The Runner

Before today's post, a quick administrative note: I’m still a few days away from having a race report on my Blue Canyon misadventure. I’ve settled into that awful second-guessing phase where I’m wondering if I made the correct decision to drop on Saturday. I still think it was right … but let’s just say I’m a little bit less certain today.

In the meantime, I’ve got a couple of items that have been on the back burner for a little while, starting with a Monterey Herald column from last week. The idea is courtesy of my friend Mike, who was reading through the obituaries and saw a mention of our local marathon. It led to a discussion of what any one of us will be remembered for, and how so many people use running as a means of identity, or an opportunity to have life experiences that are truly memorable.

Incidentally, since this article was published, I’ve been surprised to realize what a remarkably common experience the act of reading through the obituaries is for many people. I’ve never understood the appeal myself - but in this case, I’m glad that Mike did.

**

Running Life 6/03/10 “The Runner”

A recent obituary in the Herald honored a 55-year-old woman named Belinda, whose “natural friendliness, kindness, generosity, and good cheer made her many friends.” It mentioned that her passions in life included her cats, arts and crafts, and the company of friends.

One other note caught our attention; it stated that Belinda “was especially proud of completing the Big Sur International Marathon.”

Truth be told, it’s not the first time we’ve noticed a line like that in the obituaries – but for some reason, this one made us reflect a bit on life experiences we share.

What defines you? What accomplishment are you most proud of? How do others think of you? When people describe you to others, what will they say?

On the rare occasions that we get recognized around town from our smiling pictures above this column – believe us, it doesn’t happen that often - it’s usually followed by the comment, “Oh…you’re that runner dude.” Or sometimes, more simply, “You’re the runner.”

Even at work or in social situations, friends and acquaintances define us most easily as “the runner”. We’re not always sure how to take this, seeing as how we both have advanced educational degrees, professional careers, loving families, and are active in our religious communities, among other activities we enjoy. But apparently we’re not as noteworthy at anything else as we are at running.

It’s also curious to note that earlier in life, Donald was known as “the rower”, and Mike as “the golfer”. Most of our friends from those times were defined the same way. The sport you practice or activity you enjoy are often the most visible, and therefore the most easily identifiable aspects of how other people see us.

All this brings us back to the obituaries, which are always an interesting place to see how people are defined by others. Loved ones who write them offer their personal views of the departed’s accomplishments, priorities, and joys in life. Appropriately, the person’s family role is mentioned first: loving husband; father of three; doting grandparent. An occupation is frequently listed soon thereafter. But inevitably, the person’s activities and hobbies are described in some detail. And every now and then, you’ll see a mention of our local marathon.

We’ve written countless times about how training for and completing a marathon can be a life-changing experience. It’s an accomplishment that anyone should be proud of, and a milestone that outside observers recognize as significant. For most people, running 26.2 miles means more than just placing one foot in front of the other – it’s a life-defining exercise that reveals and defines the person we are for all the world to see.

Belinda’s obituary described how she “carried the burdens of developmental disabilities with great dignity, perseverance, and courage and would not let her challenges defeat her.” She sounds like someone we’re proud to call a fellow marathoner – and she’s also an example of what any of us can become.

The benefits and opportunities of running are available to anyone. You don’t have to be born a natural athlete, and you don’t have to be uniquely gifted. A life-shaping experience is there for the taking, waiting right outside your door. Maybe one of these years, you’ll even finish a marathon – and if you do, it’s an honor you can carry forever.

And if someone happens to refer to you one day as “the runner”, don’t take it the wrong way – just smile and consider it a compliment.

Read more...

Blue Canyon 100K: DNF

"We're goin' down, down in an earlier round -
And Sugar we're goin' down swinging."
- Fall Out Boy, "Sugar, We're Goin' Down"

So much for my goal of reaching the finish line.

Completing the Blue Canyon 100K wasn't meant to be on Saturday; it's partially my responsibility, and partially due to factors beyond my control. The short version is, Hot Day + No Water = Bad Juju.

The longer version will take me a few days to put together. I like to think I went down swinging, as I'll explain when the time comes. Obviously this result is a pretty big disappointment for me, and I might need a few days to lick my wounds a bit before sorting everything out, though. We'll see how it goes.

And now it's time to get some sleep.

**
Fall Out Boy, "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" (click to play):

Read more...

Letters and Numbers

I need to make a habit of checking my calendar more carefully.

This weekend marks the confluence of two events of nearly equal significance in my (admittedly somewhat warped) mind: the Scripps National Spelling Bee Friday morning and evening, and a 100K ultra in Santa Barbara on Saturday.


Despite the fact that those two events fall on different days, the proximity of one relative to the other makes it impossible for me to be fully “in the moment” with either one of them. On Friday afternoon, the hours I traditionally spend nailed to the chair catching up with the NSB’s morning preliminary rounds on TiVo will instead be spent nervously packing my gear for the following day’s race. In the evening, while I’m working my way through a 4-hour drive to Santa Barbara, the championship rounds of the Bee will air in prime time. And on Saturday, the day I normally re-watch the Bee a second (or even third) time to compile my NSB diary, I’ll be preoccupied with dragging my tail over 62 miles of mountainous terrain. I’d curse the fates for conspiring against me, but there’s really no one to blame for myself.

First, about the Bee: If you’re a new reader wondering what the heck I’m talking about, it’s important for you to know that I’m a freak for the National Spelling Bee. And if you don’t believe me, just look over to my right sidebar and read some of the reports for yourself.

This year's competition features two young ladies who I’m extremely excited about, although for completely different reasons. The first is someone I actually know: a sixth-grade classmate of my son's who will be making her first trip to the NSB after winning our regional championship. So if you see a girl from Monterey County make it to the televised rounds, you’ll know who I’m cheering for.

The second, of course, is Erin Andrews. Admit it – when I first started gushing about her NSB assignment in 2008, did you suspect she’d become almost a household name less than two years later? But then she was the victim of a well-publicized scandal, and Oprah got hold of her, and Dancing with the Stars happened ... and now she’s practically America’s Sweetheart. So it’s good to see that her newfound fame hasn’t caused her to turn her back on the awkward adolescent crowd who knew her back in the day. At least not yet.

Erin Andrews and someone who's not (as far as I know) a good speller

And now about the race: I mentioned that it’s 100K, but that number doesn’t do the course nearly enough justice. 16,000’ of climbing does. 85 to 90 degree temperatures (forecast for Saturday) do as well. Last year’s winning time of 12:45 – by a guy who has run sub-19-hours at the Leadville 100 – is a pretty telling number as well. Truthfully, the more numbers I look at, the more intimidating this race appears.

Here’s one more: Zero, which is the number of long (greater than 20-mile) runs I’ve done since the Quicksilver 50 four weeks ago. Basically, I’ll be doing the race on muscle memory and determination – which isn’t something I shy away from, but I know it’s going to be one of the tougher challenges I’ve faced in quite a while. If you thought I was kidding about my goals being to 1) not get lost, and 2) finish in one piece, let me assure you that my expectations seriously aren’t much loftier than that.

Assuming I make it through that gauntlet, I’ll recuperate by watching the National Spelling Bee a couple of days late, and getting to work on a race report sometime next week. I’m hopeful that I’ll have a spelling diary in me at some point as well, but for now that one’s going to take a back seat until I see how things shake out after the weekend.

Read more...

Lost in the (Actual) Wilderness: Ventana Big Pines Report

“Just because I'm hurting, doesn't mean I'm hurt –
Doesn't mean I didn't get what I deserve –
No better and no worse –
I just got lost ... ”
- Coldplay, “Lost” (video after post)


Each time I’ve ventured into the Ventana Wilderness, at some point or another the same thought has occurred to me: it would suck to get lost in here. The steep canyons and rugged terrain are inhospitable to human intruders even in the best of conditions; to get stuck (or worse yet, disoriented) in one of these remote areas seemed like a great way to invite tragedy upon yourself.

So it might have been a case of subconscious curiosity (you know – the thing that killed the cat) which led me to accidentally venture off course in the midst of a group run two weekends ago. Or perhaps it was due to poor trail conditions. Most likely of all is that I’m just an idiot. I’ll tell the story, and you can decide for yourself.


The morning started off unremarkably, as several of us set out from the trailhead with the goal of reaching a peak called Big Pines, approximately 9 miles away. Truthfully, “trailhead” might be a generous term, since the trail was almost completely overgrown; what you see here in the first mile is about as well defined as it got all morning long.


If there’s an upside, it’s that much of the overgrowth consisted of wildflowers, in particular the purple lupine that would eventually prove to be a lifeline of sorts for me later in the day. Then again, the wildflowers might have been my undoing to begin with – but I’m getting ahead of myself a bit here.


Believe it or not, we weren’t off trail here; just neck high in wild grasses that caused us to stop and orient ourselves to maps and landmarks much more frequently than any of us expected.


This landmark was easy: Blue Rock Ridge obviously takes its name from this distinctive granite outcropping nestled between two adjacent peaks. It’s also where I’d receive an impromptu lesson in survival tactics before everything was said and done.


Remember this post from March, when I complained that a full morning of running hadn’t even brought us to the official wilderness boundary? Needless to say, when we passed this sign less than a quarter-mile past the blue rocks, I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself.


So much, in fact, that I really didn’t mind that long stretches of the “trail run” had pretty much turned into a “bushwhacking hike” as we tried to navigate sections of trail that were just barely navigable.


The official trail is supposed to intersect and cross this firebreak at several spots. The break was bulldozed by the California Department of Forestry a couple of years ago as a last line of defense against wildfires that seriously threatened Carmel Valley, and it has since proven to be a safety measure for wilderness explorers as well. The conventional fallback plan for hikers who lose the official trail is to stay on the firebreak, and you’ll eventually be able to locate the trail – and if not, you’ll at least be able to find your way back to the starting point again. File that piece of information away for later.

Also, on the subject of the firebreak: it was pretty remarkable to all of us that the most prevalent feature of the overgrown breakline was the abundance of lupines that stood out for their grayish purple hue in the distance. It was the trail equivalent of following the Yellow Brick Road through the vast, mysterious, potentially dangerous Land of Oz. Or maybe that was just me.


Every now and then we’d catch a break and find a fairly well-described portion of trail to follow for a while, and I found myself drifting a good distance behind the rest of the group …



... mainly because I was snapping my camera like crazy at the wildflowers or canyon vistas that were prevalent in every direction.


Even when the trail started to get overgrown again, I didn’t worry too much about it …


… because the trees of Big Pines were visible off in the distance, so I knew we were getting close to our destination. Or so I thought.


By the time we started the final climb to Big Pines, I had drifted pretty far behind the others – and this photo would end up being the last I saw of them for three hours. Apparently shortly after this point, I somehow veered off of whatever consensus trail existed …


... most likely distracted by taking pictures of this area, which no one else in the group seems to recognize. We were in a section of the forest that had been severely damaged by the recent wildfires, and one of my favorite scenes to witness in nature is the way life regains a foothold, time and time again, even in places of horrible destruction. It’s a powerful metaphor on a lot of different levels, and, um … it’s possible that I might have become lost in my thoughts somewhere around here and stopped paying attention to the trail.


But here’s the thing: it took me a very long time to realize I was off course, because this particular section of the hillside wasn’t any more overgrown or indecipherable than the previous 8 miles we had just trudged through. The fact that I couldn’t actually see a trail didn’t automatically trigger an alarm of any sort – and I had been trailing the group so routinely that I always figured they were just out of sight around the next curve. It probably took me about 20 minutes to figure out that wasn’t the case.


By the time I concluded I was off trail, I figured that my chances of actually retracing my steps and finding the official, ‘very hard to distinguish the first time around’ trail might prove difficult. Since I saw blue sky overhead, I decided that I’d just keep going uphill, and eventually make it to the top of Big Pines and meet up with the rest of the group.

And that plan might have worked … if the rest of the group hadn’t figured out I was missing and started backtracking to see where I went off course. Turns out I probably should have thought of that.


After several minutes of scrambling up slopes that proved much steeper than they initially appeared, I found my first sign of hope: the Purple Flower Road that marked both the firebreak, and a certain route back to civilization at some point. But instead of heading back down to the first trail junction I recognized, I went to the top of the hill and started shouting my fool head off, hoping to hear some sort of response from the rest of my group. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing like crazy, and all my shouting was pretty much futile.


Finally I decided to start the long haul down the firebreak, with the ridgeline flowers visible in the distance to reassure me that I’d ultimately make it back in one piece. It was at this point, however, that I began to worry about what the rest of the group might be doing - that they might be concerned that I was lost or hurt or something worse, and sacrificing their own plans and schedules to spend extra time tracking me down. That’s not exactly a pleasant feeling.


Once I finally reached the last known trail junction, I noticed this hat – which seemed odd, because I didn’t remember seeing it on the way in. At first I thought, maybe someone in my group left it? But then …


… Nah. None of my group works for the US Census. Couldn’t be them. Oh well.

(So here’s a little test for you: what should that hat have told me? The answer follows shortly.)


The ridgeline return wasn’t nearly as easy as I was hoping; apparently the reason the official trail frequently goes off the ridge is because the slopes that go straight up and over each successive peak are incredibly steep. And remember how the firebreak was created? By bulldozer, which meant that underneath the tall grass lurked unseen rocks, broken branches, potholes, and all manner of debris. I lost my footing more than a few times here, and emerged with some fairly bloody legs by the end of the day.


On the plus side, the views were still nice. Whatever.


When I passed the sign marking my exit from the official wilderness, I had to admit that my journey here wasn’t quite what I hoped or expected – but I suppose that’s why they call it the wilderness, anyway.


This is my friend Brian, who’s a decent enough guy; I’ve always liked him in a regular dude way. But when I saw him chasing me down - followed closely thereafter by the rest of the group -while I rested at Blue Rock Ridge, I swear that part of me wanted to sprint across the field and jump into his arms like a soldier coming home from war. I haven’t been that happy to see somebody in a very long time – because I knew I had finally been found.

Brian’s also a super-experienced outdoorsman who feels as much at home in remote, desolate wilderness areas as you and I do on our living room couches. On that note, here’s what he said I should have done in my situation, and the answer to the blue hat question …

Once I figured out I was off trail, my best course of action would have been to backtrack the last known trail spot and hold my position. Apparently only idiots keep looking for the top of the hill. And even though I doubted I could retrace my steps to the trail, I might have recognized some landmarks that would eventually lead me to the vicinity (as in, possible shouting distance) of where I had ventured off.

And the hat? My friends did put it there. Further up the trail from Big Pines, they came across a campsite and found it abandoned on the hillside. Knowing its color would attract attention, they put it on the last known trail junction that we were together to let me know that they had been there, and were doubling back and forth on the trail to look for me. Which means I could have saved them a lot of looking if I hadn’t kept moving towards the car at that point.

Here’s my favorite part of Brian’s story: once they returned to the hat a second time, the way they knew I was alive and moving back to the car was by tracking me through the grass like hunters. He used my imprints to determine which way I was heading, and could tell every time I missed the official trail to stay on the firebreak. I’m sure they could probably see all the spots I stumbled as well, but they were polite enough to not tell me.


Thankfully, we were all together again as we saw the dam that marked our entrance point to the wilderness, and the rest of the run finished without incident. The whole way down, I couldn't help dwelling on what an idiot I had been.

I wish I didn't have to be an experiential learner on this one - because getting lost in the wilderness really does suck. I wasn't even in any grave danger, but the whole experience made me feel bad for what I had put the rest of the group through when they were wondering what the heck happened to me. Maybe the bad day was what I deserved for being an idiot, but I wish I hadn't contributed to a bad day for anyone else.

So ... yeah. Don't get lost, kids. It's not as glamorous as it may seem.


On a completely unrelated topic: I wore my VivoBarefoot Evos for this adventure, and aside from the dozens of grass burrs stuck in my socks, they felt pretty comfortable all day long. I obviously had some footing issues on the super-steep ridgeline, but these weren't exactly groomed trails I was traversing. On the whole, I was confident enough in how they performed to try using them for my 100K this coming weekend.

The way things are going for me lately - going off course at Quicksilver, along with this run - footwear may be the least of my concerns at the race. As long as I stay on course, don't venture off trail, and make it to the finish line in one piece, I'll consider the day a success.

**
I know, I know ... I like Coldplay. We've discussed this before. And I'll even concede that the studio version of this song was a little sleepy for my tastes - if you'll admit that the percussion-heavy live version that follows below is pretty darn cool.

Coldplay, "Lost", live in Tokyo (click to play):

Read more...

New Drymax Max Pro Trail Socks!

It was roughly one year ago when I was testing the (at that time) new Drymax Lite Trail socks at the Western States training camp. In my case, “testing” meant “immersing myself in as many river crossings as possible in the midst of a hot, hilly 31-mile trail run” – and as I reported back then, the socks performed beautifully.

I certainly wasn’t surprised that they performed so well; I’ve been on the Drymax bandwagon for about two years now, and there’s absolutely no other sock I’d choose for a race or any other long, challenging run. In my book, they’re clearly the best in the category – not only that, but the gap between first and second place is enormous.

This spring, I’ve had the privilege of testing another new offering from Drymax, as the company has recently released their Maximum Protection Trail sock, which raises the performance bar even further. They are similar to Drymax’s standard trail running socks, but have a Teflon material embedded throughout the entire inside of the socks along with the regular Drymax fiber – a combination that greatly reduces the coeffient of friction, and moves moisture away from the foot extremely effectively.


However, this model also raises the price bar somewhat significantly, so it’s not something I’m going to tell you to race out and buy until I have a better sense of how well they hold up in extreme circumstances. I’m planning to wear them for my 100K race this weekend, and I’ll present an updated review at some point afterward. Truthfully, though, these socks have already been put to the test by a lot of athletes who are way more accomplished than me; Drymax’s team includes some of the best ultrarunners in the world, who have been wear-testing various versions of the sock for a few months now. I’m tempted to say that if they’re tough enough for Jamie Donaldson and the Wasatch Speed Goats, they’re tough enough for me – but I’ll feel a lot better about recommending them after putting them through the paces myself.

In the meantime, if you’re so inclined, you can read up on some of the science that’s gone into these socks, either from this Drymax page, or from this ZombieRunner page, where the socks are currently in stock for $28 per pair. That's right ... two-eight. It’s truly remarkable how much technology goes into a pair of socks nowadays; whether the resulting performance benefit is worth the price is a conversation we’ll save for another day. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to getting to know the Max Pros better over 62 miles this Saturday.

Read more...

Summer Buckets

As this weekend marks the unofficial start of summer, it's natural to start thinking of all the warm-weather adventures that await us in the months ahead. It's so natural, in fact, that even little kids do it:

Things I want to do in the summer: Swim. Hike. Geocache.

The note above was posted on the fridge by my 6-year-old daughter last week, and I have to say, it's very nearly the exact same list I would have created for her if she had asked me to. I'd also have included "have lots of fun", but with this particular daughter that's pretty much implied.

(By the way, is there anything more endearing as a parent than deciphering a 6-year-old's phonetic scribblings into words and phrases that make actual sense? This is one of those little things where if you've never had kids, it seems completely ridiculous - but if you're a parent, I'm guessing you're just nodding your head right now.)

So in the spirit of my 6-year-old's summer bucket list, here's a three-word summer goal list of my own:

1) enjoy

2) appreciate

3) share

Of course, there's more information I could have added to each of those, but in the end they'd just boil down to the main ideas anyway. I also could have included "do as much running, swimming, and bike riding as possible", but I figured that would be pretty much implied.

So ... can you make a summer bucket list of three words? If so, feel free to share yours below. If not, you'd better get moving ... summer will be here before you know it!

Read more...

Ultimate Direction Solitaire Review; Ultimate Direction Uno Review

Prior to my 50-mile race last month, when Stacy at Wilderness Running Company offered up an Ultimate Direction waist pack for me to test out, my immediate thought was, “It’s not going to be as good as my Uno pack.”

The truth was, I already had an Ultimate Direction waist pack that worked pretty well for me. I wear it for pretty much every run that’s in the 1 to 2.5-hour range - three hours or more, and I switch to hydration packs – which means that my Uno pack has seen a LOT of miles on the trail over the years. In fact, on a strict miles-per-dollar scale, the Uno is probably the most worthwhile investment I’ve ever made, second only to the $40 Timex that I use every single day.

Needless to say, I was a bit skeptical that something new would win me over – so in the spirit of compromise, I decided to review both packs: the one I received from WRC, and the one I already had.

Ultimate Direction Solitaire

The new pack I tested is the Ultimate Direction Solitaire, which combines a low horizontal bottle holder with 100 cubic inches of storage space on top. It’s a good option if you need a little extra cargo capacity for long trail runs.

Positioning of the bottle is somewhat unique in that it’s completely horizontal, laying across your backside instead of being angled upward. The pack comes with a 26-oz bottle featuring Ultimate Direction’s famous kicker valve, which seems to be a “love it or hate it” innovation (I’m not personally crazy about it). The holster is wide enough to hold standard 20- or 24-oz Specialized bottles as well as the factory UD bottle.

Above the bottle holster is a horizontal cargo compartment that is large enough to stash a jacket, a few gadgets, or even another full 20-oz bottle. There’s also a small mesh pocket on the outside of the pack for energy gel (or gel wrappers) or other small items. The whole pack weighs 9.5 oz, so you get a decent amount of storage without sacrificing too much weight – especially when you consider that it’s only 1 ounce heavier than the Uno, but provides about 40% more capacity.

The Solitaire has closed-cell foam padding on the backside, and moisture-wicking padding that stretches around to the front buckles of the stability belt for improved comfort on the run. I have to say that I found a fully-loaded pack to be a little bouncier than I like, and the horizontal positioning of the bottle does take a bit of getting used to. On the other hand, maybe I’m just too accustomed to using the Uno pack for so many years.

Ultimate Direction Uno

And why do I like the Uno so much? For a lot of reasons. At 8.5 oz, it’s fairly lightweight but durable enough to take a beating. I like the upright bottle position that’s equally accessible with both hands; I’ve never been a big fan of angled holsters, and the Uno is one of the few models on the market that isn’t angled. The holster is also compatible with any standard 20- or 24-oz bottle, although the taller size is a bit more noticeable against your low back at times.

I also like having two separate pockets – so I can keep my gels and wrappers separate from my tech gadgets - that are each big enough to hold one or two key essentials. The storage capacity is only about 65 cubic inches, but the contoured zipper pockets allow enough space for the basics. I can fit either a cell phone, or a compact headlamp (most frequently my Petzl Tikka XP2), or four gel packs, or even my compact camera into a single pocket. While the Solitaire would probably be able to carry all that stuff together, I generally don’t need all of those things at once – or if I do, I’m in the “over three hour” category where I’d probably step up to using a hydration pack anyway.

Most of all, I love how the Uno just settles comfortably into the small of my back, almost to the point where I forget it’s there sometimes. It has the same ultra-wicking, foam padded back panel as the Solitaire (although the waist straps aren’t padded), but for me the comfort comes more from having a smaller-profile pack in a natural resting position that remains close to my center of gravity for more efficient running.

In case you haven’t guessed by now, I ended up sticking with my Uno pack during this month’s 50-miler. I carried my camera in one pocket, and energy gels in the other. Between the Uno and my QuickDraw Elite, I had up to 42 oz of fluids with me at all times, and access to everything was a breeze. My goal coming into the race was to carry lighter gear without skimping on fluids or storage, and I felt like those two items accomplished the task wonderfully.

However, my ongoing affection for the Uno isn’t meant to take anything away from the Solitaire, which would be a better choice under different circumstances. From my experience, the Solitaire is a nice option if you need a high volume of fluid but don’t want to add a hand-held pack or upgrade to a hydration pack, or if you’re looking to carry additional water or gear than you can fit into a standard waist-mounted pack, and if you’re comfortable having a somewhat bulkier pack across your backside. The Uno is an almost unbeatable option if you’re looking to travel light and/or fast and only need one or two bare essentials along for the ride.

As I’ve said a few times already, Wilderness Running Company was instrumental in providing these products for me to compare and review – so if you’re in the market for new hydration gear, you can do me a favor by doing some business with WRC. You’re doing yourself a favor as well, since you can save 10% on anything by using coupon code R&R10 at checkout. And to make it even easier, I’ll save you the trouble of scrolling back through the post:

The Ultimate Direction Solitaire retails for $42.

The Ultimate Direction Uno retails for $30.

Previously: the Nathan QuickDraw Elite retails for $25.


*Solitaire and QuickDraw Elite provided by Wilderness Running Company.
**See other product reviews on sidebar at right. If you have a product you’d like reviewed, contact me at info@runingandrambling.com.

Read more...