5 posts tagged with "Exercise"

Let's start off with facts & numbers; those are the first things most humans want to know in order to understand an event. This was my second attempt at the Leadville Trail 100, and I didn't finish. I missed the time cutoff at mile 60 by 2 minutes. Leadville is a 100 mile race run at elevation, the lowest point is 9,200 ft and the highest (Hope Pass) is 12,600 feet above sea level. It's an "out and back" course, so you run 50 miles out then turn around and come back. This year 690 people started the race and about 300 finished. You have 30 hours to finish it. It starts at 4 a.m. on Saturday morning, and finishes at 10 a.m. on Sunday. If you finish in under 30 hours, you get a nice silver belt buckle. If you finish in under 25 hours you get a big gold belt buckle. The winners come in around 18 hours. Ok, those are the numbers. As I started checking my messages this morning after waking up, I saw a bunch of people who were really fired up for me throughout the race. Thank you so much for your support and interest. At this point (the morning after), the most common thing I'm hearing is along the lines of "Hey, sorry you didn't make it, you must be super bummed." Again, thank you so much for your support, but I'm not bummed, I'm stoked, and here's why: Leadville is a test. On the one side, it's a numbers test; can you finish in the allotted time period? This year (and last year) I didn't. Running Leadville involves another test, and passing or failing that has nothing to do with the numbers. That test has two parts: Did you lay it all out there? and Did you quit? Those happy few of you who read my blog know me, so you'll understand when I say that as a young man I was pretty sure I was a tough motherfucker. Still, being tough in your early twenties is no guarantee that you remain tough the rest of your life. I'm not going to debate the merits of "toughness", I believe it's important and part of being a man. I am going to say that this time, running Leadville for me was a validation that I will lay it all out there every time and I will not quit. I validated (this was not a known for me) that when I'm faced with a decision regarding whether or not I should incur & endure physical pain in order to attempt a goal, no matter how badly I hurt, I will go for it. You may think, "Well Nik, I knew that about you, you've always been...blah blah blah." While you may have a picture in your head of who I am, I don't have the same confidence in that vision, and it requires consistent self testing for me to know what I'm capable. of. Validating that idea of still "having what it takes" was the important part of the race. That I didn't finish the race has relatively little importance to me. Ok, with that most important piece out of the way, let's get to the race report & lessons learned. The first 23 miles were good; on schedule and while I felt a little overtrained I was still confident in my ability. I worked running downhill in my training a bunch this last year and it paid off. At about mile 24 I started to cramp and fade due to not eating enough and not taking in electrolytes. At mile 25 I found a total angel at Treeline (one of the crew stations) who gave me a ziploc baggie full of salt tabs. It saved my ass, but it would take a while for the salt to absorb, so by mile 26 or so I was completely cramped up on the side of the trail, unable to move my legs for about 5 full minutes. The cramps were unlike anything I'd experienced before in my life; completely incapacitating and extraordinarily painful. Runners going by asked if I needed help, but there wasn't anything they (or I) could do. After 5 minutes I was able to start taking tiny staggering steps, which eventually led to a shuffle. It was a struggle and a fight to move and not quit, and it took a good hour or so until the cramps finally released, and by that time I thought I was out of the race and would miss the time cut off at mile 40. About mile 35 I started to be able to walk, and by mile 36 I could shuffle. At mile 37 I passed a Marine on the trail, he was staggering with hip issues. Those guys are tough. We talked briefly and he convinced me if I hustled I could actually make the time cut off at mile 40. I thought of the folks who supported me throughout not just the race but the previous year of training, and I didn't want to let them down with anything less than my best efforts. Mostly I thought of my wife Lee, and how much of her time she devotes to supporting me train, making it possible for me to attempt this race. I can't claim that what I did next came entirely from me; knowing Lee was waiting for me and counting on me to hustle provided most of my inspiration. I rallied (the first of 3), I ate the pain like I used to in the old days, and I got out of the 40 mile station (Twin Lakes) with a roaring crowd and 15 minutes to spare. While you may think of this as solely the efforts of one runner, none of us does this alone. Having a supportive community allows you to be better than you think you are (one of the trademark phrases of Leadville is, "You are better than you think you are and you can do more than you think you can.") The cramps at mile 26 seemed like they added 40 miles of running effort to my legs, so I was stoked about pushing through the next section. From Twin Lakes I had a 3,000' climb in 5 miles up to Hope Pass. Last year I held about a 36 minute/mile pace going up to Hope (not a typo, it's hard climbing at altitude.) Fired up from seeing Lee and my friend Kevin Montford at Twin lakes, for the second of my 3 rallies, this year I held a 16 minute/mile pace going up to Hope Pass. Charging hard and as my good friend CR would say, proud. I stormed over Hope Pass and had to move & shake 3,000' back down to Winfield. I passed a bunch of folks who had given up making the time cut and I got to Winfield with 10 minutes to spare. Blasted in and out of there four minutes before cut off and had to rally for the third time to get back up & over Hope Pass and run down the other side back to Twin Lakes. I was fading but not slacking. I went as hard as I could, passed another bunch of folks who just gave up trying, and when I came in to Twin Lakes (mile 60) and missed the time cutoff by 2 minutes, I was totally OK with it. I had given it everything I had. Now, lessons learned: First, 30 miles a week training is probably the minimum for me to have a good race. Aside from the major cramping issue I had between miles 23 and 35 I felt like I'd run enough to hit the sub-25 hour mark. Before next year's race I'm aiming to run at least a 50 mile race and to increase my weekly miles to between 40 & 50. Second, nutrition. I tried to go totally Paleo and it was a disaster. The burritos I made (Paleo turmeric wraps with avocado, sweet potato, and bacon) tasted really good before I ran but the thought of them as I came into the first station was revolting, so I didn't eat. That was the first in a series of bad moves that left me with full leg cramps (calves, quads, hamstrings, and a particularly tender muscle high on the inner thigh that I didn't know I had) at about mile 26. Second (b), electrolytes/salt/pills & powders. I used those last year (2013) and didn't realize how much they helped. I just thought taking them was a pain in the ass and it didn't make a difference because I was naturally awesome. I'm not, the pain in the ass was worth it, and I won't neglect that aspect again. Third, race crew is mission critical and often overlooked. Lee crewed for me this year (and last year), and without her help in picking up on everything from fine grain details like where warm clothes should be placed to big picture ideas such as making a total change to how we'd handle nutrition on the fly when it became obvious that my plan wouldn't work, she's a total star. Without her support during the race or in the 12 months before it, I flat out wouldn't be able to do this. That wraps up most of the race. The final piece is the idea of facing the unknown. Most of the things we do on a daily basis involve "knowns", from how long it takes to drive to work to when you'll eat to how hard your workout will be. Those of you out on the sharp end live with mortal unknowns all the time, and running a trail race pales in comparison, but for most of us we rarely face the unknown. What do I mean when I say "the unknown"? Aside from the obvious (and unknowable), I'm referring to how much pain we can take, how long we can endure, what we'll do when we're faced with an easy fail or a hard victory, how we behave when we're under pressure, how we treat others when we're hurting, and to what lengths we're willing to go to accomplish a goal. They're unknowns because there's no way to test them under anything other than "real" conditions. We can lay on the couch or sit at the coffee shop or dream in the shower about what might be, but the only way to pull back the curtain is to, in finest cliched fashion, step into the fucking arena. Facing those unknowns is not necessary to stay alive in today's world, but for those of us who hear the call, regularly seeking them out and peering into the void is critical to living. Cheers! NFH

Bare chested, cold, running up overgrown single track at 8,000 feet on a mountainside in Colorado. Teardrops of hail hammer down through an aspen forest as the cloud gods grumble overhead. No sunlight peaks through, the wilds are draped only in cold grey light. Not comfortable yet comforting, not pleasant yet still the quest for effort draws me in. It's a slow grind, not a fast sprint. There is no roaring crowd, no medal at the end, no instant gratification, only the knowledge that repetition of effort produces more ability to work. It's simple work, clean and pure and harsh and uncomfortable. I didn't do enough of this last year, and that lack of effort was on public display at mile 75 of the Leadville 100. I felt lucky to miss the time cut off then, it saved me from the indignity of quitting. Scrabbling up into the van I was living in, barely aware of the helping shoves from my wife, half falling half rolling into the bed in the back, I cramped and creaked and swore and gibbered at shadows. One thing then was clear. I wasn't doing this again. It was too much, it was a stupid test, it hurt and it sucked and it was screamingly indifferent that I had failed. It took two days to come to my senses and two months before I could run again, but I knew in those first 24 hours what I had to do. I knew I couldn't walk away from a failure like that, couldn't go for the next 40 years of my life knowing that I'd made a half hearted effort and failed. I didn't want to commit to another year of running, but my ethics left me no choice. I would return. We seek out pure experiences as a method of reset, of detoxification. We each pursue purity in our own way; yoga, CrossFit, floating, triathlons, whatever. For me that purity has come most easily (although that's a false & hellish trap of a word) through running. Running for me has always been epitomized by a quote from an old Navy recruiting video, "There's nothing quite like running to make a man reach deep down inside himself and see what he's made of." Written in the dying gasps of the sexist '80s, the lack of equality is for me overshadowed by the verity of the statement rooted in my own experience. I won't debate which sport is the hardest or the most pure or worthwhile, I'd rather you and I agree that maximum physical effort of some sort is worth far more than any tangible prize we may win. That's what running Leadville is about for me. It's not a question of crossing the line in front of everybody else, or even anybody else. It's not a question of making a certain time or not. It's not even a question of finishing the race. It's a question of preparation; did you meet your goal on every day of training, did you rest when you needed to, did you eat right, did you make the right effort at the right time for the right reason no matter the external factors that could have dissuaded you? If you did all those things, if you put in all your able effort on time, every time, the race is immaterial, merely the peak of an iceberg submerged 99%. Sure, it's the part that people see, it's how you're evaluated in the public realm, but it's not the part that matters. That part, that submerged and unseen, unappreciated, unsung piece, (and for not much longer with the advent of a thousand electronic tracking devices, from watches to phones to wristbands) is what matters. The public culmination of that preparation comes fast upon us. The Leadville 100 starts the morning of August 16th of this year, and you're welcome to follow the progress of any racer participating. If you watch, as you watch, as you see the checkpoints ticked off one by one, from Turquoise Lake to Fish Hatchery, all the way over the Pass and back, remember, this is just the tip of the iceberg, the least piece visible and understandable to an outsider. The question may then echo in your own mind; have I done enough in own training? My unseen and unknown friend, the answer eagerly awaits you. Train hard! NFH

Just attempted the Leadville 100. It's 100 miles all above 9,000', climbs to 12,500 at the highest. It's got single track, dirt roads, and paved highway. I got to mile 75 and missed the time cutoff so was pulled from the race, but at that point I was happy; I was in a fair amount of pain and hypothermic. It's the first time I've been in that much pain or been that cold since I was 18, and while it was a failure from a finishing standpoint I'm OK with it. I gave it my best (I usually quit long before that) and that day my best wasn't good enough. Long term I'm aiming to go back and win, luckily for me there's a LOT to improve upon. This was my first race over 13.1 miles, so I picked up a bunch of new experience, broken down here into weak points, strong points, and points of consideration: WEAK: Downwhill speed: I need to work a TON on my downhill speed. For every person I passed going uphill, 3 to 5 people passed me on the downhill sections. This is a combo of technique and strength; it ain't magic, just something to work on. If you have any tips I'm open to hearing 'em. Hiking speed: Lots of people passed me while we were both walking. My slow shuffle/run speed is about the same as many folks' fast hike. I had no idea there would be that much "walking" in a "run" so was completely unprepared for it. Gear prep: I had planned out the race on the assumption that most of the time I would run a 10:30 pace. Totally unreasonable, and because of this I didn't prepare my drop bags (bags that go at the various aid stations along the route) properly. At the midway point I saw I hadn't thought to resupply myself with my electrolyte pills in the bag so marched the next 10 miles (over Hope Pass, from 9k up to 12.5k and back down) with no electrolytes. Probably wasn't a huge factor (I never bonked or felt totally out of it until the last section, 15 miles later), but it was definitely an example of piss poor preparation. Preparation in general: This was a huge lesson that finally got hammered home for me. I've lived for a long time now without really worrying about prepping for anything; it's always seemed to me to be a waste of time and more effort than it was worth. For most of life you can get away with that attitude and method, especially if you're confident and have a decent experience base. For the hard stuff it's a stupid method, and I found that out the best way, which was by hard experience. The last leg, between miles 70 and 75, I was lucky I didn't go down hard with hypothermia. I was lucky that Lee marched out into the night to find me, got me into a car and then to a warming station ASAP. Without her effort I won't get melodramatic and say I would've died, because I was on a highway and someone would've stopped if they'd seen me go down, but I was damn lucky. I should've stuffed a warmie, hat and gloves into all of the drop bags "just in case" along with double rations of everything else. STRONG: Uphill: Uphill work has always been good for me. It's straight hard work and I'm a light guy with strong lungs and stringy legs; I was built to go uphill fast. Mental game: While I went out a little faster than planned (9:15 miles vs 10:30) I don't think that had much to do with my ultimate failure. I was super conscious the whole time of the effort I was putting in and was also alert to "down" periods, fighting back with basic refrains like "I can do this" and counting 10 steps at a time over and over. And over. Nutrition: With no experience to base on I was a little worried about this, but advice from Dave, Jelani, Kurt, and Nell kept me out of trouble. I initially wanted to go strict Paleo, but I abandoned that plan in the face of wisdom and went with Hammer Nutrition Perpeteum, Endurolytes, Endurance Aminos, and Anti-Fatigue caps. That was my food outside of aid stations, and then I gobbled fruits, ramen, potatoes, and Gatorade-like products while in the stations. No problems with energy flagging until the last station, no problems with bonking, I felt good and fueled up the whole time. I saw plenty of white-faced people slumped on the side of the trail (calm down, I checked with 'em before moving on) as well as dudes just 1,000 yard staring in the aid stations, so I either got lucky or my nutrition plan worked. POINTS OF CONSIDERATION: Clothing and equipment: I wore shorts and a t-shirt until mile 40, when I added a trucker's hat to keep the sun off my face. I used the Ultimate Direction AK vest on the advice of Jelani and really liked it. I wore Altra Samson shoes and was happy with those. I used a BD headlamp that worked really well, and BD trekking Z poles that saved my legs from considerable damage. Other than a small chafing issue with the headlamp resting on my ears and a five minute chafe in the lining of my shorts I had no gear problems. Shoulda coulda woulda: "If only coach had put me in…" Thinking back on it, if I'd had the foresight to stash a warmie with hat and gloves at all the aid stations I might have been able to finish. I didn't, and it's nowhere near a certainty; by the time they cut the timing chip off my wrist I was really thankful for the excuse to quit; I was cold and hurting. Training: The training I did was REALLY low volume: 3 workouts a week, one of which was a "long run", usually 7-12 miles over rough terrain, one was a set of intervals, anything from 40-1200 yard repeats, and one was a weightlifting sessions, either deadlifts or squats. The longest training run I did was the Rim-Rim-Rim, at about 34 miles. This next year I can see that I need to include at least one more 20+ mile run per week as well as including lots of downhill speed work plus working on fast walking. If my weekly mileage total before was under 20 I still don't see a reason to go beyond 50 miles a week. Post race pain: A week later I'm hurting and I've done some damage to my right knee and left ankle, but it doesn't seem that anything I did is a long term problem. High tech recovery: I was introduced to Norma-tec pressure boots by Kevin Montford, they're toe-to-hip compression boots that are supposed to flush out fluids from your legs through peristaltic compression. They felt good while they were working and my legs felt REALLY good after using them before the race. I used them post-race but my legs were so painful I don't think anything would've made a difference except a shot of morphine. If I can get my hands on them I'll use 'em for the next year as recovery aids. At $1,700 for a pair, Paleo Treats is going to have to have a few banner months in order to support its sole sponsored athlete. :) The running tribe: The running "people" were all super nice and considerate, I didn't get mad-dogged at all like has happened in almost every other sport I've been involved in, and I've never been in a race like this one where it didn't matter how many people passed you, it was totally based on time and personal effort. I really dug that. Am looking forward to more longer distance pushes in the future. Living off the 'net: Finally, I spent just over three weeks living in a van up at elevation in Colorado as prep and recovery time for this race. I turned my phone on when I wanted to reach out, and other than that stayed off of the internet. It was just as incredible as I thought it would be, and has really caused me to re-orient and evaluate how I spend my time, whether I'm at home or on the road. I'm still not "anti-technology", just had a good reference point with which to evaluate my former living pattern. Thanks for all your help and support throughout this, I had good "conversations" with many of you in my head on the trail. Cheers, NFH

I've been casting about for a goal for the last year or so, something physical, something hard, something worth doing for the experience of doing it.  It began to coalesce in November as some kind of long distance running race, gained clarity on a Rim-River-Rim push at the Grand Canyon in mid-December, and was finally nailed down when I decided to run the Leadville 100 this August. Leadville is a 100 mile race above 10,000' out in Colorado.  It's considered to be one of the tougher 100s to finish and if you do, is a worthwhile accomplishment.  It's a hard race, but not impossible, and definitely meets the requirements of a physical goal.  I'm in. I've trained for races before, as a swimmer, a runner, a Naval Pentathlete, and a paddleboarder.  I used to hold two-a-days as the holy grail of training, basically thinking that mo' trainin' is mo' bettah.  At 35 and a couple of wins plus a couple of injuries behind me, I'm through that phase. Some of the best advice I got (although I didn't use it at the time) came from a crusty old Navy Masterchief named Lucky Verlinde, the coach of the US Navy Pentathlon team while I was there.  He was a huge proponent of listening to your body and not being afraid to try new things.  With only 8 months to go from 7 miles a week to the fastest possible 100 in 30 hours or less, I'm dedicating this effort to really tuning in to what my body is telling me.  This means pretty minimal mileage per week, a norm of 3 workouts a week with the occasional extra lifting session thrown in, and a TON of recovery time.  The basic set up is 1 day of tough distance (plenty of hills & elevation), 1 day of sprints/repeats, and 1 day of heavy lifting (squats, deadlifts, and cleans.) I've found a local running buddy (Lauren M) who is into running enough to not be afraid to push hard, have got a good support group in the form of wife, dogs, and my local crew, and my good friend Kevin Montford out in Colorado has already signed up for the race, so I'll have someone to chase. Lauren and I kicked off the "official" training on Tuesday, January 15th with a 7 miler in Mission Gorge doing the Fortuna loop, and then hit 5 x 800s in the park today.  It's begun. Am I crazy?  We'll see in 8 months.  In the meantime, follow along on this path of running discovery. Cheers! -Nik

I've been building my run training around hard stuff.  You know, hills, sprints, uneven terrain, even ruck runs.  It never occurred to me to add some long and flat distance in, so I was interested when Lauren brought up a Mission Bay/Fiesta Island run.   At 8 or 9 miles it was a little longer than I've gone, but hell, it's flat! I had remembered Lauren as a little slower than me on our last long run, but it wasn't speed, she just wasn't used to the terrain I'd been training on. When we got on her turf I was puffing to keep up.  She is a no-shit good runner, which is a welcome and awesome surprise. We finished up the run at a slightly more than brisk pace, the natural competitiveness coming out in each of us until we were just a tick off of sprinting to the finish.  Polished off with some striders, this was an excellent re-intro to the world of flat land running.  Totally dig it!