The First Steps (Out the Door) Are Often the Toughest - Original 6 Hundo Challenge aka #O6HC Blog Entry 01

"You are capable of more than you know.  Choose a goal that seems right for you and strive to be the best, however hard the path.  Aim high.  Behave honorably.  Prepare to be alone at times, and to endure failure.  Persist!  The world needs all you can give."

-E.O. Wilson

*Original 6 Hundo Challenge (#O6HC) - the first six hundred mile trail races to exist in the United States, in order of inception: Western States, Squaw Valley, CA to Auburn, CA (1974), Old Dominion, Fort Valley, VA (1979), Wasatch Front, Utah (1980), Leadville Trail, Colorado (1983), Angeles Crest, Wrightwood, CA to Pasadena/Altadena (1986), and Vermont (1989)  * - this challenge has historically been known by the title the Last Great Race which is presently "on hiatus".  Out of respect to the organizer, we've chosen to call the challenge another name until we are able to register for the LGR officially.


It's been quite a 9 month stretch since I completed the 2013 Angeles Crest 100 (AC) and Leadville Trail 100 (LT) inside of a two week period (well, 2 weeks, 1 day and a couple-few extra hours).  I spent about 10 days post that 100-mile double challenge hibernating, as it f**king wrecked me.  So, sounds like a perfectly rational idea to run 6 hundreds (the first 6 hundred mile trail races that existed in the United States) in a 13 week period, right?!?  A long-standing motto of mine: the worst ideas often make the best stories.

To begin with, I blame the seed for this idea being planted on Andy Kumeda.  In 2007, we were chatting in Wrightwood awaiting the check in for the Angeles Crest Endurance Run.  Andy had attempted to run these same six races in 2007 and going into AC Andy was 4-for-5 having timed out at that year's #4 (Leadville), at Mile 60.  I was still floored, as he had finished the Wasatch Front 100 (WF)  in 35:57 (with less than 3 minutes to spare) and was attempting to complete AC only 6 days after that finish.  The 2007 Angeles Crest became my first ever DNF at any race of any distance (it was my only hundred attempt in 2007). I pulled out about halfway through (Mile 49, Mt. Hillyer) with some breathing problems that may or may not have been hypoxia or the early stages of hyponatremia.  Andy finished AC with a couple/few hours to spare.  He vowed to give these 6 hundos another shot as soon as he got back into the Western States 100 (States), and 7 years later, here we are.

I personally loved the idea of The Grand Slam of Ultrarunning (the Slam) which is 4 of the original 6 hundreds, about one per month, but have some longer term goals at Angeles Crest, so while I wanted to run Western States, the Vermont 100 (VT), Leadville and Wasatch in the same summer, I felt too impatient to skip AC for a summer (FOMO in LA is particularly fierce).  Angeles Crest used to be late-September/early-October as recently as 2008, but has been moved to July/August since the devastating Station Fire in 2009.  Now, with AC in late-July/early-August, it's sandwiched in between the only 4 week break in the Grand Slam, 2 weeks after Vermont, 2 weeks prior to Leadville.  I realized I'd be doing 5 of the original 6, looked up Old Dominion 100 (OD), which was formerly a part of the Grand Slam, between 1986 when Tom Green first finished OD, Western States, Leadville and Wasatch in the same summer, and Tom is at it again this summer 28 years later (Go Tom Go!). Old Dominion was a part of the Slam until 2003 when OD did not happen and Vermont has formally replaced it in the Slam every year since.  Since my modified Grand Slam (the Slam+AC) only allotted 2-3 weeks between each race, it didn't seem like much more of a stretch to throw in OD 3 weeks before that all began.  NOTE: I joked far too often that Old Dominion was my "warm-up race" and that joke bit me in the rear.  OD kicked my butt, and I was taught that joking about how one race will be easier is a very dangerous mental space to be in.

The Torrey Pines Glider Port (Cliff) Stairs and Blacks Beach

I DNF'd for the second consecutive February at a SoCal 50 mile race (2014 was the inaugural Sean O'Brien, a race I helped lay out, and test ran in October to create an elevation profile, and 2013 I failed to finish the Ray Miller 50 Mile before going on to complete Angeles Crest and Leadville later that year), and I'm holding my breath that it was a good omen (although I have to work out my string of lifetime DNF's the second time I run a course which includes 2 hundreds and 2 fifties).  That was a wake up call.  Training got a lot more consistent after that.  Life, however, failed to cooperate with my extended training plans for this challenge.  From February to late-May, ultimately I averaged 47.5 miles per week, which included an entire month where my mileage total didn't eclipse 62 miles (for the entire month!).  At one point, spent about 2 weeks with my mom who had a horseback riding accident that led to her fracturing L1 and requiring some significant medical care for the first phase of her recovery.  I got to know the running available in La Jolla, California pretty intimately as I'd help administer my mom's meds and home care, then head out the door for a couple hours of sand running & cliff repeats near the Torrey Pines Glider Port & Blacks Beach.  Looking back on this, it may have been the longest half month of my life.  Seeing a loved one that injured is beyond any emotional or physical stress I have ever experienced.  My mom is greatly improved (3 months into her recovery) and may have dodged a bullet not immediately needing a major 5 vertebrae spinal fusion surgery.  Yay, mom!  Got really sick for about 8 days after that, and didn't feel like myself (running or otherwise) for another 3-4 weeks.  When all that dust settled, I was 3 weeks from race #1 in the #O6HC


"Good judgment comes from experience.  Experience comes from bad judgment."
-Mark Twain


Instead of going through and writing a blow-by-blow recap of the 3 one-hundred mile races I've already gone through (which I promise to recap via podcast or video-blog, at the very least), I'll let you know a few of the epiphanies and reflections that could hopefully be more useful to you in your running or life goals.

*Never underestimate 100 miles  - researching all 6 races in this series, both Old Dominion and Vermont had the least aggressive elevation profiles and fastest historical finishing times.  I went into OD saying, "this is my warm up 100" and the race beat me down pretty soundly.  Kate has seen me run this distance at least a dozen times, and said she had never seen me looking that broken at the end of a race.  Every 100 will have it's own unique (and idiosyncratic) challenges.  Respect the distance.  Respect the conditions.  Seek to uncover the hidden challenges of an event prior to starting.  I was geared up for the challenge of the humidity, when my left peroneal tendon went out, I realize I had never considered what cambered country roads would do to me.

*Plan to flow (and how to flow when the plan disintegrates) - mentality conditioning is as important as physical conditioning in difficult life and running adventures.  Look to unlock your Zen by practicing some mantras and putting forth a positive perspective (or assigning silver linings to tough situations) in training and in life, prior to the adversity that will inevitably find you in your goal events.  In the early stages of the Vermont 100, I noticed a piece of trash on the trail, which I picked up to put in my handheld water bottle sleeve.  The paper, when examined, was from a fortune cookie.  The fortune?
"You can't control the wind, but you can adjust your sails."

Frolicking at Western States around Mile 38

This thought stuck with me the rest of the day.  I couldn't control when/where my difficulty would arise, but I could determine what attitude I approached the difficulty with, and make adjustments to my plan for that race.  That sourced me the rest of the day and worked very, very well.

*Far more fun to be had rooting FOR people than wasting energy rooting AGAINST someone - I have met and enjoyed the company of no less than 30 people over the 300 miles Andy and I have covered thus far (in Virginia, NorCal and Vermont).  To qualify that, I've talked to more than 300 people, but have held at least 3-5 minute conversations during the race, with probably around 1 person every 10 miles.  I love hearing a person's (aka new friend's) story.  Why they do this crazy $#!^ too, what they are up to in this one precious life of theirs.  First half of the race it's generally talking about life, goals and dreams type of stuff.  Second half of the race, often times we're talking about problems we're having, a running issue we need to trouble shoot, (adjusted) goals for the race, and how we can help each other achieve them.  The last time I remember actively rooting against some one (save any member of the Los Angeles Dodgers, LA Kings, or Dallas Cowboys) was Rollie the Goalie after seeing his cheap antics of the 2006 NHL Playoffs.  Honestly, don't even ask.  When it comes to ultrarunning, a few people have made it clear to me that they are rooting against me (again, don't ask) and I can't even find the energy to return favor.  There's so much goodwill, and positive humanity around 100 mile mountain races, I find that I want everyone to have their best day.  We all know we're in for trials, for discomfort or bone-jarring pain, and the day/night/day will be an adventure.  The kinship this activity breeds is what makes this community so special to me.  So even if I get it in my head that I want to "finish before you do" which never equates to me as "beating someone" as there are only a few rare friends I even think this way about (Mike Chamoun, Karl Hoagland, Eric Wickland, George Gleason, Kate Martini, etc.), I still want you to have your A+ day out there, and want it to be a fun story for both of us to share a beer over when we're long since old-and-gray.  So do what you can out there to help people succeed, yes, help your fellow competitors.  It will make you feel better (and forget your current issues for a moment).  That good mojo will feed back into your race.  But don't do it for the mojo.  Do it because you want to see yourself as kind, generous and graceful.  Never know, you might turn someone's day/race around.  That feels better than a finish (to me).

I could wax on (and wax off) a lot longer on these things, and these three races.  But there's a lot more decompressing to do, and 3 more races to "run".  I'm going to sign off now and get this thing up, as it's been too long a dry spell for this #WannaBeWriter

10 Ways Running 100 Miles Over Mountains is like a Weekend in VEGAS!

I saw Little Miss Sunshine (yes, for the first time) a couple nights ago.  It's the second film I've seen in the past few months with a speaker who doesn't live his message (Donnie Darko was the other).  I know I'm not Jim Cunningham (Patrick Swayze's charater) nor am I Richard Hoover (although I'm not too far off of Richard Hoover's "don't stop, no matter what the circumstances dictate" mantra), but sometimes I worry about losing my audience being overtly content & happy many days.  Henceforth, I'm going to work to integrate this blog into three types of posts:

1- life lessons (stemming from the adversity I've faced)
2- adventurous stories (tall tales, many running related)
3- silly perspective posts (every so often to lighten the mood)

It's going to be a unique soup of posts, but there you have it.  I'm all over the place sometimes, so this will better represent me too.  Without further ado...




10 WAYS RUNNING 100 MILES OVER MOUNTAINS IS LIKE A WEEKEND IN VEGAS!

10. Some people stop in the light of day, but many will be pulling an all nighter.

9. Waking up the morning after, we all ask ourselves why we just did that to ourselves.

"Never, ever again!  This time I mean it!  For reals!"

8. The longer we keep going, the less we seem to care when we throw up on a friend, on our shoes or in one of our own bags (shout out to Puck!).

7. Friends always make it more fun.  They can also validate and legitimize your stories of what really happened.

6. Aid station hopping can be just as fun as club/bar hopping.

5. After a crazy night, all we want to do the next day is lounge by the pool.

4. You're either going to have a good time, a great horror story, or both. Chances are you'll see some $#!^ you've never seen before.

3. The wetter you get, often times, the better the story is... TWSS?

2. You might have a crazy naked dude *chase you with a crowbar.
*In the 100, you're probably just hallucinating. Probably.

1. the cougars love the night life!
(Photo Credit: Steve Winter/National Geographic)

BONUS: you might end up passing out on the bathroom floor in either.

Photo Credit: Coach Jen Vogel - Instagram.com/UltraIronJen 

BONUS: in both, there's always a photo or two we hope doesn't end up on social media!

What is Chamoun doing here???

Don't worry Chamoun, this isn't my best look either.

What have you experienced in a 100 miler (or Vegas) that you can relate to both activities!?  Hope you enjoyed the list...

Failure, Attitude & Adjusting to Adversity - San Diego 100-mile 2013, Carnage 1 & 2 Aid Station Recap

Objects in photo are more overheated than they appear.

"Good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgment."
-Mark Twain

I am a failure.

I will say that again, for emphasis, then ask you to think about the San Diego 100 in relationship to it.

I, Jimmy Freeman, am a failure.  I have failed as a coach, I've failed as pacer/crew, and I failed as an Aid Station Captain.  In some cases, I even failed to be a good friend (to many).

*pregnant pause*

Notice this: the moment I say (well, in this case write/type) the word failure, it brings up all sorts of thoughts and emotions for you.  It's a super-charged word (especially in our society).  You'll immediately feel a tendency to debate me ("No Jimmy, you are wrong, I have many reasons to prove you are indeed a success in these areas and here's why...") and some of you may agree with me wholeheartedly (which begs the question, why are you even reading this blog? Then again, maybe you heard through the grapevine that I was acknowledging my failure as a human and you wanted some emotional validation).

Consider that I don't sustain a normal relationship to the word/experience of failure.  Me and failure are way outside-the-box.  I love to fail.  Failing means I'm challenging myself to the point that failure is a possibility.  Many people avoid failure, and in turn fail to have epic life experiences because they keep themselves in a very tight box in life, relationships and athletic endeavors.  So, those who fail (to complete a goal) have my deepest respect.

Now for what I intended to say.  Know that I say the following while dealing with considerable concern (see: fear) for what may prove to be an unpopular opinion, as I'm taking aim at some general commentary I have heard for the last 2 days.

San Diego 100 2013 will be long remembered for many, many reasons.  First and foremost, it was one of the lowest finishing rates in years.  At a race that typically sees 65-70%+ finish, more than half DNF'd (178-starters, 96 DNF's 54%, 82 finishers 46%).  Some may suggest "heat caused the high number of DNF's" and to each of them I would say bluntly and directly, "negative, dear friend, the heat had little to do with it".  Think of it like this: if I showed up to a 100-mile race in the snow without a jacket, DNF'd from hypothermia, and cited the cold as the reason I didn't finish, while that would be an accurate statement, it would fail to reflect the full scope of what happened. A great many people failed yesterday, not because they weren't fit enough, not because they came from cold areas of the country or didn't heat train enough, and most certainly not because of the record heat for that race.

Life, and especially running 100-mile races, is all about adjusting to adversity. We can rarely anticipate what unique challenges life will throw our way, and how successful we are is relative not to the specific challenges we face, but how we face those challenges.

As the Aid Captain of the hottest section of the course in it's hottest year (on record) for this race, I saw people in all stages of disarray, dealing with those challenges in many different ways.  As I examine the splits, and as I recall the many conversations with more than 50-athletes either 31 or 36 miles into that race, I was surprised to learn more than half the people in the race were drinking less fluid than I'd drink on a 60-degree day in the mountains, replacing less electrolytes than I might in a cold 30-degree mountain race, and most certainly not getting enough calories for the body functions to perform at an optimal level.  Every mistake in a 100-miler, whether from lack of experience or pure strategic/tactical error (for example, having a great hydration/calorie/electrolyte strategy and failing to follow it), each of those mistakes is exacerbated by extreme distance and tough conditions.  I saw very few adjustments being made to pacing plans and fluid/electrolyte/calorie strategies until much of the damage had been done.  The heat was unusual, but not unprecedented for the area, it was just coincidental that it happened the exact day of the race.

Another major aspect of success (in life and racing) is attitude.  What was common among San Diego 100-mile finishers was an unflappable attitude. While some were lamenting the heat, most of the 80-ish people who crossed the finish line made mid-race adjustments, put their heads down and did the work.  I didn't hear a single complaint from a finisher about the heat.  "Everyone had to race in the same conditions" was about the closest I got to an acknowledgement of those conditions from a finisher (and I talked to dozens of finishers).

Not everyone who DNF'd "did something horribly wrong" and likewise not a single person who finished "did everything right", so don't misinterpret what I'm saying here.  100-mile mountain running is at best, a messy activity filled with small and large (and sometimes horrifically ugly) mistakes, falling apart and putting ourselves back together (as quick as possible).  Heat, altitude, mountains, distance are all separate challenges to be respected, equally, if one wants to be successful in this category of extreme endurance sports.  Also, another little disclaimer below about how you should interpret my commentary here (thanks to Robert Harris for an awesome reminder of one of my favorite quotes)...

"It is not the [aid captain] who counts; not the [coach] who points out how the strong [runner] stumbles, or where the [100 miler] could have [run it] better. The credit belongs to the [runner] who is actually in the [race], whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to [finish the race]; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends him[/her]self in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if [s]he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his[/her] place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."

-Theodore Roosevelt (w/slight JDF 100-mile variation)

No matter how this weekend went for you, no matter what reasons had it be a tough day for you, ultimately, I'm impressed by anyone who attempts to do something so silly and profoundly challenging in the first place.  Mad props and serious respect to the 178 of you who started, no matter where you ended up by Sunday morning!

David Villa-yotes on b-day run (following Frank) completing his 1st hundo

Particularly proud of the many people I knew out there, especially veteran 100-milers Josh Spector, Amy Berken-Chavez, Tiffany Guerra and rookies Anton 'Tony' Smith & David Villalobos.

The most moving story of the day that I know of (and one of the most impressive I've ever seen/heard of) was the race of Tina Ure, who walked with a guy (to protect his identity I'll call him Brian) for the better part of 3-hours, then sat with him for a long while at our checkpoint.  Brian was having severe heat issues and was brought to the care of medical personnel where they treated him for over an hour.  Tina didn't leave his side until his condition greatly improved and we notified her of course closure in a compassionate, but 'last call for alcohol' sorta way.  She started doing the math on the splits to stay ahead of cutoff times and I could tell she was about to run herself straight into the ground.  After we talked about the cutoffs, she was pleased to hear she was a full hour off in her calculations.  She ran the rest of the race like she ignored my suggestion that she take it easy and not run like a bat-outta-hell (even though she was indeed running outta hell).  At Mile 36, she was 15-min post "closing time" and she finished the race in 29-hours, 1-minute with nearly 3-hours to spare.  Super, duper, uber mad props to you Tina.  I'd be lying if I said I won't be using your compassionate performance as inspiration in a future race when I'm struggling.

Running Love Affair - Runner's Highs, Rituals & the Dreaded DNF

ad·dic·tion
noun
the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.

Unraveling at the Ray Miller 50-miler around Mile 23-ish

Running check: habit forming? Yep.  Psychological and physical? Most definitely.  Like narcotics? Absolutely (endorphins affect the same opioid receptors in the brain as morphine does).  Stopping it causes severe trauma? My last major bout with depression came when I was physically unable to run due to injury for 10-months, and my last few minor low-periods came after a big deal race that I had been anticipating and training towards for many months.

Okay FINE, I'll admit it: I'm an addict.  I've been addicted since the tender young age of 9.  I kicked it a couple of times, I was clean a couple years here, a few years there.  Running wasn't even my first love (baseball was), but damn she's got staying power.  But I'm not here to talk about addiction.  I'm here to talk about one of the things that might cause it... "the runner's high".

I was recently asked to describe runner's high.  And I realized that it's not just a chemical endorphin/adrenaline response to physical discomfort.  Do you ever wonder why you never hear: the cyclist's high, the triathlete's high, the shot putter's high (I'm reaching on that one, I know).  There is a definite unique chemical and physiological response to the impact stresses and breathing patterns of running (especially long distances).  I break the runner's high into 3 categories...

Point where the high WORE OFF...

PHYSICAL RUNNER'S HIGH - this one is pretty simple, if you run far enough, your body breaks down and when fatigued you begin to release more endorphin (or is it endorphins?) into the system. Boom. You feel high.  You suddenly aren't hurting as much anymore. You pick up the pace because you feel good, moments later the chemical high is replaced by physical discomfort yet again.

MENTAL RUNNER'S HIGH - there's a definite high that comes with hard work and the feeling of exhaustion post hard work.  The farther you run, the more difficult the terrain, the more you physically suffered (and maybe even mentally suffered) there's a deep satisfaction afterward.  Said after a recent Octopus run in the Santa Monica Mountains, "that sucked for nearly the entire time, but I feel so good now for some reason."

Photo by Tyler Olson

EMOTIONAL RUNNER'S HIGH - this one is close to the mental runner's high, but is different in a couple ways.  I see the emotional runner's high often tied to an event that carries a lot of hope, like training a long time for a big race.  You invest a lot of emotional energy in training and race prep.  Race day comes.  Some days it IS harder than you imagined yet still everything you strive for comes through (you hit your A-goal, maybe you run a new personal best, place higher than you thought you could).  The high you ride on these days lasts.  You can think back to a race months or even years later and get a little charge of confidence and happiness with that memory recall.  That's the emotional runner's high!

SGV Team In Training circa SD RnR 2004

Once you get high like this, good luck not coming back to it over and over again.  And there are no support groups for runners, other than groups that enable the problem.  The Marathon Maniacs.  Charity Groups like Team In Training.  The SoCal Coyotes.  Shhhhhhhhh...

Another thing that locks in our absolute love affair with running?  Rituals and romance.  It's a romantic sport full of superstition, habitual behaviors and most races are steeped in tradition.  Think about all of the things we do in prep for a big race day: buying a special outfit, laying things out the night before, eating that special meal the night before or morning of, carbo-loading, watching our favorite inspirational movie (*cough*cough* Cinderella Man *cough*cough*).  Running a race again (and again and again) on a certain day, at a certain time of year, it becomes a regular part of our story!  Take the XTERRA Boney Mountain Half Marathon in early January, I've run it 5-years in a row and can't imagine kicking my new year off with any other race!  And it's absolutely destroyed me 2 of the 5 times I've run it, yet I still love it.

There is a downside to this love affair.  Failure.  Actually, it's not failure in and of itself, as there's nothing more positively motivating as missing a race goal or dream by ever so little.  I often tell the story that I trained for FOUR marathons before I RAN my first marathon.  Chicago 2002.  I never start conservatively with goals and dreams, so I figured I'd go "sub-3 hours" in my first crack.  Didn't seem all that unreasonable for someone who had run sub-17 in a 5k (albeit that was in high school, now some 7-years prior).  Hit my mid-mark splits perfectly: 1:29:59 (which, ironically, stood as my half marathon PR through about 5 or 6 half marathons a few years thereafter).  I'll save you the gory details of the pace pack thinning out in the second half and the winds kicking up.  I saw my splits fading like a K-mart beach towel, and with it my sub-3 hopes.  So I resolved to qualify for Boston.  For Boston, back then, I needed 3:10:59.  I finished in 3:11:11 (yes, 12-seconds overall, or 0.45-seconds per mile too slow).  I'm now someone who understands the VALUE of 1-second per mile.  Hell, I understand the value of 1-second every 2 miles and what a difference that could make.

Aside from missing an 'A' or 'B' goal in a race, there's also the dreaded DNF (which is an acronym for 'Did Not Finish' but often in an ultra can represent 'Did Nothing Fatal').  As someone who attempts to aid people in constructing good race day plans/strategies/pace charts, I am a student of my own body and peak performance limits.  Racing is the ultimate test of fitness and ability, there is absolutely no faking through it, especially in the ultra distances from 50-miles and up.  Often, I hear people lament a DNF like it's some mark against one's character, an in-correctable offence against their running reputation.  I have come to feel very differently about the DNF over the years and have a few things to say about it (as I'm fresh off my 3rd career DNF and have found some very interesting consistencies between the 3 failures).  But first, a quote about failure and it's relationship to success...

"Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm."
-Winston Churchill

I don't know anyone who would accuse me of having "lost enthusiasm" for running.  There might be a great number of people who wish I would lose some enthusiasm.  I'm a blow-hard and a jack-ass.  In fact, I might just be the Johnny Knoxville of the running world (regularly accepting stupid dares to prove some incomprehensible nonsense to someone).  Yet, I digress.

A couple weeks ago I achieved my 3rd DNF of my running career.  I have completed 24-of-27 ultra distance races, ranging from 50k to 135-miles of varying difficulty, terrain and conditions.  An interesting commonality about the 3 races I failed to finish: ALL three were my second time running each of those events.  As a matter of fact, looking back at my recent history of races repeated at almost any distance, there is a somewhat clear cut 'Sophomore Jinx'.

F- Angeles Crest 100-miler 2006 = FINISH in 26:27
S- Angeles Crest 100-miler 2007 = DNF at Mile 49
T- Angeles Crest 100-miler 2011 = 23:51*
    *third time's a charm / third time's a CR

F- Oil Creek 100-miler 2009 = FINISH in 21:17 (4th overall)
S- Oil Creek 100-miler 2010 = DNF at Mile 76
T- Oil Creek 100-miler 201_? = TBD*

F- Ray Miller 50-miler 2012 = FINISH in 8:08 (5th overall)
S- Ray Miller 50-miler 2013 = DNF at Mile 28
T- Ray Miller 50-miler 2014 = TBD*

A deeper examination of the Sophomore Jinx in my racing...

F- Bulldog 50k 2008 = 4:27
S- Bulldog 50k 2009 = 4:29

F- Boney Mountain Half 2009 = 1:46
S- Boney Mountain Half 2010 = 1:51
T- Boney Mountain Half 2011 = 1:41*

F- Miwok 100k 2009 = 10:13
S- Miwok 100k 2010 = 10:19
T- Miwok 100k 2011 = 9:45*

F- Topanga Turkey Trot 2009 = 1:07 (4th overall)
S- Topanga Turkey Trot 2010 = 1:10

F- XTERRA Pt Mugu 2010 = 1:16 (2nd overall)
S- XTERRA Pt Mugu 2012 = 1:25

F- LA Marathon 2011 = 2:56
S- LA Marathon 2012 = 3:01
T- LA Marathon 2013 = TBD*

The ONLY race I can honestly remember improving upon in the last 10 tries to do so is the Rio Del Lago 100-miler, where I shaved about 20-minutes and 1-position overall on my sophomore effort, and the primary reason was I was really focused on my previous two sophomore DNF's at the 100-mile distance.

Why this somewhat predictable trend?  In most cases, I was pretty happy/satisfied with my rookie efforts at those races listed.  I came back determined to do better.  More fit, race ready, mentally sharp.  But then I became someone focused on exerting my will upon the course/mountain (with the obvious exception of the Los Angeles Marathon... no mountains there).  Instead of a trail runner's creed of "take what I'm given" I got greedy and tried to take what I wanted, what I felt I deserved, what I thought my hard work had entitled me to achieve.  I didn't work with the course, I fought against it.  Instead of flowing, I was battling.  The mentality is hugely different.  This past Ray Miller 50 I could explain all sorts of factors that could have been likely contributors to my epic failure, but really, they read like a list of excuses.  The bottom line is I most often go into a long race humble and patient, let the course and miles come to me instead of trying to take them on.  My sophomore efforts I take much for granted, I hard-charge in search of a few less minutes overall and expend excessive precious energy prematurely.  My love for improvement (and at times, the physical suffering that leads to the chemical response) leads to my downfall.

I'm grateful for my failures, as they've become my greatest teachers.  Yours can too, IF you dare to fail.  Some of us have trouble putting ourselves in a position to truly fail.  Yeah, it sucks for a little bit (I was pretty down on myself for about a week after Ray Miller, as I had been looking forward to it for the better part of 11-months), but I'm over it now.  Excited to train again.  With a 3rd crack at the LA Marathon in March and a rookie shot at the Mt Fuji 100-miler in April, I don't have to face my Sophomore Jinx again anytime soon.  But looking at that race mentality of "humble and patient" VS "aggressive and battle ready" will help, tremendously.  Hopefully I can remember that when seeking my 3rd consecutive silver buckle at Angeles Crest in August too.

I almost spoke too soon: I am headed back to the Lake Tahoe Super Triple in late-September, a sophomore effort where the only way I can improve is to win the race and establish a new course record (with the other 2 course record holders competing as well).  Oh boy.  This love affair could end poorly.

Starting off conservatively on Leg 2 of 3 at the Tahoe Super Triple last September

A COUPLE OF FRIENDS WHO ALSO BLOGGED ABOUT CEREMONIES, RITUALS & ROMANCE...
Mac Smith's Wishing You a Happy Valentine's Day... Or NOT?
Krissy Moehl's Thoughtfulness Trumps Going-Thru-The-Motions


What are some things YOU love about running?  What are some rituals, routines and obsessions you have?  Comment below if you feel so inclined!

Pandora's Race - the Danger of Signing Up for a 100-Mile Trail Run - SYNCRO-BLOG

*I invite your unique take/perspective on this post/topic in the comments! Have something to share, comment on or respond to?  I'd love to hear what you think at the end of this post!


PANDORA'S RACE - 100 Miles Closer to My True Self
On a solo run a couple times over the last two weeks, I thought to myself how early December every year since 2005, I've thought about what 100-miler(s) awaited me the following year.  It all started with Western States, as did many an ultra-runner's story. I had heard that people ran 100-miles, straight through, over mountain ranges.  I initially dismissed it as an insane misunderstanding. Then I saw an article in a running magazine (I believe it was Marathon & Beyond) likening the 100-mile run to a 100-year life-cycle, quite metaphorically.  While I was intrigued, I still wondered WHY anyone would knowingly put themselves through such an intentional physical suffering.  It didn't take long until my one major running goal (to qualify for and run the Boston Marathon) was no longer my goal, and it was time to set my sights on something new, and raise the bar on the challenge.

The olden days when Western States "auto entries" due to 2-time loser status still existed...

Pandora's Race, is what I now call it.  The race I can never again close the box on.  There are things I know now that I may have never discovered in quite the way the mountain 100-miler taught them to me.  I'm here to talk to you, both the newbie (who's never before run 100-miles straight) and the veteran (who's run 1, 10 or dozens of these things) about the inherent "danger" of signing up for the hundo...

I'm not even quite sure what position I'm taking in this opinion piece: don't sign up for 100-mile runs OR every runner should experience this?  I have solid reasons to tell you not to jump off this cliff.  I have many reasons why I am glad I did it.  So I guess I will give you the Yin&Yang and at least feel better that I did all I could to ed-u-ma-kate you prior to leading you to certain doom.

"Finished" at the Angeles Crest 100 2012, both literally and figuratively

DON'T EFFEN DO IT
As with anything deemed cool in the court of public opinion, this type of event has a considerable amount of hype.  No matter how hyped you are, running 5-miles is a long way, running 5-miles 20-times in a row is extreme and excessive.  Isn't running 5-miles 5-times per week for 4-weeks enough?  Most doctors will tell you that many health benefits can be achieved with 25-35 miles per week of running (said in another way: 45-min to an hour of exercise a day with a couple of days off).  Many runners training for any 50-miler to 100-miler soon learn the pain of overuse and muscular imbalances.  It's almost a 50-50 coin-flip that you'll have some major aches & pains in training up to a hundo.  Sure, we all read the blogs of those elite runners and some coaches who seem to never be injured, but as someone who has seen nearly 1,000 first time marathoners cross the line (and has worked on coaching committees and organizing groups for both USATF & Team In Training, injury numbers for most marathon programs is around 1/3rd).  So, if we're doing this to improve our health & fitness, then why do it to such extreme excess?  I spent 2006-2011 trying to talk anyone and everyone who came to me to say, "I want to run 100 miles" out of that silly idea. Call me a hypocrite. I knew I was addicted (and still very much am). Endorphin's and morphine effect the same opiod receptors in the brain.  Try asking a morphine addict how easy that addiction was to kick sometime.  Some other aspects of 100's you better warm up to: boredom, pain unlike any you've experienced, sacrifice including lack of adequate sleep.  Some in your life may turn dismissive, calling you crazy, stupid and the worst-of-all barbs: "supremely selfish". Sounds lovely, right?  It's harder than they say, and all I ever heard was "it was the hardest thing I've ever done."  That last statement undersells it.

THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER DONE

Kate Martini Freeman and her merry maids

So, that last statement isn't entirely true.  I have done many things better than running 100-miles in a single shot.  I married my Kate.  I adopted Spirit.  I still value and cherish running alongside my baby sis in her first marathon, my big sis in her favorite half marathon and my bro-in-law Stan in his first ultra and first two hundos MORE than my own personal finishes.  I get a lot more out of helping others achieve than doing it myself.  That said, attempting to run (note: I said attempting to run, NOT "finishing") 100 miles is one of the best things I've ever done.  There are a few things it has deepened and developed in me, things I still certainly lack but qualities I wish to perpetually improve.  I have infinitely more patience (with people, with life situations and myself), I am able to put things in perspective in new ways attempting to maintain some sort of Zen in highly stressful situations, and interestingly enough I am able to take heavy-handed criticism from people close to me without spiraling into self-loathing (a problem from my past).  That's come from the crucible of pain of both training and race day.  I wonder whether I have become a better 100-mile runner as I have applied the principles of my life to racing these distances OR if I've become better at my life by applying the principles of 100-mile racing to my day to day living.  A few things I've picked up...

1. RFM - Relentless Forward Motion means never stop moving forward, until and unless you discover you've made a wrong turn.
2. WCIDRN - What Can I Do Right NOW in order to improve my situation? We often take too big a view on things like "I still have 71-miles to go" when really all we need to do is focus on the present moment to improve the big picture.
3. It ain't about the FINISH line.  Why are we always in a rush to be done?  We're not trying to be dead immediately, right?  So enjoy the journey, each step along the way, the unique views and perspective of the mountain peaks AND valley floors.  And if you enjoy the whole process and the journey itself, the finish line is even sweeter when it comes.

If you find yourself attracted to running (your first) 100 mile trail run, go back and reread my "DON'T EFFEN DO IT" paragraph again, because I've changed my mind.  In the meantime, I've gone and signed up for THREE 100's next year.  I hope to see you on the starting line next to me...

Running myself down, into another valley...

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better.  The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."
-Theodore Roosevelt


AMAZING SYNCRO-BLOGGERS ON THIS TOPIC
Katie DeSplinter - http://bit.ly/Xz3cDe
Jen Benna - http://bit.ly/TJMleG
Dominic Grossman - http://bit.ly/TOYFXJ
Amy Sprotson - http://bit.ly/RHsihE

Huge thanks to Katie, Jen, Dom and Amy for throwing their awesome ideas, opinions and perspective into the mix!

PAIN - Breaking It Down Before You Break Down - An Ultra Endurance Athlete's Take

“Make friends with pain and you will never be alone.”

-Ken Chlouber

RD, Leadville 100 Mile Endurance Run

If you love to run, and by that I mean LOVE to run, whether it's on trails, roads, the track, as a stand-alone event or after you've swam and biked preceding that run, you have personally made friends with pain.  Either that, or you dread running hard (and racing to the peak of your ability).  So here is the chief problem: if we are completely at home with pain, and we've made our peace with it, then where should we draw the line on what's acceptable to run through?  What is the pain we're supposed to stop for?

Marathon training programs, large charity fundraising groups and now ultra distance running & popular media have clouded our perspective a little over the last decade or two.  We laud toughness. We respect gritty, gutsy efforts.  We love to watch the video of someone crawling, yes, literally c-r-a-w-l-i-n-g across the finish line...

TEENAGE RUNNER CRAWLS ACROSS X-COUNTRY FINISH

*see 1-min, 10-sec in to 2-min, 14-sec

How can we determine the appropriate line in the sand?  What should be considered "desirable mental/physical toughness" and how do we know what is "foolishly putting our future physical health at risk"?  Holland Reynolds (the girl in the video above) is photographed with her "winning team" in an ambulance after this race.  I don't even know what side of the fence I am on when it comes to foolishness vs. courage/toughness.  After all, I run 100-135 mile races.  I've made friends with pain.

I do, however, have a little mental checklist I made for myself years ago and have shared with many of my runners.  It's four parts, and I hope it can help you stay healthy the way it has helped me over the past 10 years.

THE FOUR TYPES OF PAIN

I am sure there are many more than four types, but if I break my friend pain down into these four basic sub-categories, it helps me determine if this pain is something I can run through or something I should call it a day for.

TYPE 1 - the pain of EFFORT

This one is very simple. You run fast, you fall into oxygen-debt (i.e. anaerobic state) and that discomfort reaches the pain point.  To decrease the pain of effort, simply decrease the effort/pace.

TYPE 2 - the pain of CUMULATIVE FATIGUE

This one is a touch more tricky.  Cumulative fatigue can be from running for an extended duration, can be from the swim/bike prior to the run, and it can also be the built up fatigue from a hard week/month of training and/or work/life stresses.  The bottom line is you don't feel great, you aren't in a groove and things just feel off. Maybe you're achey, maybe you feel generally horrible.  Cumulative fatigue is going to happen the longer you go, and in many long runs, longer races and big week/weekend miles it will be there.  You have to ask yourself this in training: "is running through this, now, serving a specific purpose in my training?"  If the answer is no, you need to make a judgment call to adjust the workout or shut it down.  In a race, the answer is simple: keep running.  You get to rest when it's done and cumulative fatigue is a part of the game (especially in that marathon at the end of an Ironman and 50-100+ mile trail running races).

TYPE 3A - the pain of 'Correctable' IMBALANCE

This pain can show up in many different scenarios.  It can be muscle imbalances, flexibility imbalances or something you tweak.  My rule of thumb for imbalance is: are you favoring something?  Are you compensating in your form/stride?  If this is something we can correct (stop and stretch a tight muscle, massage something out, etc.) and get our form/stride back in sync, then I keep going.

TYPE 3B - the pain of 'Non-Correctable' IMBALANCE

This pain is essentially the same as described above, the difference being when you can NOT make things right, or at the very least you can't stop favoring something.  Maybe you rolled an ankle, tweaked a hamstring or your Achilles isn't 100% on one side, but the bottom line is you are in pain and you have a hitch in your stride or are outright limping.  This is a game changer.  I personally call it a day in this scenario.  The last time this happened to me in a race was the Oil Creek 100-Miler in 2010, I pulled myself at Mile 76 flirting with a Top 3 finish.  Frankly, it was a no-brainer.  I had "Type 3A" pain early in the race and had been stopping to get stretched out all day, and was able to run hypothetically even.  But it deteriorated into "Type 3B" late in the race, somewhere after Mile 62.  I came running into the Mile 76 aid station with every intention of continuing.  Ate my calories, high fived some people, kissed my wife Kate and stood up to run out.  I couldn't run.  I couldn't even really pick up my right leg anymore.  Game over.

RUN & RECOVER SMART

We, as athletes, need to pick our battles.  Yeah we deal with pain on an almost daily basis (hopefully the pain of running effort, not chronic ailments and injuries), but that doesn't mean we should push through every type of pain.  Speaking specifically to the 100-mile trail run, we have become so conditioned to significant pain on a self-inflicted level not experienced in anything else (save childbirth, broken femurs and car crashes), that the line begins to blur as to what we should take extra rest days/weeks for and what we should push through.  Most of us push through things we shouldn't, rationalizing that the rest of our obese society refuses to push through even a simple urge to eat healthier, let alone work out.  We tell ourselves things like, "if I give in and stop then I won't be mentally tough enough later".  It's nonsense.  If you want to have a long career doing what you athletically love, it's time to implement a system of checks-and-balances or soon, we'll be on the sideline watching what we love while we go through physical therapy.  Or worse.  I know this pain all too well, as my last hiatus from running was almost a year long with quadriceps tendonitis from November 2002 through August 2003.

Train hard.  Race tough.  REST SMART.  I look forward to seeing you out on the trail, running...