Diablo Update

"Old habits reappear -
Fighting the fear of fear ...
Frayed ends of sanity -
Hear them calling me."
- Metallica - "Frayed Ends of Sanity"

I had a devil of a time at Mount Diablo on Sunday.

That's a polite way of saying that this race nearly killed me. I managed to finish in 11:42, which was a slight improvement over last year on what was generally considered to be an even tougher day than last year's furnace-like conditions.

I've never been so frazzled during and after a race than I was today - and that's including the Ironman triathlon and 100-miler in my past. I was in one of those "I'm never doing this again" places, but I think after a couple of days that feeling should (hopefully) pass.

I have dozens of pictures to go through and about 100 muscle cramps and spasms to work out, but I hope to have a full race report posted here on Tuesday or Wednesday. Until then, feel free to start your week with some classic headbanging riffs, courtesy of Metallica. (Strange link - it's from a Spanish website - but the concert video rips)

Metallica - "Frayed Ends of Sanity" (click to play):

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Asking, Seeking, Knocking

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.”
- Matthew 7: 7-8

Hey ... remember when I used to write about races on this blog?

In some ways, that seems like very long ago. However, as spring approaches and my huge goal race looms over summer’s horizon, there’s no escaping the fact that racing season has come around again, like a runner’s version of the circle of life.

Last year, I prefaced a race schedule post with the expression “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.” It proved far more prophetic than I hoped for, as the Western States 100 – the event I built my entire year around - went up in smoke thanks to extensive wildfires on par with some crazy Biblical plague. So this year, I’m leading with a much more optimistic scripture passage; perhaps I’ll influence God into a little less capriciousness, and a little more compassion. (Its a longshot, but what the heck.)

With that, here’s the list. As in 2008, everything builds towards the main event in June.

1. Diablo 50M, April 19. Last spring, I entered this race after a full training week, and encountered the toughest 50M course I had ever seen (over 13K of climbing) on a day when temperatures soared into the upper 80s. Needless to say, it left me broken, beat, and scarred (random Metallica shout out! See video after post.) – and equally needless to say, it was the perfect prep race for a summer 100-miler. It’s also a wonderful event by the best trail running organization anywhere, Pacific Coast Trail Runs - and a race that should be on every ultra runner’s wish list.

2. Big Sur International Marathon, April 26. That’s right … I’m running Big Sur again. I’ll have more about this later on, so for now I’ll just say this: since Big Sur is only 7 days after Diablo, I will definitely be running this marathon as opposed to racing it in years past. (And if I keep repeating that promise to myself every day for the next five weeks, I might actually follow-through on it.)

3. Quicksilver 50M, May 9. I haven’t signed up yet, but I’m 95% committed – in other words, all the way committed except for typing in my credit card number. Initially, I viewed this race as a fallback option in case I didn’t get into the Miwok 100K – but when I lost out on the Miwok lottery, and started looking more at the Quicksilver site, it immediately started looking like a better option than Miwok. It’s one week later, which gives me some extra recovery time after Diablo and Big Sur. It has just as much climbing and is more likely to have warm weather to mimic conditions on the WS 100 course. And it’s close enough to home that I can just drive up on race morning and knock it out.

The only drawback in comparison to Miwok is the obvious one: Quicksilver is only 50M instead of 100K. Last year's Miwok race seemed like the perfect distance for that point in my training – so although the mileage difference isn’t huge, it’s one that will bug me unless I compensate for it somehow. I’m bouncing a couple of ideas around about running extra miles either before or after the race; if anyone has first-hand experience with doing this at Quicksilver, I’d love to hear from you.

4. Western States 100 Training Camp, May 23. I’m tentatively planning on attending the first day - for the 32-mile run on the major climbs of the Western States course - then bailing on the final two days of camp to catch up on some family time over the Memorial Day weekend. I know that there is usually a group of runners who tack extra mileage onto the first day’s run; as with the last item, if you know anything about a similar plan for this year, please contact me.

Those are the tune-up events, all of which are preparation for …

5. Western States Endurance Run, June 27-28. Um … you know what? I’m not really ready to start talking about this yet. Rest assured, you’ll hear about it ad nauseum as the date approaches. In the meantime, if you're really looking for a time-killer, feel free to scroll through the 10-part Western States Training Diary (on my right sidebar) that I published for the Monterey Herald last year.

In some ways, it’s hard to believe I’m right back where I was before: asking for advice, seeking the best path, and knocking on the door of the Western States 100 again in a few short months. My biggest hope this summer is for that door to finally be opened and welcome me in.

**

Music bonus! Although Metallica didn’t invent the expression “What don’t kill ya make ya more strong,” they’ve definitely staked their claim to laying down the coolest musical accompaniment to the phrase. It’s prominently featured in the live version of “Broken, Beat, and Scarred” that follows below. Although less than one year old, this song has rapidly become one of the most awesome ultrarunning songs ever written. (Click to play):



*Bible verses and a Metallica video in the same post … welcome to the dichotomy that is my life.

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Masters of Puppet

“Master of Puppets I'm pulling your strings –
Twisting your mind, smashing your dreams –
Blinded by me, you can't see a thing –
Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream.”
- Metallica, “Master of Puppets” (video below)

OK, so those aren't the most cheerful lyrics to start a post – but since today’s topic is addictions, they seemed perfectly appropriate.

Earlier this month, Pamela tagged me to do the list of five addictions, which only posed a problem in that I have so dang many to choose from. Eventually, after eliminating the, um … “adult oriented” ones and ranking the others by a weighted scoring system, I came up with my list. God bless you if you think I’m kidding.

So in no particular order, here we go:

1. Death Magnetic: As much as I immerse myself in music, my method of audio delivery remains somewhat old-school. For example, my car features a mere single CD player. Every so often, I’ll keep the same disc spinning over and over again, because there isn’t anything else that would justify the effort of manually switching the CDs.

Within that framework, you can better appreciate what I’ll say next: last November, I put Metallica’s new album into the car CD player, and it has remained there ever since.

Honestly, it took me somewhat by surprise; I was one of those who thought Metallica’s best days were behind them. About three songs into the new CD, I distinctly remember thinking, “Holy cow – this is the real Metallica again!” The best songs on the disc are as good as anything they’ve ever written, and the 75-minute album is remarkably strong from start to finish.

Also, two related notes on this topic: 1) To many people, Metallica’s high water mark was 1986’s Master of Puppets, whose title track is a harrowing description of cocaine addiction (see how these topics tie together?), and is performed in a live video below that is definitely not for the easily offended. And - because I’m generous about these things - the band’s first video from Death Magnetic is linked below; it’s eerily similar in style and content to their first-ever video (for One) that was released in 1989.

(I know, I’m off to a rambling start – I’ll try to keep the others shorter … )


2. Diet Pepsi: I’ve alluded several times to my sleep deprivation issues – but for whatever reason, I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker. That’s why I give thanks every day to the man who created Diet Pepsi.

From a sleepy runner’s standpoint, it’s almost the perfect concoction: a caffeinated drink that tastes fantastic and has zero calories. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much of this stuff I drink on a daily basis.

Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m so hooked on this soda, that if for some reason it ever went off the market, I’d throw about 2 weeks of detoxes before staggering around incoherently and checking myself into Sober House so I can cry with Dr Drew and Amber Smith. Yes, I worry about these things sometimes.


3. Lost: OK, it’s a time travel show now. It’s geeky science fiction run amok. I normally don’t fall for these genres – but I’m along for the ride wherever (or whenever?) this series ultimately takes us.

Obviously, I can’t begin to do justice to the amount of complexity and intrigue at the heart of this show that appeals to me – but a couple of anecdotes might illustrate just how far in the tank I am for Lost nowadays: 1) I’ve come to think of Doc Jensen as a dear family member who I welcome into my house two or three times per week, and 2) on Valentine’s Day, I got my wife a box of chocolates with a gun hidden underneath. And if neither of those things make sense to you, don’t worry about it … I won’t waste your time trying to explain it all here.

(Before you ask – it was a toy gun. But only because I couldn’t afford a real one.)


4. Drymax socks: At one point, I was contractually obligated to tell you all about Drymax because they were generous enough to provide me some products to review (see review on right sidebar). Well, that was several months ago … and I’m still crazy about these socks. In fact, they’re the only brand I’ve worn ever since I got my hands on them.

We’ve had a couple weeks of heavy rain here, and I’ve done several recent runs through muddy, sloppy conditions – including all kinds of puddles and stream crossings - without any foot or blister issues at all. It’s gotten to the point that whenever I overhear someone talking about socks, I blurt out “Do you know about Drymax?” before going into some little spiel. A few of my training partners have tried them as well, with good results; when it comes to these socks, I’m like the Pied Piper of Carmel Valley lately.

Just take my word for it: try Drymax socks. You can thank me later.

Finally - this is somewhat off-topic, but I’m going to switch directions a bit with this last item …


5. NOT Facebook

This is probably going to sound crass … but I simply don’t understand the widespread fascination with Facebook. I’ll admit that it’s a pretty awesome social networking device - and yes, I’ve got a page there, and I’ll even be your friend if you want to track me down … but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why so many people are so freakishly compulsive about this site, especially when it comes to the minutiae.

I mean … I have friends that I probably wouldn’t recognize on the street if I tripped over them. I don’t honestly care if Susie is in a cheeseburger mood tonight. Getting a superpoke doesn’t necessarily brighten my day. And I’m not interested in joining the People Who Think Pluto Should Still Be A Planet. Really now - aren’t there better ways for me to waste my time? Besides, I thought that’s what blogging was for.

I guess my point here is, if you find me on Facebook somehow, that’s cool – drop me a note if you want to add to your friend tally. But if you really want to earn my friendship, here’s what you do: take me to a drive-thru for a tall Diet Pepsi, so we can talk about Lost plot twists and listen to Metallica CDs in the car while we’re waiting.

After all, these addictions don’t feed themselves – and I’m always on the lookout for a good enabler.

**

On to the musical portion of the post! My original intent was to embed the first video from Death Magnetic, called “The Day That Never Comes,” in this post. However, Metallica is notoriously protective of redistribution of their content (remember the Napster fiasco?) - so if you want to watch it, you have to click here.

However, since I don't want to leave you completely empty-handed - and just in case you’re completely obsessive like me – here’s a live version of “Master of Puppets”, filmed when Metallica were at the height of their powers in the late 1980s. Fair warning: it’s filled with plenty of F-bombs (both spoken and visual), so viewer discretion is advised. It’s definitely a hardcore scene – but when I was a teenager, there was no other environment I would rather have been in. Sometimes I wonder how many of the idiots in these crowds are also wearing a tie and sitting behind a desk somewhere today; I know I can't be the only one. (Click to play)

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My Offseason Is Officially Over

"Bright is the moon high in starlight -
Chill in the air cold as steel tonight -
We shift- call of the wild - fear in your eyes -
It's later than you realized"
- Metallica, "Of Wolf and Man" (video after post)

**

Look what arrived at my house this week:

It's mostly the same as last year's version; it doesn't even include an updated disclaimer that "You may train for this race for seven months only to have it cancelled by wildfires 48 hours beforehand." Not that I'm still disappointed from that.

Anyway - I guess this means I should start thinking about the 2009 race, which means that I should probably start, you know ... training for it. Which is why I'll be lacing up my shoes in the dark, cold December morning tomorrow to take on my favorite back-breaking climb. And why I need to start going to bed earlier. And eating less. And about 50 other things that I've happily forgotten about since the 100-mile weeks of last spring and summer. It won't all happen overnight, but it will happen.

At least, I'll do my part - and then I'll just hope that the fates decide to cooperate next year.

**

Finally, in reference to the intro quote ... Metallica's back! I never thought I'd say this, but their new album is as good as anything they've ever done. I need to write a whole post about this. In the meantime, here's a sorta-old school concert clip featuring "Of Wolf and Man". Such great memories:

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Big Kahuna Race Report

Before we jump into the race report, a few follow-up notes from the previous introductory post …

* First, on the “sunrise over the ocean” thing: Yes, I’m aware that the sun travels from east to west. But remember, the Monterey Bay is kidney-shaped, which – in addition to making it a pain in the butt to drive around – also screws up your sense of orientation if you’re not paying attention.

Santa Cruz sits at the northernmost point of the bay (click map at right to enlarge), and the beaches have a somewhat southeastern exposure; so while the sun doesn’t ascend directly over the water, the angle of those first rays of daybreak often paint a stunning palette of color – at least on the infrequent mornings that aren’t foggy, such as the day of the race. Consider this your Geography Channel tip of the day.

* Second, Girl 1 from that crazy porta-potty exchange reads my blog! Either that, or she got sent here by her friend who was a race spectator. In any case, how cool is that? And if you were wanting verification that I’m not just making this stuff up, go back and look at that comment box. She thought the whole thing was just as insane as I did.

Now, what would be really interesting is if Girl #2 is out there reading. Not necessarily in a “Hey, this might be cool” way - but more like a “I hope she doesn’t try something scary” way. On second thought … maybe we’re all better off not knowing.

* Lastly, and most disturbingly, is this: I feel like I should apologize for having toenail fungus ads on my sidebar yesterday. I guess that’s what you get when you let a Googlebot scroll your page content looking for keywords. I haven’t quite got the hang of this Google Ads deal – so if anyone knows how I can filter those types of things out, I’d love to hear it. And if you were inadvertently grossed out … hopefully you’ll never come across my little snot rocket tutorial from a few months ago.

So, where were we again? … Oh, that’s right – the race report!

**

“Fortune, fame, mirror vain – gone insane –
But the memory remains … “
- Metallica, “The Memory Remains”


Part 1: The Swim

No matter how many triathlons I do, the swim segment always seems like a huge wildcard in relation to the overall race. More specifically, I’ve never found a strong correlation between how much I’ve trained and the split time I post. Sometimes I’ll bust a fast split with minimal training, and other times I’ll do a high volume of training only to come out of the water unusually slow on race day.

This year was a good example, as I had more confidence in my swim than in any other segment, and felt very relaxed and strong in the water. I didn’t swerve too wildly, I drafted for long segments behind the folks who gradually passed me, and I overtook swimmers from previous wave starts in droves during the last half-mile or so. Then I got out of the water and saw that my split was almost three minutes slower than I thought it would be.

(For the record, this was a common topic of discussion after the race, as almost everybody complained that their times were slower than expected. The consensus at the race - and afterwards, in some blogs I’ve read - is that the course was probably too long. But as I was sprinting up the beach and peeling off my wetsuit, there was obviously no way for me to know that.)

The other illogical aspect of the triathlon swim is that even though it’s the segment of the shortest duration, it often sets the tone for the rest of the race. When I exit the water quicker or feeling stronger than anticipated, there’s definitely an adrenaline surge that carries over to the other two disciplines. In this case, when I knew I needed to gain a few minutes of cushion to make up for my lack of bike training, and then realized I was actually three minutes slower than usual … let’s just say I wasn’t whistling a happy tune on the run into T1.

Swim stats: 1.2 (?) miles in 32:39. Rank 22nd of 127 in age group.

Part 2: The Bike

Despite what I just wrote about the swim segment setting the tone, make no mistake – the bike segment is the defining portion of any triathlon. It’s also the portion I was least prepared for, which made me more than a little apprehensive as I clipped into the pedals and headed north on Highway 1.

I hadn’t taken very many pedal strokes before recalling a conversation with our running group on the Friday morning before the race:

Friend 1: Good luck this weekend! Do you feel ready for the triathlon?

Me: We’ll see. I’m not very confident about the bike segment – I don’t think my legs remember how to hammer like that.

Friend 2: I would think it’s like riding a bike …

(note: Friend 2 is extremely funny, and he's a good writer as well. I keep telling him to start a blog someday – if he ever does, I’ll let you know).

Me: That’s all the ride’s going to be: pure muscle memory.

Granted, that’s not much to depend on, but within a few miles of the bike course, I was delighted to find that the memory of hammering those pedals was still in my legs. Coincidentally, it was also around this time that the intro Metallica song started thumping through my head and stuck with me for most of the day. Before I knew it, I was cruising along at close to 20mph like I had been doing this kind of thing all summer long.

However, while I was happy that the muscle memory remained, I realized that it would only carry me so far before the reality of my limited training crashed down upon me. It was time to get strategic.

For most of the first half, I rode with a group of 5 or 6 other riders who were constantly passing and being re-passed, staying in close proximity but always swerving and staggering our positions relative to one another to avoid drafting (at least, that’s what I was doing – but I definitely saw some wheel-on-wheel situations at times. It's pretty hard not to when a group of six riders tries to share the same road shoulder.). They were riding at a faster pace than I could generate by myself, but I felt like I could maintain contact by working somewhat above my comfort zone. I think of it as “mental drafting” – the ability to ride faster just by seeing someone alongside you going equally fast - and for 20 miles or so, this plan worked great.

The Kahuna bike course is an out and back route along Highway 1 without significant elevation change from one end to the other, but the ocean winds tend to blow in your face on the way out, and behind you on the return. It was during the final eight miles to the turnaround point that I really started to feel the strain of an effort I wasn’t accustomed to, but I was doggedly determined to maintain contact with the group.

This was the decision point. The aggressive choice was to overexert myself and stay close until the turnaround, when the tailwind on the trip home would allow me to maintain my average speed - but my legs would probably be fried by the time I reached T2. If I stayed conservative and abandoned the group, I might lose more time struggling along by myself than I’d be able to make up with a stronger run.

You can guess which option I picked - and for the remainder of the bike segment, the strategy paid off pretty well. I maintained my cruising speed on the way back, even improving my average MPH over the final 20 miles after the group had essentially dissolved.

I realized, however, that the launch sequence for my legs to blow up had been activated several miles back … so it was only a matter of time before they exploded.

Bike stats: 56 miles in 2:39 – 21.0 mph average. Rank 31 in AG.

Part 3: The Run

I never told anyone, but my pre-race goal for this year was to try and sneak in under 5 hours. I knew I wouldn’t be able to PR, but going sub-5 would be pretty impressive under the circumstances. So when I rolled out of T2 with the race clock showing 3:20, a couple of thoughts crossed my mind:

1) If I run a 1:40 half-marathon, I can make it! And …
2) Why do these things always have to be so close?

Before the race, I had factored a realistic half-marathon time of 1:45, with an optimistic goal of 1:40 if I was feeling good. When I looked at my watch after T2, part of me was hoping to see an overall time that was either low enough to give a nice cushion, or high enough to give me no chance at breaking 5 hours. In either of those cases, I could have just cruised the run course without worrying about every mile split.

But since this is me we’re talking about ... there’s always reason for worry.

Since I was teetering along the line between “highest sustainable intensity” and breaking down like the Bluesmobile (it’s a long clip, but scroll forward to the 8:30 mark), I decided to take things mile by mile and reassess the situation along the way. My first two splits were in the 7:40ish range, which kept me close, but didn’t exactly build a huge sense of optimism about getting in under 5 hours.

I kept going along like this until mile 9, when I did some math, figured I had about 26 minutes to run 4.1 miles, and immediately thought … that’s just not gonna happen. It was a mild disappointment to realize the goal time was lost, but all things considered, I still felt happy with putting up one heck of a fight (especially for a guy with only eight toenails – that has to count for something, right?).

I downshifted into a more casual pace (probably 8:30s or so) to enjoy the last few miles of my last race of the year. To my surprise, I was still passing a lot of people in this stretch. I didn’t let it get to my head, though – in fact, it reminded me of the old joke where a snail gets mugged by two turtles; when the police come to interview the snail and ask him what happened, he says “Gosh, it’s hard to remember … everything happened so fast!”

In other words, everything’s relative. I was passing people, but it was only because I was further behind in the pack than I usually am, and there are a lot of slower runners back there. I was merely the turtle overtaking a lot of snails in the last 5K.

Ultimately I reached the pier and descended to the sand for the final third of a mile along the beach. It was one of those beautifully warm, unbelievably perfect late summer beach days, which drew a huge crowd of sunbathers and spectators and families (and, judging by the occasional smell of things, more than a few pot smokers – this is Santa Cruz, after all), who lined the course in growing numbers to cheer the weary runners home. I crossed the finish line, got my medal and my lei, and sat down in the shade of the Boardwalk to let the whole day soak in for a while.

Run stats: 13.1 miles in 1:45 – 8:04 average. Rank 35 in AG.

Overall stats: Finish time 5:04:46 – 96th of 850 overall, 28th of 127 in AG.


Part 4: Postmortem

As I’ve explained (too many times) before, usually when I come up just short of a time goal, I’ll mope and brood and second-guess my motivation and toughness during difficult stretches of the day. This time, to my delight, none of that really happened – primarily for a couple of reasons:

First - and most importantly – is that I really had a blast doing this race. Sometimes I forget just how fun triathlons can be. In the last post, I compared triathlon unfavorably to ultrarunning, but when it comes to adrenaline-pumping excitement, triathlons definitely rank higher than trail running. It’s like having that “descending the first major drop of a roller coaster” feeling in your chest and throat, only it lasts for (in this case) over five hours. This was really the first time all year I had felt that kind of rush, so a slower than usual performance certainly wasn’t going to dampen that feeling in any way.

(On a related note, since a few people have asked: yes, I'm going to write a post comparing ultrarunning and ironman training and racing. I hope to get to it in the next few weeks - but you know better than to expect a due date from me.)

Secondly, I know this sounds bizarre, but I was kind of glad that I wasn’t able to break five hours – because it might have diminished the accomplishment somewhat.

Think of it this way: If I had broken 5 hours here less than a month after running a 100-miler, with a grand total of three bike rides and zero speed training in the preceding six months – not to mention doing it all with just eight toenails – that wouldn’t say much for the 4:51 I did here two years ago, would it? Goals that come too easy don’t mean nearly as much as those you work your butt off to reach.

In that regard, triathlon - with the possible exception of a mismeasured swim segment here or there - is very much an honest sport: the results you reap are only those that you’ve spent the time to properly sow. The bottom line is that I didn’t deserve to go as fast as I wanted to – and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Because on another day, things will be different – and I know from experience just how awesome that day will feel. In the meantime, this one felt pretty darn good as well.

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The Memory Remains

Admin note: this started out as an introduction to my Big Kahuna triathlon report, but things got a little carried away, and before I knew it, nearly 1000 words had gone by. As it developed, this segment seemed to tell a story of its own, so that’s what I’m doing for today. Look for the race report in the next couple of days – and by way of a theme preview, there’s a classic (potentially somewhat vertigo-inducing) rock video after the post.

**
If you detected a sense of ambivalence in my pre-race posts, that wasn’t exactly an accident.

Truth be told, I spent much of race morning questioning just what the heck I was doing at this race anyway. I hadn’t done any training (aside from developing an enormous slow-twitch aerobic base – but that’s not entirely effective for high-intensity activity), I wasn’t particularly excited about participating, and I had pulled myself away from two other weekend family activities at home to take part in it.

Furthermore, these several months of ultra training had led me to feel like I didn’t really fit in with this tri-crowd all that much. More specifically – and I’ll try to phrase this as politely as possible – a large percentage of the tri crowd seems to take this athletic stuff way too seriously. It’s a direct contrast to the laid-back, whatever-gets-you-to-the-finish mentality of most ultrarunners I met this year.

The feeling started at the expo, in brief exchanges and conversations overheard while I picked up my race number: Your clothes are last year’s models? You’re totally behind the times. Your bike still has factory wheels and components, without high-end aerodynamic upgrades? You’re giving away speed, dude. Your sports drink is from Costco, and not a scientific $5-per-bottle superpotion? You’re cheating yourself, bro.

Finally, there was this conversation I overheard in the porta-potty line on race morning, between two women immediately in front of me, after each had asked the other where they were from:

Girl 1: So have you done this race before?

Girl 2: Yeah. I’m only doing it again because I didn’t qualify for Kona this year. I took second in my age group at Ironman France, and they only gave one slot for Kona. I should have won, but some other girl beat me by a few minutes. I’ve done Kona three times, so this is my easy consolation race for the year.

I mean … are you kidding me? Who talks like this? From all appearances, this was the first time these two had ever met. And they were in the porta-potty line, for goodness sake - it’s not like there might have been Zoot or Cervelo scouts combing the area looking for athletes to sponsor. It’s hard for me to fathom just how much some people are into themselves. All of a sudden, I was feeling very out of place.

So when the Kona woman turned to make sure I was listening, I said, “Guess what? I only have eight toenails!”* - and that was enough for them to leave me out of the conversation.

(*My other big toenail fell off the night before the race, as I was getting ready for bed. My daughter was already asleep, I wouldn’t see her until the following evening, and I didn’t want to carry a toenail around with me while racing 70.3 miles. So the OFFICIAL story is that the toenail fell off in the ocean during the race – are we all clear on this? Yes, I’ll probably go back and delete this paragraph once she starts reading my blog someday. Let’s move on.)

Needless to say, I wasn’t in the greatest mood while walking from T1 to the start area, but as soon as I hit the beach, everything changed.

(photo from pbase.com)

There’s a reason that I live in California. OK, there are several reasons - but one of them is this: there’s something absolutely magical about watching the sunrise over the ocean. And as I walked towards the start line and saw the sun coming up over the pier, with the silhouettes of hundreds of athletes standing on the shore and swimming in the water, on an unseasonably warm September morning, all the things I appreciate came back to me.

I waded into the ocean and took a short warm-up swim, then stayed about 100 yards offshore, floating in the water, looking back towards the beach. In all of my athletic experiences, it was one of the most inspiring scenes I’ve ever observed: masses of triathletes and spectators gathered on the shore, with the Santa Cruz Boardwalk in the background, and a red-orange sunrise heralding the promise of the coming day.

In that moment, there was no place else I wanted to be.

It didn’t matter that I hadn’t trained very much. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t identify with a lot of the competitors sharing the day with me. It didn’t even matter that I only had eight toenails. All that mattered was that I had a race to enjoy.

I took a few more warmup strokes towards the shore, and drifted on the waves until my knees skimmed the sand. I stood up, exited the water, and took my place in the throng of age-group men anxiously awaiting their charge into the ocean.

A few seconds later, the horn sounded, and our race was on.

**

Metallica, "The Memory Remains" (click to play):

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Headlands 100 Update

"Mama they try and break me ..."
- Metallica, "Hero of the Day" (click to play)

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Good golly. That almost broke me.

I'm home from the Headlands 100 today, having finished in 22:55 - 5th overall, and 4th in age group (it's kind of a tough group).

Those Pacific Coast Trail Runs folks aren't kidding around with this race; the course is an absolute killer. It was definitely the hardest event I've ever done.

I'll have a full report later this week, which will also feature a lot of blogger love - because one certainty about the day was that I wouldn't have had the result I did, or enjoyed it nearly as much without a lot of help from my friends.

For now, I've been awake for about 30 straight hours, so I'm off to shower and catch up on some sleep.

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Dancing With Diablo

“I've worn out always being afraid - an endless stream of fear that I've made -

Treading water full of worry - this frantic tick tick tock of hurry -

Do I have the strength to know how I'll go? Can I find it inside to deal with what I shouldn't know? …

Keep searching, keep on searching - this search goes on.”

- Metallica, “Frantic” (on sidebar)

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When I signed up for the Diablo 50-Mile race at the beginning of the year, I knew it would be a good gauge of my preparations for Western States. The challenging course would test my hill training and allow me to practice various strategies (such as with hydration, gear and pacing) that I could later lock into place as the main event drew closer.

I also remember thinking that I’d have plenty of time to prepare before the race, because it was way off in the distance – like, not until springtime. And back in January, it was still the middle of winter. Plenty of time.

So, um … where did all of that time go?

For the most part, I’ve used the days wisely. Over the past several weeks, my weekly mileage has bounced between 55 and 75, with most weeks landing in the mid 60s. About 90% of that mileage has been on the rolling terrain of Monterey County, and a handful of runs have stretched out over several hours. I’m injury free, only slightly overweight, and generally happy with my progress to this point.

And yet, whenever race week comes along, my first instinct is to become somewhat frantic. No matter how much preparation I’ve done, it never feels like enough to make me confident about the task ahead. But I’ve worn out feeling afraid like that – so this year, during this particular buildup, I’ve decided to do something completely different.

Part of the anxiety I typically feel stems from my competitive nature - concern about how quickly I’ll finish, how many people will be ahead of me, and so on. My rational side – the one with the long-term plan of doing well at Western States – knows this is an insignificant worry, and that I should instead be focused on being in the moment, passing the time and miles as comfortably as possible.

Unfortunately, it takes a lot of effort to keep that competitive dog at bay. So this week, I’ve made a concerted effort to stifle that inner drive – mainly by running a lot of pre-race mileage.

I figure that if I go into Diablo feeling fresh and strong, I’ll be tempted to race against the field or the clock, and make myself miserable like I did at Firetrails last fall (see report on sidebar). So I’m purposely not tapering for the race, and maintaining very close to my normal mileage before heading to the start line – just think of it as a reverse taper.

By Friday morning, I’ll have logged 50 miles in the 6 days prior to the race. Hopefully, knowing that I’m starting a monstrous 50-miler at the end of a 100-mile week will be just the stimulus I need to tread cautiously on the hillsides of Mount Diablo. And even if my adrenaline somehow overrides my brain, my legs won’t be able to supply the horsepower.

So here are my two primary goals for Saturday: 1) start out conservatively and maintain a steady pace throughout the 50 miles, and 2) enjoy the day, without feeling like I need to hurry along as quickly as possible. I’d also like to say I’ll disregard the clock and my finishing place, but I realize that’s a fire I can’t completely extinguish – and that’s why I’m hoping the dead legs will keep it merely simmering on the back burner all day.

If nothing else, I’ll find out exactly what kind of strength I have at this point, and how to approach the remainder of the training season. Saturday’s race is simply the first checkpoint in a search that will go on for another 11 weeks, until I’m on the start line at Western States.

I anticipate that I’ll look back on this weekend’s strategy as either brilliant or moronic – but right now, I’m not positive which one it will turn out to be. Check back after the race, and I’ll be sure to let you know.

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