchinson gives evidence that we are probably capable of far more effort than we believe possible. Based on my learning, I plan to make my difficult runs very difficult. I plan to push myself harder than I have in the past when the time is appropriate. The idea is to get intimately acquainted with a high level of suffering That’s not to say most of my running should be grueling. That’s not the right way to train. But when it’s time to push hard, I’m going to push hard. I’ll be testing this strategy in the races leading up to the Grand Traverse. I need to find out how hard I can push, how hard I can suffer.

Oohhhhhh this is good… Ultra-Marathons: The 15 Stages of Suffering tells it like it most certainly is. It conjures up explicit memories of prior suffering. I’m nervous, and I can’t wait to do it.

I’m being published

Also, in 2-3 weeks I’ll have an article appearing on Tnation.com — and they’re paying me for it! I’m not sure I’ll win the Pulitzer but I’m very excited that I can technically call myself a professional writer. I’ll post a link to the article here when it comes out.

The stage

I ran my first Imogene Pass Run last weekend and it was a monumental experience. The race was both exhilarating and brutal. The environment and scenery were stunning beyond words (but here are some words.) Living in Colorado, we get used to seeing some amazing scenery. That said, the landscape of this race course was inconceivably dramatic. The San Juan Mountains are the creme de la creme of what Colorado is all about. My wife and I loved the town of Ouray and we can’t wait to go back.

The wife, dog, and spectacular Ouray, CO

The wife, the dog, and spectacular Ouray, CO

The weather was beyond perfect. No rain whatsoever until just after I finished in Telluride. I can’t fathom running this race in foul weather, but run this race in foul weather indeed they do.

Before going much further, I must give credit to my coach, Mary-Katherine Flemming for helping me prepare for this monster. My hiring her to help me was an excellent decision. She planned a variety of progressively challenging workouts, gave me honest, useful advice, and made me feel confident as I moved toward the race. I plan to enlist her again in future races.

Uphill

I was very pleased with my uphill abilities. None of the climbing was easy but 99% of the time I felt strong and able. The final mile was rough. And by rough I mean nasty. (I’m holding back on the foul language that’s essential to describe what I’m talking about.) The average gradient was 18.9% with a max gradient of 33%! Steep slopes plus an ever thinning supply of O2 was almost overwhelming. That the fastest runners are still running at this point in the race is an absurdity to me!

A brief pause before the summit. Look closely at the trail below. Can you see the people?

A brief pause before the summit. Look closely. Can you see the people on the trail?

Slow-slogging it was an attractive option at times. I saw many participants doing a sort of meandering tromp and the siren song of a slower pace was enticing. It definitely felt good to slow down just a bit. I didn’t allow myself to get comfortable though. I was there to do the best I could, not be comfortable. I didn’t “just want to finish.” So when the going got very tough I continued to push as hard as I realistically could while not blowing up.

I found smaller quicker steps were better than long strides. Try climbing stairs two or three at a time vs. one step at a time and you’ll experience this. Sure you can go faster if you take longer steps but you’ll burn out faster too. That’s not a successful strategy for this race.

The hard part is over! The MONUMENTALLY hard part is about to begin.

Downhill

Savage and unrelenting are good words to describe the descent. The entire route was loose rocks and dirt of the sort that demanded constant attention, focus, and concentration. There was never ever an opportunity to coast, to relax, to take it easy in any way. To let the mind wander was to fall and f__k oneself up badly.

The start of a long, technical downhill. Much soreness awaits.

I experienced a very strange sensation during the descent. There were were times when I wanted to close my eyes and fall hard asleep. It was almost like I had narcolepsy or something. I’ve never had it happen before. I actually felt like I could’ve napped on my feet. I have no idea why. Do I have to mention that this experience was no help at all?

The technical descent demanded that I focus just a few feet out ahead to know where and how to place my feet. This was an exceptionally difficult task, especially as the descent took over an hour. The urge to let up a little, concentrate a little less, and look well down the trail was alluring but it would’ve been a disaster had I done so. So the entire descent involved determined concentration. If you’ve ever had to concentrate while (extremely) fatigued then you know it’s a uniquely difficult task.

I have no idea where that switchback road goes. I’d like to find out.

Battling cramps with ducks & pigeons

I had some cramping near the top of the ascent. They continued to flare up during the descent. I had some cramping episodes during training runs and I wasn’t surprised to cramp during this race. What worried me is that I’d cramp badly and be reduced to a walk. That would’ve crushed me. Fortunately, I developed a strategy during training that allowed me to keep the cramps at bay to an acceptable degree. I employed that strategy in the race and though not perfect, it again allowed me to keep running.

I ran while internally and externally rotating my femurs. In other words, I’d run for several strides alternating between a duck-footed or pigeon-toed position. Somehow this would push the cramps away for a while. I had to do this several times during the descent. It’s definitely not an optimal way to run, especially over rough ground, but it worked. I also had to walk but only a very little.

My belief is that I employed the principle of reciprocal inhibition to relax my cramping muscles. Here’s an example: The muscle opposite your bicep is your tricep. Contract your bicep and your tricep will relax to allow for elbow flexion. That’s reciprocal inhibition and that’s how we move. In my case, my adductor muscles (inner thigh muscles, aka hip adductors and internal rotators) cramped. Thus I guessed that by activating those muscles’ opposite numbers (my hip abductors and external rotators) that I might be able to calm the cramping inner-thigh muscles. Seems to have worked. Further, it’s possible that by altering my bone and joint positions with this weird running technique it allowed some of the cramping muscles to rest just a little bit.

External rotation of the femurs

I won’t go into all the details of muscle cramps but I’ll say that it’s highly unlikely that it’s either dehydration or electrolyte depletion that causes them. It’s more along the line of intramuscular dis-coordination. For a brief and worthwhile discussion on the current ideas on muscle cramps and how to avoid them, then follow that link.

Internal rotation of the femurs

The final statistics

To see all the final stats for all runners go here. My numbers are as follows:

Time: 4:07:47
Overall: 451 out of 1227 finishers (Roughly top 1/3 of participants. That’s pretty cool!)
All males: 311 out of 645 (Top half of men. I’d love to improve on that.)
Males 40-44: 36 out of 82 (Top half. I’m happy about that too and improvement would be good.)

I like those results. This race was no easy fun run. You have to come prepared to finish it. I worked hard and I feel like I belong among some high-end athletes. I want to do my best and I want to get better. The top finisher in my age category finished in 3:02. I wonder how close I can get to 3 hrs… Coach Flemming, what are your thoughts?

(Honestly, I’m amazed that I’m thinking of running it again. After that finish I was certain that I didn’t want to run anywhere for any reason maybe ever again. What nonsense!)

What would I do differently?

I would love to get this thing done in under four hours. That seems realistic in good weather. If I want to race this race faster and/or just feel better then I need to improve my downhill conditioning.The descent is 7.1 steep, loose miles which is a very long distance. With that in mind, I need to dedicate more time to running downhill on witheringly tired legs. There aren’t many opportunities outside of this race course to descend that far. (If you know of one in the Front Range area, please let me know about it.) I will confer with my coach on the subject but in my mind, I might want to incorporate something like giant hill repeats. For these I would run up something like Chimney Gulch, Mt. Falcon, Deer Creek, parts of the Bergen Peak Trail, or maybe best of all, Herman’s Gulch, then run back down and repeat the whole nasty process a few times. I think a few near-crippling workouts like this might help me survive the horror show/descent a little better.

Finally

Here is some superb photo documentation of the race. This guy isn’t me and I don’t know him but he deserves accolades for how well he captured the runners and the exquisite scenery.