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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100 Little Miles

“Don’t worry about a thing –
‘Cause every little thing’s gonna be all right.”
- Bob Marley & the Wailers, “Three Little Birds” (click to play)

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So ... let’s try this again.

I’ve already written the Off and Away post describing my excitement in counting down the last few hours to a 100-mile run; the only thing that’s missing now is to actually, you know … do the run. Six weeks later, there’s not much I would add to that earlier post, except perhaps to reassure myself to not worry about what might happen over the course of the weekend.

That’s not to say I won’t have problems, however. There are certain to be times when my body feels battered, my spirit feels broken, and I’ll question both the sanity and the necessity of doing the task I’ve given myself. Hard times are as much a part of the race as good ones – in fact, if those difficulties weren’t encountered along the way, the whole process wouldn’t mean nearly as much.

What I’m counting on to pull me through is a positive mindset, and a resolve to deal with whatever hardships come my way. There will be a thousand little things that could potentially discourage me – but somehow, I’ll figure out a way to get through every last one of them.

At least, that’s my plan – and as we’ve seen before, sometimes things don’t go the way you planned. But for now, I have to say that I feel pretty good about this one; I feel like every little thing’s going to be all right.

See you in 100 miles.

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Love The One You're With (Western States Diary)

When I decided to enter the Headlands 100, one of the first people I contacted was my sports editor, to see if it was OK to resume the Western States Diary that I had started in the spring. I honestly felt bad about the way the series ended, and wanted to update anyone who had been following along via the newspaper that I had dusted myself off and moved on with life following the race cancellation in June.

The result is the article that follows, which is noteworthy in a few regards:

1) I'm not a huge classic rock fan, but while writing this piece, the intro song was so firmly entrenched in my head that there was really no way around it. See – all this time you’ve probably thought that the writer chooses the song, when in reality, it’s the article and the song that somehow attract each other like electrons. I’m just the guy whose fingers operate the keyboard.

2) This piece is a perfect example of what I mean when I say that my blog is a training ground for getting mainstream media items published. If you’re a regular reader here, some of the lines and ideas that follow will sound very familiar, since they were essentially recycled from previous posts. And finally …

3) The article gives me perfect justification to include a picture of Beyonce - which is never a bad thing, really. Remember when I used to post pictures of Beyonce here at least once per month? I miss those days sometimes.

Anyway, the article follows below. I’ll probably have one more post this week in advance of this weekend’s race, and then I’m off to spend 100 miles in the Marin Headlands.

**

Journey of 100 Miles: A Western States Headlands 100 Training Diary

Part 9: Love the One You’re With

“There's a rose in a fisted glove –
And the eagle flies with the dove –
And if you can’t be with the one you love, honey –
Love the one you’re with.”
- Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young

*

Over the years, I’ve come to believe that whenever God closes a door, He usually leaves a window open somewhere - the only trick is knowing where to look for it. In recent weeks, I’ve found this notion particularly applicable to my ultrarunning exploits.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves – so indulge me in a brief recap:

In our last episode of this training diary, I announced that the Western States Endurance Run, the most prestigious 100-mile trail race in the world, had been cancelled by the wildfire rampage that swept across Northern California in June. Three days before the race, I was informed that all those months of training - the cold, dark early mornings, the endless miles running up and down canyons in Garland Park, the constant soreness and fatigue – was all for nothing. It all just vanished, literally and figuratively, up in smoke.

Needless to say, I was bummed out. I used the analogy of being left at the altar, which narrowly edged out a comparison to the Griswolds driving all the way to Wally World only to find the park closed. Either way, it clearly wasn’t the ending I was hoping for.


Not only that, but I had spent eight installments worth of valuable Monterey Herald column space extolling not just the Western States race, but all the virtues of ultrarunning, only to have the cancellation render the whole process meaningless. It was the most anticlimactic ending to a series since The Sopranos, and I felt like the poster boy for unrequited ambition. The door wasn’t merely closed, it was slammed in my face just as I stood on the doorstep. (I know ... I’m just full of analogies today.)

All of which brings me back to the open window.

Like anyone working his way through the grief process, I spent few mildly depressed days before accepting the fact that the 2008 Western States 100 simply wasn’t going to happen. However, I had done all of this training, and my body was ready to run 100 miles – so couldn’t I find a similar challenge someplace else? (Yes, this sounds like bargaining, which technically comes before acceptance, but trust me – this is the way it happened.)

Undoubtedly, I was still afflicted with a 100-mile itch – and as luck would have it, I found a couple of options to scratch it.

The most convenient alternate venue is a race called the Headlands Hundred, a 100-mile trail run through the Marin Headlands area north of San Francisco. It takes place on August 9th and 10th, and – assuming everything goes according to plan – next weekend, I’ll be there, putting my training to the test.

The Headlands race is only in its second year of existence; it’s one of several new 100-mile races to debut recently, in the wake of a steadily increasing number of ultrarunners nationwide – a boom due in large part to the enormous popularity of the Western States Endurance Run. Life’s ironic like that sometimes.

As far as my own involvement, Headlands has three very important criteria going for it: 1) It’s relatively close to home, 2) It contains trails that I’m familiar with from other races, and 3) It’s in an area of the state that’s not, as far as I know, currently on fire.

And while it doesn’t have the prestige of Western States, the course is almost equally challenging: it has 17,000’ of climbing (compared to 18,000’ at WS), long sections of difficult technical footing, and the same potential for accidents or medical maladies. Most importantly: it’s still 100 miles – which is an awfully long distance to run, no matter what the circumstances.

So to revisit my analogy of being left at the altar, let’s say the girl in the Western States scenario was Beyonce: irresistibly beautiful, wildly popular, and incredibly gifted. She’s the girl you’ve spent years daydreaming about, wondering if there’s any way you could ever be compatible someday.

Now the Headlands race comes along like Rihanna: a starlet who’s a little bit younger, not nearly as well-recognized, but still quite attractive and worthy of admiration. At first, you might not take her seriously, but after a while you start thinking, “You know what? This girl’s definitely got the goods.” You’re not settling for something inferior; you’re simply moving on.

Sure, this has all the markings of a rebound relationship – but sometimes the rebound girl is the one you were supposed to hook up with anyway. It’s like those teen movies from the 1980s, where a guy does all sorts of crazy stunts to land the unobtainable hot chick, only to realize that he was meant to be with the girl who was his best friend all along. Even though I spent all year preparing to complete a race in Auburn, I have a feeling that when I cross the finish line in Marin County, I’ll still find myself perfectly happy.

(Best of all, committing to this rebound relationship doesn’t exclude me from chasing after the hot girl/race again next summer – but that’s another story.)

I’ll report back after the race with an event recap, and share any lessons learned during my day and night on the trails. The race also has a simultaneous webcast for anyone wishing to follow my progress on August 9th: go to the Headlands 100 website click “webcast” for updates. (We’ll put a reminder in the Herald on August 9th as well.)

In the meantime, I’ve got one more week to make final preparations, and to get nervous and jittery all over again. I’ve found the open window –now all that’s left to do is make sure, when the time comes, that I’m ready to jump through.

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All News Is Local ...

... but this is a little ridiculous:


That's the front page of today's (Sunday) Monterey Herald sports section. On a normal week, I'm tucked comfortably around page 5 or 6, somewhere between the golf roundup and the baseball box scores. But yesterday, for the first time - and for some reason that remains inexplicable - my article was on the front page, centered and above the fold.

See the guy pictured in the article below me? That would be Michael Phelps. He's a swimmer you may have heard something about.

Don't worry, I'm not letting this go to my head. I realize that this was some crazy mistake, and next week I'll be back to my regular slot behind the high school football training camp reports. But I'll always have this: from now on, I can somewhat truthfully say that for one day, I ranked just ahead of Michael Phelps.

As to the topic of the article ... it's the latest installment of my Western States Diary, resurrected from the ashes in preparation for my 100-mile race in Marin County next weekend. I'll post the article in its entirety here sometime tomorrow.

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Cushion My Ride

Admin note: this is a much-delayed product review for a company that contacted me shortly after I pimped myself out to the Nuun and Sport Beans people. I still have one more product (actually, a group of products) to review later this month – but no, it’s not Sport Beans. Should I start a ticker on my sidebar or something to see how long it takes them to contact me? Or should I just perpetuate the rumor I heard a couple of weeks ago that they’re going out of business? Methinks it’s time to ratchet up the pressure.

Anyway, in light of the present topic, it’s worth restating here: I’m always open to test and review free swag; the only catch is you have to be a bit patient with me. My e-mailbox is always open.

**

Standard practice in health care and research industries dictates that whenever somebody formally presents information, he is obligated to reveal any pertinent disclosures prior to the discussion. For example, if a scientist were to give a lecture about the benefits of Viagra for athletic performance (yes, seriously), he has to disclose beforehand whether he is an employee of Pfizer, or has any financial interests in the company.

Accordingly, before I start telling you about my experience using shoe inserts, here is my disclosure statement: I have no financial interest (or any other kind, for that matter) in the SofSole company. Moreover, in more than 15 years of running, I’ve never had reason to use inserts in my training shoes.

That’s why I tried to disqualify myself when the company contacted me a few months ago to try some of their products. I told the marketing rep that I had never used inserts, and never had serious problems with injuries or foot pain.

Her response surprised me a bit, in that she still wanted me to give them a try. Basically, she seemed awfully determined to give me free stuff, and – as I’ve indicated above - I certainly don’t want to discourage that type of behavior. So I agreed to a trial, but told her it would have to wait a while. This all took place in the spring, in the height of my buildup to Western States, and I was simply too preoccupied to worry about it.

Among the myriad of details I was trying to manage prior to WS was making sure I’d have the right number of shoes in precisely the right condition at exactly the right places on the course. I had my system dialed in almost perfectly, with my best pair primed for the longest stretch of the course, and my older pairs available for shorter sections.

Honestly, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how complicated this thought process is, so just take my word for it: there was a lot to consider. And I wasn’t about to start playing around with testing out new inserts while logging 80 miles per week and carefully calibrating the amount of wear on each of three different pair of shoes.

You already know the next part of this story: they cancelled Western States, and I scrambled to find another 100-miler as a payoff for all of my training.

With six weeks to kill between Western States weekend and my upcoming Headlands 100, I had a dilemma of sorts: I needed to grind out a few hundred more training miles, but didn’t want to break down my race shoes any further than they already were. And that’s when I remembered the inserts.

Shortly after I agreed to test their products, SofSole mailed this box to my house:


I decided to overlook the momentary confusion triggered by the words “specifically for women” on the box. (Actually, my first thought was, They know I’m a boy, right? I make that clear on my blog, don’t I? Maybe I shouldn’t talk about shaving my legs so often. Remember, this was a few weeks before WS, and I wasn’t thinking rationally.)

Inside the box were two pairs of inserts, and two pairs of white socks; they didn’t have black ones like I requested, but considering the price, I guess I couldn’t complain. There was also a handwritten thank you note from the rep, which struck me as very charming, in an old-fashioned proper manners way. (I know it sounds silly, but I was almost as impressed by the note as I was by the free swag. It’s weird, the things that inspire me sometimes.)

The inserts stayed in their boxes until about 3 weeks ago, when I put them into my my most worn-down trail runners. My goal was to extend the lifespan of my two oldest pairs, so I could keep my best pair in the closet for as long as possible before race day.

Predictably, after I took the insoles out of my Montrails, it took me about an hour – and probably 20 different adjustments – to position the inserts in a way that felt comfortable all the way around. But for anyone less neurotic than me (translation: almost everyone), putting the inserts in place probably isn’t that difficult.

On my first run, my foot felt a little crowded in the shoe – especially in the toe box – but gradually, that became less noticeable. The other thing I noticed immediately was the improvement in cushioning over the standard insoles, which made my old trainers significantly more comfortable than they had been previously. I was also a bit worried that I’d have some hot spots or blister issues with new inserts, but none of those ever materialized.

Between the two older pairs of shoes, I’ve logged more than 200 miles over the past three weeks, and the impact on my body wasn’t remarkably different than it felt in my final weeks of buildup for Western States. Whether that’s a testimonial to the effectiveness of the inserts, or just a continuation of the injury-free luck I’ve been enjoying over the past several months is almost impossible to say.

I suppose that from a risk-benefit perspective, the increased cushioning from wearing the inserts might be enough to justify their cost and/or potential downsides - however, there’s definitely a hassle factor involved, especially if your goal is to use the products on a long-term basis in all of your training shoes. It's also important to remember that I’m not remotely qualified to say whether a pair of inserts will help resolve a chronic pain issue, or lower your overall risk of injury with regular use. I’m not even certain that extending the lifespan of a worn-out pair of trail shoes is an indicated use of the product, but in my case, it seemed to work out just fine.

All I can say for sure is that they're quite comfortable, and I feel just as confident wearing the inserts in my shoes as I did beforehand without them. And since they’re already in place, I’ll keep the Sofsoles in the shoes I’m bringing to the Headlands 100 next weekend as a backup pair if I have any difficulty with my first-string shoes.

If nothing else, they helped me through a few solid weeks of training when I needed it the most. At this point, anything that helps me make it to that finish line will easily earn a ringing endorsement.

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Potomac Heritage Trail (Chasing Waterfalls)

Before I describe where I ran last week, let me describe where I didn’t, because the name is a bit misleading.

If you Google the Potomac Heritage trail, you’ll find several websites devoted to the 700-mile corridor through the basin of the Potomac River, stretching from Pennsylvania to Virginia. Numerous efforts are underway to create one continuous throughway in the area, similar to the Appalachian or Continental Divide trails.

Then there’s the 10-mile stretch starting in the District of Columbia, which, in typical Washington fashion, languishes in neglect and bureaucratic red tape. Because of jurisdictional squabbles, it’s not technically part of the larger preservation effort, so it’s not officially maintained – but it’s still a nice way to get a small dose of nature in the shadow of the nation’s capital. And that’s just what I was looking for on a business trip to DC last week.

From a training perspective, the centerpiece of my week was a 5-hour run in Rock Creek Park, similar to the one I described in this photo essay. The next evening, I was looking for a mellow recovery run to work the soreness out - so I headed for a scenic trail on the banks of the Potomac. I knew it would be a relaxed run in a unique setting … in other words, it was Nikon time!

My run started on the canal towpath through Georgetown, toward the Francis Scott Key Bridge. By the way, that’s not the Washington Monument in the background – it’s a smokestack. You’d be surprised how many people look twice at it, though.


After crossing the Key Bridge, you swoop down to river level, and see this sign for the Potomac Heritage trail. The location is always a decision point for me; from this spot, I can follow the trail as indicated, or turn in the opposite direction and visit Roosevelt Island, another one of my favorite DC trail runs (which I wrote about here). On this night, I chose the river trail, but it’s pretty much a coin flip each time.

The first thing I do on the Heritage trail is pass underneath the bridge I just crossed to get here. The bridge always looks much larger – not to mention a lot prettier – from ground level.

After passing the bridge, the trail parallels a roadway (sorry, I have no idea what highway this is) for about a quarter-mile. Granted, the run isn’t much of an escape from the daily chaos that’s just a few yards away on the left-hand side at this point. However …

If you look to the right from this same section, you enjoy a great view of the Potomac, Georgetown University above, and its historic boathouse across the river. Seeing a collegiate boathouse always strikes a romantic chord in me – it reminds me of my UCLA crew days, which I just realized I’ve never adequately written about. Maybe someday I will.

Heading north from the Key Bridge, the roadway rises high above and eventually disappears from sight (but never really from sound), while the trail remains at water’s edge. It alternates back and forth between sheltered woodlands, and …


Sweeping vistas of the Potomac, which is never more than a stone’s throw away from this trail. In the spring and fall, there are always several crew teams out here, and I’m close enough to hear the sound of the oars hitting the water, and the whisper of the water as the fiberglass shell cuts across it. (Have I mentioned that I miss rowing sometimes?) Unfortunately, summer is the off-season for crew, so I didn’t get to see any on this trip.

The Heritage trail traverses some runoff areas that drain the watershed on higher ground above. There are several small stream crossings like this, and in a few places …


There are even waterfalls! Granted, this isn’t exactly Fantasy Island-caliber stuff, but considering that we’re still inside the Beltway, the scene struck me as fairly impressive.


In my Rock Creek Park post, I commented that it took me less than 10 attempts to get a good self-portrait; on this trip, it took me less than 8. So I guess I'll call that progress. Actually, it would have been even fewer attempts if not for one factor …


Guess who else likes to inhabit humid, marshy waterways when it’s 95 degrees in the middle of July? An awful lot of bugs, that’s who. I know you can’t really see them in this picture, but trust me: they were formidable. I lost a few pictures fighting battles like the one pictured above. One time, I think one of them tried to fly off with my camera.


Further down the trail, another waterfall. Yes, it’s technically more of a runoff stream than a waterfall, but since we’re in DC, it’s probably referred to as a “special needs” waterfall, and it’s subsidized by our tax dollars.

As the trail heads upstream, the footing becomes progressively more challenging. It even becomes too technical to run in many places – although this isn’t one of them. This is another stream crossing, which leads to …


Another waterfall. Well, you know … sort of.

At several points on the trail, people had fishing lines in the water. It kind of surprised me, based on what I’ve read about fish taken from the Potomac. Hopefully there aren’t too many folks who obtain their dinner this way – and hopefully I’ll never be one of them.

Approaching the Chain Bridge four miles upstream, the trail rises back to meet the elevation of the road in the most direct way possible: a rocky stairway carved into a cliff, which then follows a streambed to higher land, but not quite to road level …

Because you still have to walk under the Chain Bridge before you can cross over it. Given that I grew up in Los Angeles, I’m usually surprised to pass underneath bridge spans like this and not see drug paraphernalia or homeless people who’ve taken up residence there. Of course, it wasn’t quite dark yet, so my timing might have been bad (or good, depending on your point of view).

After crossing the Chain Bridge, the return trip is four flat miles along the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal towpath, which seems like the main running and bicycling thoroughfare between DC and northeast Virginia or northwest Maryland.

I could show you more pictures, but honestly, the entire path looks exactly like this: a wide dirt trail, a stillwater canal to one side, lush greenery all around, and bugs everywhere you look. (You can see the bugs, right? I swear they were huge. I thought of posting a picture of bite marks afterwards, but – fortunately for all of us - good taste prevailed.)


Eventually, the canal reaches its terminus back in Georgetown, where this whole adventure began. From here, it’s less than a mile back to my hotel to cap off a leisurely 10-mile recovery run.

I know that other trail networks are far more extensive, more challenging, or more scenic than those pictured here, but the Heritage trail has typical DC appeal: a small refuge of natural beauty in one of the most unexpected surroundings imaginable. Besides, sometimes I’m not looking for grandeur – I’m just trying to make the work day disappear for a while.

In that regard, this run fits the bill perfectly.

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Riding Into the Future

Since my son doesn’t have a blog, I’m taking the liberty of posting this on his behalf:



It’s a Specialized Hotrock FS, 24-inch wheel, front suspension, 21-speed mountain bike. It was a gift from Grandma and Grandpa for his tenth birthday.

In a related story – I now have a 10-year-old child. And all of a sudden, I’m starting to feel kind of old.

Truthfully, my son isn’t an avid bike rider. He uses it every now and then to ride around the park, and prefers leisurely cruising to racing or jumping or stunt riding. It’s a nice form of exercise for him on occasion, but there’s no indication that he’s laying down the foundation of a future endurance athlete.

However, to his credit, he prefers to ride on trails instead of roads, and claims that his favorite part of bike riding is seeing pretty areas of nature that are too far to walk to. So perhaps this is a gateway to something that will impact him on a deeper level at some point in the future.

Back to the bike: It’s his first bike with handbrakes, the first with gear shifters, and the first with a water bottle cage. (Predictably, he was most excited about the bottle holder.) It’s a nice transition between the former kid bike he used, and a full-blown grownup mountain bike – much in the same way that turning ten marks a transition between childhood and adolescence.

One other thing about the Hotrock: it’s WAY better than my own ride. I’m still pedaling my college mountain bike: an old-school Specialized Rockhopper with no suspension, with worn-out chainrings and torn-up cables that limit my shifting capacity to only 3 gears. It's fine for getting around the neighborhood, but it probably can't keep up with a 21-speed underneath a solid rider.

Naturally, I couldn’t let this comparison go unnoticed by my newly minted 10-year-old, which led to the following exchange:

Me: Listen, man – you have a better bike than I do now.

Him (smiling): Cool.

Me: Yeah, but here’s the thing: there’s no excuses anymore. If I’m riding faster than you, it’s either because my legs are stronger, or I’m working harder. As soon as you get stronger than me, you’ll be able to beat me.

Him: That could be a while.

Me: You’re darn right.

My son may have the nicest bike in the house, but I’m determined to be the best bike rider in the family for as long as I possibly can. One of these days, he may drop me on a climb, or pull away from me in a sprint - but if he does, he’ll definitely have to earn it.

And if that day ever comes, one thing is absolutely certain: I’m going to feel extremely old.

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