Mon - 4.5 miles easy
Tues - 6 miles (500') easy. Valley
Weds - 4.5 miles (800') easy. Falls loop.
Thurs - 7.5 miles (700') easy on the Bluesky Trail with Eric
Fri - 4.5 miles (800') easy. Falls loop.
Sat - 50 miles (7,000'). Run Rabbit Run.
Sun - 0 miles.
Total: 72.5 miles (9,800').
Mon - 0 miles
Tues - 0 miles
Weds - 0 miles
Thurs - 7 miles (700') easy with Bryan S on Bluesky.
Fri - 4.5 miles (800') easy. Falls loop.
Sat - 7.5 miles (1,000') easy with Slush. Soderberg TH - Towers - Stout - Loggers - Mill Creek - Link - Valley - Soderberg TH. Measuring Scott's Runners Without Borders course.
Sun - 17 miles (6,700'). Mummy Traverse.
Total: 36 miles (9,200')
Not much going on really on the running front. Took a bunch of days off after Run Rabbit Run 50, and then didn't do much else other than the Mummy Traverse on Sunday, which while a solid butt kicker, felt really good. Probably keep up with this easy theme for at least another week and then start thinking about the North Face 50 in December, which I'm kind of leaning towards doing.
The downside of all this non-focused jogginess is that JM is probably going to give me a severe ass whooping at the Silent Trails 10 miler in a couple of weekends. He claims to be in great shape right now and reckons his 2:27 bid for the Cal International Marathon is on. If I beat him of course, then it will brought up at every possible opportunity for at least the next year. All the pressure is on Justin then - just the way I like it.
Lots of friends running in the local trail marathon this weekend, with lots of predicted finish times and placings to watch out for. I hope to be able to make it up for the finish, but will have to hot foot it from town after presiding over the Rolland Moore 4k, which will kick off the 2011/12 Tortoise and Hare series. So if you're not running or volunteering at Bluesky, consider coming out to run Rolland Moore.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Mummy Mania 2011
Chapin, Chiquita, Ypsilon, Fairchild
Chiquita, Ypsilon, Fairchild, Hagues (barely visible), Mummy
The stars aligned today for an awesome morning out in one of my favorite mountain ranges. I consider the Mummies my local high alpine playground and today I had them entirely to myself. For the five hours it took me to traverse the six peaks that when connected make up what has come to be known as Mummy Mania or the Mummy Kill, I saw not one soul.The day began three-quarters of the way up the Old Fall River Road from the Chapin Pass Trailhead at first light, right around 6:30. Two years ago when Chad and I did this route, we managed to run right by Chapin, summiting Chiquita as our first peak, and therefore failing in our mission to establish a fastest time for the route. Today, I was supremely careful to make sure I made the right-hand cut necessary to hit Chapin, the shortest of the day's six peaks at just 12,454 feet.
As with all the Mummy peaks, Chapin has a dramatic cliffed-off southerly face with a more gradual northwestern slope. Chapin's south face drops over 2,500 feet to the Fall River below, and from the top the peak offers immense views of the Longs Peak massif. What Chapin lacks in stature, it makes up for in views. Pretty inspiring stuff with the sun low in the sky and a full morning of peak-bagging ahead.
From Chapin it is a short drop to approximately 12,000 feet along the cliff line between Chapin and Chiquita (13,069'), followed by a stout 1,000 foot hoof up to the Chiquita summit. The route between the two peaks benefits from a faint trail, which makes for reasonably surefooted and fast progress. The rest of the traverse is entirely off trail and littered with rocks - and lots of them.
Ypsilon from Fairchild.
Chaquita to Ypsilon (13,514') is also quite straightforward. A short 400 foot drop to the saddle, again along the southeastern cliff line, and then an 800 foot hoof to the summit. I stopped on top of Ypsilon for a few minutes to get down some calories and admire the awesome ridgelines that surround Spectacle Lakes some 2,000 feet below. And then it was off to Fairchild (13,502'), which for me is the crux of this route.
Ypsilon from en route to Fairchild.
Again, the almost too logical line is to follow the cliff some 700 feet down to the ridge that cuts northeast over to Fairchild. On approaching the ridge, things become a little less obvious, but the route - or the one I take - follows a line at about 12,300 feet on the southern side of the ridge across a large talus field that continues all the way up to the crown of Fairchild. Getting up to Fairchild's benign rounded summit is hard work and a little bit sketchy. The route up is not an obvious one, and really the best course of action is to scramble as best you can up the southern rocks, which is mainly class three terrain, and then follow the ridge up.By the summit, I was beginning to feel the morning's effort, but still had plenty of perk left in me.
Fairchild from below Ypsilon
Fairchild from halfway up Hagues Peak
It's a long rocky descent off Fairchild down to the saddle between it and Hagues, but with pep still in the legs I was running all of the rocky saddle before dropping into hoof mode for the strenuous 1,200 foot ascent of Hagues (13,560'), the high point of Larimer County and one of Rocky Mountain National Park's more impressive peaks. The ridgeline to the summit, viewed from Fairchild is one of my favorite sights of the whole traverse. I mean, what a line.
Hagues Peak
From the summit block, the route off the traverse involves a little more easterly progress on the top of Mummy before a sharp and rocky descent on the southeastern flank of the mountain down to a drainage that leads all the way down to the Black Canyon Trail at 11,000 feet.
The intimidating south face of Mummy Mountain (from Trail Ridge Road)
From there it is a quick right for maybe a half mile before the intersection with the Lawn Lake Trail. A left at Lawn Lake and then it is a touch under six miles downhill to the trailhead and the end of the route. I must have been tired as I tripped and fell twice on the way down, but I got there in one piece in exactly 6:30, a full hour quicker than two years ago even with the addition of an extra summit. A most satisfying morning.
This isn't a hugely traveled route from what I can make out, and when it is, it is not typically done for time. The fastest time I have seen for the route - Peter Bakwin, I believe - is 7:45, so I'll throw that 6:30 out there as a current standard for the trailhead-to-trailhead traverse. With some extra focus, no camera and less lingering on the summits, I'm pretty sure I could take it under 6:00, but that will have to wait for another season.
17 (ish) miles, 6,800 feet of vert and 9,100 feet of descent.
The traffic from Lawn Lake heading up the Old Fall River Road on this beautiful fall day was heavy, so it wasn't long before my thumb procured a lift for the final nine miles back up to the car.
Fall in the Mummies (from the Old Fall River Road).
The route
The route
Splits:
Chapin: 39
Chiquita: 1:03
Ypsilon: 1:34
Fairchild: 2:45
Hagues: 3:57
Mummy: 4:49
Lawn Lake Trail: 5:39
Lawn Lake TH: 6:30
Monday, September 19, 2011
Run Rabbit Run 50
"What was I thinking?"
I must have said those words to myself 50 times on the outbound section of Saturday's Run Rabbit Run 50 miler. Once the heavens opened up, 28 miles into the race, I forgot about my stupidity in signing up and focused on surviving the three-hour torrent of freezing, hypothermia-inducing rain.
More than one person I spoke to after the race feared for their life out there this weekend, but thankfully everyone found their way off the mountain safe and sound, testament to the great race direction of Fred Abramowitz and his army of hardy volunteers. Thanks to each and every one of you for being out there under such horrendous conditions.
But for as ugly as it got, the race started out very innocently. Yes the weather forecast was calling for a 50 percent chance of rain, but the conditions at the pre-dawn start at the base of Mount Werner were just about perfect. I know I was fooled into not taking a jacket - a rookie error that almost came back to bite me 30 miles later.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
From the gun, a lead pack of Zeke Tiernan, James Bonnet and Mark (Horsecow) Lonac pushed the early pace as we began the 3,500 foot ascent of Storm Peak. I opted to let them go and settled in with Bill Fanselow. We chatted a bit about the pace off the front as we watched Horsecow drop James and Zeke, both of whom were beginning to come back to us as we transitioned into the steeper second half of the climb.
I know Horsecow from the Fort Collins road running circuit, and I was pretty sure this was his first 50 miler. Given that he typically runs his 5k races in the high 15s to low 16s, I figured that the early 50-mile pace probably felt a little pedestrian, but 50 miles is a long way to run, so I was fully confident that he was coming back. James, I knew, had run a fast 50 miler in winning Leona Divide earlier in the year, while Zeke, a former all-American at Colorado University, had a couple of strong Leadville podium finishes to his name. And with Bill - a former US mountain running team member - for company and Burch and Corey Hanson in close proximity behind, I could sense that this was going to be a tough race requiring a full-on effort for the win. I was already betting against myself.
After topping out on Storm Peak, 6.5 miles into the race, it was time for the real running to begin. Almost immediately the gear changed from grind to freewheel as we made our way down the short descent on the early stretches of the Mountain View Trail. The overnight rain had left the trail a little soggy, but by and large conditions were decent: tacky in places, sloppy in others.
Within minutes I was passing Horsecow, who later dropped with a hip issue. And then I heard the all-too familiar thuds of Ryan's downhill stride behind. I have raced Ryan so many times over the last few years that I know full well how much he loves to rip the descents, especially early in a race, so I was more than content to let him go by, knowing that I would likely be back on him as the course assumed an upward trajectory. Less than a minute after he was by me, Ryan was around Zeke and into the early race lead. A few shoulder checks confirmed that Bill was still in close proximity behind and that, indeed, I was in for a tough, competitive day of racing on a pair of pins that just wanted to go back to bed.
Nonetheless, I was quicker than Zeke through the aid and assumed the lead for the 1,000 foot pull up to Rabbit Ears, the rock formation that gives the pass into Steamboat Springs its name. Zeke didn't take long to catch up, but for as crappy as I was feeling, I was mildly energized to hear from his breathing how hard he was working. Rather than try to keep pace, I just let him go, figuring that my one gear was either going to be good enough through the latter stages - or not - but I knew that I didn't want a late-race suffer fest induced by mid-race over exertion.
By the time we were back at Dumont, now mile 28, Zeke was a minute - maybe two up on me. Again I was quicker through transition, and again I got the giddyup order from Dana. Leaving the aid, I was no more than 30 seconds behind in second as we began the 16 miles of rolling singletrack back to the top of Storm Peak. Bill, Burch and James had all been within five minutes at the turn, so there was still plenty of pressure from behind.
Race order coming into Dumont at mile 28. Teirnan, Clark, Fanselow, Burch.
Then the heavens opened up and unleashed a torrent of misery. Immediately I was transported 21 days back in time to the miserable first three hours of UTMB. By the time I got to the Base Camp aid station at mile 32 we were completely socked in and subject to a full-on downpour. The trench-like trails filled instantly with water, the temperatures dropped, and just like that concerns for safety became paramount and the race secondary.
Within minutes my fingers were numb and lifeless. I was forced to tuck my water bottle under my arm so I could get both hands into fists under my drenched gloves. Next to go were my feet and toes. Fortunately my legs responded to the situation by finding a new lease on life, which allowed me to up the tempo the notch or two I needed to get the internal furnace burning a little harder. In combination with my hat and arm panties, the new-found gear was just enough to fend off any serious considerations of hypothermia. Now I was merely cold, wet and miserable.
I caught no sightings of Zeke on the five-mile stretch of singletrack between Base Camp and the Long Lake aid station, but heard very faint cheers as he was (presumably) coming in. I got there about five minutes later, so figured that I was set in second for the rest of the race. However, on the last few miles to the final aid station, I could sense from the ever-fresher footprints that I was catching Zeke and catching him quickly. By mile 42 or 43, the prints were looking really fresh and for as hard as the rain was coming down that meant that I was getting close. And then, at the end of the final godforsaken seven-mile stretch of trail between Long Lake and Storm Peak, just as I caught site of the aid station tent through the mist, I heard the cheers for Zeke.
With 6.5 miles and 3,500 foot of descent left to the finish, we were off to the races. This was going to be painful.
Within the first five or six switchbacks I had caught and passed Zeke, and we were moving. There was no need to look back as I could hear the splosh of Zeke's footfalls. He wasn't capitulating, as I had desperately hoped he would. We were now moving at a highly unsustainable pace - easily sub-six minutes per mile - on fried, cold legs.
And then my left shoelace came untied. Bugger! And then my right. Double bugger!
I figured we had four miles to go. Could I race out four miles with untied shoes? If only I was a believer in - and practitioner of - the barefooting movement. I could just toss the shoes aside and run free. I knew I was going to have to stop and re-tie. But dammit, I had no feeling or dexterity in my fingers. Maybe I could call a timeout?
As I fumbled with my laces, Zeke went blasting by. He wasn't interested in a timeout apparently. I took what seemed like forever in getting my shoelaces retied and by the time I was back working with gravity Zeke had disappeared into the mist. I pushed hard for 10 more minutes but never got the visual I wanted. As the base of the ski area came into sight, I slipped it into cruise and reflected on a long, long season of ultra racing.
A well-deserved win and slot at WS100 next summer for Zeke.
It's been a year that I will not soon forget, and Steamboat was a great way to cap it all off. As in all of my races this year, I put forth an effort that I can be proud of. I didn't have a whole lot to work with - clearly fatigued from a long summer and a tough UTMB just three weeks prior - but I did the best with what I had. This year has been an interesting one. I have raced way too much and as a result I have run a lot of races sub-optimally. Some would probably criticize that, but what do I care?
I have fun when I'm at the races and I've been highly fortunate to race in some amazing settings this year. For that, I am indebted to my wonderfully supportive wife, to Pearl for helping me get around the country and across the Atlantic, to all the amazing race directors who work tirelessly to let us romp through the woods and up and down mountains in a controlled and safe manner, and to the thousands of volunteers without whom none of these races would happen. It's time for me to refocus a bit and start repaying some of those debts.
So congratulations to Zeke. From the sounds of it, he'll be claiming his ticket to the Big Dance next June. I think he'll go well there. And congratulations also to everyone who got the job done on Saturday, or indeed to those who had the sense to call it quits when the shivering kicked in. It was a very tough day to be running at 10,000 feet.
The Steamboat 50 is a great race and Fred puts on a really fun event (the post-race beer and pizza party is worth the price of entry alone), but Fred, next time I e-mail you begging for a late entry, please tell me to go take a hike. Or better yet, tell me to come out and volunteer!
Write-up in the local paper.
Splits:
Storm Peak (6.4): 1:07....................Finish (50.6): 7:26:30 (40)
Long Lake (13.4): 2:04 (57)............. Storm Peak (44.2): 6:46 (69)
Base Camp (18.5): 2:45 (41)............. Long Lake (37.2): 5:37 (49)
Dumont (22.3): 3:21 (36).................. Base Camp (32.1): 4:48 (37)
Rabbit Ears (25.3): 3:52 (31) ............ Dumont (28.3): 4:11 (19)
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Week Ending September 11
Mon - 7.5 miles (1,800') easy. Horsetooth summit via hiking trail - then Wathan - Spring Creek - Soderberg - home.
Tues - 10 miles (2,000') easy with Mike E. 38e - Bluesky - Towers - Secret Trail - Westridge - Rock - Soderberg - home. Beautiful sunrise.
Weds - 4.5 miles (700') easy. Falls loop.
Thurs - 10.5 miles (1,200') progression. Bluesky out and back via Indian Summer. Early a.m. with Eric B. Out easy and then tempo over last four from Rim Rock back to the TH.
Fri - 4.5 miles (700') easy. Falls loop.
Sat - 10.5 miles (2,000') easy w/Slush, Sarah, Nicole and Alex. Sunrise from top of Arthurs. Valley - Arthurs TH - Arthurs Rock trail to summit - Howard - Mill Creek Link - Valley - Bluesky.
Sun - 12.5 miles (4,500') easy w/Dakota and Ryan to top of McHenrys from Glacier Gorge TH.
Total: 60 miles (12,900')
Nice easy week enjoying some miles with friends.
Got the Hardrock appo in the mail this week, so we'll see if that bears any fruit come December. Got a feeling that it will be a pretty crowded lottery for next year's race, so I'm definitely not banking on getting picked, but with (I think) four tickets in the lottery my chances are decent. If no Hardrock, then it's on to plan B.
Starting to think a bit about winter races, and the marathon once again seems somewhat appealing. Training to run on roads makes me feel like a 'real' runner, not just a long distance mountain jogger, and while I definitely prefer being the latter, I also enjoy feeling fast (all things of course being relative). I figure that if I can go under 2:30, then I'll finally have the marathon distance expunged from my system and can then go about jogging in peace. New Orleans again might be an option in February, but I guess it would be nice to run a race where I'm more likely to have company to work with. Running solo at New Orleans for 21 miles certainly didn't help my cause. That would probably mean having to run one of the bigger spring marathons, so I guess we'll see on that.
Also looking at the North Face 50 in December, but that would require some pretty focused training to get in shape and I'm just not sure I'm ready for all that yet. I figure I've got until October to make a decision about whether or not I want to commit to the training.
Awesome to see so many friends kicking tail in Albania and The Netherlands this last weekend. Andy Henshaw is a road running monster, and wow, Max King World Mountain Running Champion. Love it.
Tues - 10 miles (2,000') easy with Mike E. 38e - Bluesky - Towers - Secret Trail - Westridge - Rock - Soderberg - home. Beautiful sunrise.
Weds - 4.5 miles (700') easy. Falls loop.
Thurs - 10.5 miles (1,200') progression. Bluesky out and back via Indian Summer. Early a.m. with Eric B. Out easy and then tempo over last four from Rim Rock back to the TH.
Fri - 4.5 miles (700') easy. Falls loop.
Sat - 10.5 miles (2,000') easy w/Slush, Sarah, Nicole and Alex. Sunrise from top of Arthurs. Valley - Arthurs TH - Arthurs Rock trail to summit - Howard - Mill Creek Link - Valley - Bluesky.
Sun - 12.5 miles (4,500') easy w/Dakota and Ryan to top of McHenrys from Glacier Gorge TH.
Total: 60 miles (12,900')
Nice easy week enjoying some miles with friends.
Got the Hardrock appo in the mail this week, so we'll see if that bears any fruit come December. Got a feeling that it will be a pretty crowded lottery for next year's race, so I'm definitely not banking on getting picked, but with (I think) four tickets in the lottery my chances are decent. If no Hardrock, then it's on to plan B.
Starting to think a bit about winter races, and the marathon once again seems somewhat appealing. Training to run on roads makes me feel like a 'real' runner, not just a long distance mountain jogger, and while I definitely prefer being the latter, I also enjoy feeling fast (all things of course being relative). I figure that if I can go under 2:30, then I'll finally have the marathon distance expunged from my system and can then go about jogging in peace. New Orleans again might be an option in February, but I guess it would be nice to run a race where I'm more likely to have company to work with. Running solo at New Orleans for 21 miles certainly didn't help my cause. That would probably mean having to run one of the bigger spring marathons, so I guess we'll see on that.
Also looking at the North Face 50 in December, but that would require some pretty focused training to get in shape and I'm just not sure I'm ready for all that yet. I figure I've got until October to make a decision about whether or not I want to commit to the training.
Awesome to see so many friends kicking tail in Albania and The Netherlands this last weekend. Andy Henshaw is a road running monster, and wow, Max King World Mountain Running Champion. Love it.
Monday, September 12, 2011
McHenry's Peak RMNP
Macca from Black Lake
Spearhead
The four peaks form part of the headwall of the iconic Glacier Gorge, a rift that lies at the heart of Rocky Mountain National Park. I am yet to summit all ten peaks that make up the full Glacier Gorge Traverse, but yesterday's jaunt up perhaps the most scenic of them all has me hungry for the full link-up: Flattop, Hallett, Otis, Taylor, Powell, McHenry's, Chief's Head, Pagoda, Longs, and Storm.I've done the first four in a morning, followed by a descent of Andrew's Glacier, but those first four peaks (all walk-ups) are very much the warm-up for the crux sections between Powell and McHenry's, and between Chief's Head and Pagoda.
For the shot up McHerny's, Dakota, Ryan and I had a perfect morning. We were at the Glacier Gorge trailhead (9,200') just after sunup and on our way running by 6:30. We took the shorter climbers' trail up to Mills Lake and hit Black Lake within an hour.
From Black Lake, it is a short 500 foot hoof to the upper section of Glacier Gorge, which sports climbing faces aplenty, jagged ridgelines in abundance, and burly peaks galore. A true alpine gem. The route past Mills Lake (10,000') and Ribbon Falls by way of Glacier Creek ain't too bad either.
Ribbon Falls
Spearhead from Black Lake.
Once above Black Lake, the route hits open tundra with some pretty heavy willow action in and around the drainage. There are routes through the willows by way of game trail and open rock slab, but wrong turns will have you tangled up pretty quick - as I found out coming back.
Stoneman behind Burch and I, with SE Ridge of McHenrys to the right.
Our route took us by way of Stoneman Pass, named after the phallic rock formation that sits at the pass, and then up the south face of McHenry's, which involved about 1,000 feet of class three climbing on pretty solid talus with some class four stuff thrown in depending on route. The views from the summit were, quite simply, astounding. The high points of the Glacier Gorge traverse are nearly all visible from the top, as are the mounds of the mighty Mummies. Two classic and brutal Rocky Mountain traverses in one shot. In fact, just about every peak in the park is visible from the top. Phenomenal.Given the panorama, the three of us spent a fair bit of time at the top picking out peaks and dreaming of future routes. I was under strict orders to be home by 1:00, so we had to forgo the three heads (Chief, Arrow, Spear), but the single summit was reward enough.
Picking out Peaks.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Fortnight Ending September 4
Mon - 6 miles easy to Les Bois.
Tues - 6 miles easy to Les Bois.
Weds - Off.
Thurs - 4 miles easy w/Matt, Dakota, and Bryon.
Fri - 90 miles (30,000'). UTMB to Trient.
Sat - As Friday
Sun - Off
Total: 106 miles (30,000')
Mon - Off
Tues - 3.5 miles (800') easy. Social run and beers with the Fort Collins Trail Runners.
Weds - Off
Thurs - 8 miles (1,000') easy with Slush, Sarah and Brian S. Towers - Stout - Sawmill - Loggers - Mill Creek - Arthurs - Valley - Soderberg. It felt so good to be back running at Horsetooth with my Thursday morning crew - it's been too long. We were out and up high in time to see the sunrise over the eastern plains and above the reservoir; it was truly spectacular. The Alps are cool and everything, but (cliche alert) there really is no place like home. Running in familiar places with good friends is fantastic for the soul, I found out today.
---------------------------------------------------
January: 440.5 miles (45,850')
February: 304.5 miles (39,200')
March: 469.5 miles (67,100')
April: 427 (62,000')
May: 509.5 (92,500')
June: 323 (54,900')
July: 303.5 (79,700)
August: 297.5 (70,000')
Total: 3,075 miles (511,350')
Avg: 384 miles (63,918')
---------------------------------------------------
Fri - Off
Sat - 9 miles (1,500') easy. To top of Horsetooth via Hiking Trail and back via Audra/Southridge, then 2 miles hiking with Alistair and Stella to waterfall and back.
Sun - 3.5 miles (1,000') hiking with the family to Gem Lake.
Total: 24 miles (4,300')
Considering how physically defeated I felt at the top of Col Forclaz some 85-90 miles into UTMB, I was pretty surprised to wake up Sunday morning able to walk with relative ease. It's still a little hard for me to believe that I dropped so close to the finish, but that's where it unraveled for me, and so it goes. It's been nice this last week to get out and run as and when the mood dictates. That's how I see the rest of my year going.
Moving right along. So a couple of dates have been finalized for December running fun in The Fort. The Chubster is set for Dec 10, while the year-end Towers finale will happen the following Thursday on Dec 15.
For anyone in the Laramie area on the weekend of October 8, the Silent Trails Memorial race will be taking place then. This is an awesome race in a beautiful location for a very reasonable price ($20). The event is held in remembrance of the 8 University of Wyoming cross country runners killed by a drunk driver on Hwy 287 while on their way to a cross country meet in 2001. The trail running community up in Laramie is very close knit and this is a very special event for everyone involved. This year is the tenth anniversary of the accident (and the race) so it would be great to see as many runners as possible from the local area out supporting.
Hardrock applications went live recently.
I am hearing on the wires that the folks who now own the Leadville 100 will be looking to bolster their field for next year. Considering they are going up against UTMB, I would have to assume that part of the strategy will be a cash purse. If so, I'd be interested to see what kind of field they can put together. Having never raced it, I know I'd be tempted. Leadville has long had the name recognition, especially since The Book was published, but has never really attracted that strong of a field. Not quite sure why. I have also heard that a stretch of singletrack is being constructed to alleviate the nastiness of running to and from the turnaround at Winfield on that horrendously dusty stretch of forest road.
Really been enjoying the cooler weather here in Colorado the last week or so. I heard that the snow was flying up at Cameron Pass a few days ago. Won't be long now until the high country gets shut down for the season. Got to make the most of the next few weeks.
Tues - 6 miles easy to Les Bois.
Weds - Off.
Thurs - 4 miles easy w/Matt, Dakota, and Bryon.
Fri - 90 miles (30,000'). UTMB to Trient.
Sat - As Friday
Sun - Off
Total: 106 miles (30,000')
Mon - Off
Tues - 3.5 miles (800') easy. Social run and beers with the Fort Collins Trail Runners.
Weds - Off
Thurs - 8 miles (1,000') easy with Slush, Sarah and Brian S. Towers - Stout - Sawmill - Loggers - Mill Creek - Arthurs - Valley - Soderberg. It felt so good to be back running at Horsetooth with my Thursday morning crew - it's been too long. We were out and up high in time to see the sunrise over the eastern plains and above the reservoir; it was truly spectacular. The Alps are cool and everything, but (cliche alert) there really is no place like home. Running in familiar places with good friends is fantastic for the soul, I found out today.
---------------------------------------------------
January: 440.5 miles (45,850')
February: 304.5 miles (39,200')
March: 469.5 miles (67,100')
April: 427 (62,000')
May: 509.5 (92,500')
June: 323 (54,900')
July: 303.5 (79,700)
August: 297.5 (70,000')
Total: 3,075 miles (511,350')
Avg: 384 miles (63,918')
---------------------------------------------------
Fri - Off
Sat - 9 miles (1,500') easy. To top of Horsetooth via Hiking Trail and back via Audra/Southridge, then 2 miles hiking with Alistair and Stella to waterfall and back.
Sun - 3.5 miles (1,000') hiking with the family to Gem Lake.
Total: 24 miles (4,300')
Considering how physically defeated I felt at the top of Col Forclaz some 85-90 miles into UTMB, I was pretty surprised to wake up Sunday morning able to walk with relative ease. It's still a little hard for me to believe that I dropped so close to the finish, but that's where it unraveled for me, and so it goes. It's been nice this last week to get out and run as and when the mood dictates. That's how I see the rest of my year going.
Moving right along. So a couple of dates have been finalized for December running fun in The Fort. The Chubster is set for Dec 10, while the year-end Towers finale will happen the following Thursday on Dec 15.
For anyone in the Laramie area on the weekend of October 8, the Silent Trails Memorial race will be taking place then. This is an awesome race in a beautiful location for a very reasonable price ($20). The event is held in remembrance of the 8 University of Wyoming cross country runners killed by a drunk driver on Hwy 287 while on their way to a cross country meet in 2001. The trail running community up in Laramie is very close knit and this is a very special event for everyone involved. This year is the tenth anniversary of the accident (and the race) so it would be great to see as many runners as possible from the local area out supporting.
Hardrock applications went live recently.
I am hearing on the wires that the folks who now own the Leadville 100 will be looking to bolster their field for next year. Considering they are going up against UTMB, I would have to assume that part of the strategy will be a cash purse. If so, I'd be interested to see what kind of field they can put together. Having never raced it, I know I'd be tempted. Leadville has long had the name recognition, especially since The Book was published, but has never really attracted that strong of a field. Not quite sure why. I have also heard that a stretch of singletrack is being constructed to alleviate the nastiness of running to and from the turnaround at Winfield on that horrendously dusty stretch of forest road.
Really been enjoying the cooler weather here in Colorado the last week or so. I heard that the snow was flying up at Cameron Pass a few days ago. Won't be long now until the high country gets shut down for the season. Got to make the most of the next few weeks.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
UTMB Race Report
The Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc is an incredible event, beyond any scale I have witnessed at any other trail gathering, and well beyond that of most big city marathons. Rather than try to capture the atmosphere myself, I thought I'd snatch a couple of paragraphs from Adam Campbell who I thought caught the mood well in his recent blog post about his CCC (100k) second place finish.
It is not a pristine mountain experience, but rather, it's a spectacle of the sport of mountain ultra running. I happen to like this aspect of the race. For a sport that is often niche and very grassroots and an activity that I spent a vast majority of my time doing alone, almost everything about the race is an over-the top, at times kitschy, experience. A true celebratory event.
All week long, the town of Chamonix is abuzz with runners nervously and anxiously waiting around, strolling the cobble-stoned streets, their necks kinked up at the peaks and glaciers that loom over town, eating carb heavy foods, whispering rumours about the weather and course changes, debating who will win, wondering whether they have done enough training and if their bodies and minds are up to the task, comparing gear choices and buying the latest and lightest gear options available at every shop in town. As all the best mountain ultra runners from across 62 countries descended upon Chamonix for that last week in August, it became the hub of world mountain ultra running.
Once the races kick off on Monday, the town is awash in the cacophony of the crackly voice of the race announcer and overly dramatic canned music blaring over the main square and a nervous energy permeates the crowds. The streets are lined with sponsor laden barricades, and big screen TVs, spread across town, play moments of the race on repeat, or show live splits of races underway, as crowds gather around, mesmerised by the self-induced suffering that is happening on the trails and peaks around them.
So there is a lot of anticipation as the week builds toward the big Friday races, with the CCC starting in the morning from Courmayeur on the other side of the mountain and UTMB in the evening from Chamonix. As Adam indicates, there was a lot of gear-related talk (water proof gloves were a particularly fond topic of conversation), some last minute scrambling to shave grams, in addition to media stuff, so things were kept pretty busy as we moved toward Friday.
Team PI Europe/USA
As race day neared and I began to get a little more thoughtful about the race, I found that I was in a pretty neutral emotional state about it, not really wanting to give it too much mental energy. I wanted to run well, sure, but was really not too nervous or anxious about anything. Physically I felt okay. A sore right ankle and achilles tendon, but nothing too far out of the ordinary. I wasn't expecting or hoping for any particular goal, so paid no attention to splits from previous years. I thought a sub-24 hour run and top-ten finish would be more than satisfying, and I had every intention of easing into the race slowly. After learning of the delayed start and shortened course due to the fast and heavy storm coming over the Col du Bonhomme I tried to grab an afternoon nap. Mostly I just lay in bed with the shutters closed, but I may have snagged 20 minutes' sleep.
The wait for the 11:30 start was a long one, but once we got there we were finally in the moment.
It is awesome to look around in the rain and see so many friends and amazingly talented athletes. As cheeseball as the production is, I am really getting into the mood as we await the countdown. Broad grins, lots of hugs and just a bit of shivering. It feels like we're heading off on an adventure.
The start isn't as fast and mad as I was expecting, but there must be 40 to 50 people who get out in front of me, striding early with the energy from the crowds. I slot in with Nerea Martinez, the eventual second place woman, for much of the run to Les Houches, also yo-yoing with Tyoushi Kaburaki, the metronome-like veteran from Japan. I pick up a few places on the way up the first climb from Les Houches in the still steady rain and now patchy fog. I exchange places with Hal and Jez on this section, although I go solo on the long, slippery and foggy descent into St. Gervais.
Up to this point, and despite the rain, I haven't been feeling particularly cold, so I am managing just fine with a light jacket, light gloves and a hat. Thing about waterproof gloves is that they stay wet if water gets in them. Anyway, I hustle through St Gervais after a quick first glance at French aid station fare and a couple shots of coke. According to a guy reading off race positions coming out of the aid station, I am in 23rd or so.
Running out of town, I hook up with a Scottish (I think) Salomon runner and Jez. Seems like decent company for the pouring rain we are all dealing with. By Les Contamines, we catch up to Scott Jurek and he fills me in with a few of the goings on up front, and also the unfortunate news that Joe has twisted his ankle and will likely have to drop. At Les Contamines I spend a couple of minutes unloading grit from my shoes and reloading on gels and Power to Go trail mix with the help of my brother, Matt.
Heading up the valley from Les Contamines, we pass through some small villages and I pass Lizzy Hawker, the lead female, in addition to Hal and some others in the dark of night on a steep doubletrack section of the climb. We hit the small village of La Balme, fuel up, and then begin the serious climbing up the narrowing and increasingly craggy valley towards the Col Du Bonhomme. I pass by Kaburaki as the crag starts and fall in behind the Scots runner, with Scotty J a few strokes behind. We ascend quickly in this order over a skiff of snow to the top of the long 5,600' ascent that began in St. Gervais. At the pass I am with Scott and Karburaki and we run somewhat cautiously in Indian file all the way into Les Chapieux, some 3,300' below.
At Les Chapieux, I check in with Linus from the Euro PI crew and get encouragement from Scott Jamie's wife Nicole. There is a big fire burning at the aid station, so I assume it's pretty cold. I don't really feel it however, as my internal furnace is burning well. After a quick bag check, where they make sure I have a phone, I head out on my way.
On the in-between-graded road out of Chapieux toward Col della Seigne, the Jurker and I assume a pretty strong pace, leaving Kaburaki behind and catching runners in front. Apparently we are running in 16th and 17th and we both seem to feel pretty good about things. Scott takes off on me a bit as we begin the steep two track stuff up to the singletrack that will snake us quickly to the top.
I watch and listen-in a bit as Scott strikes up a conversation with an English speaker in front, but I can't make out who it is. As I go by I realize it's Geoff, which is a major bummer. We chat briefly and then continue with the head-down grunt. Geoff wishes me well. I go by Scott and a couple of others by the top of the pass - a solid but not brutal 3,300' climb - and see that Kaburaki is sitting a few hundred meters behind. Day breaks as we approach the pass and pour into Italy. The hues from the early light on the huge glaciated faces surrounding us are incredible.
While my legs haven't fired that well through the damp and cold of the night, the fact that I've made it through feeling like I'm still on course for a finish is a huge boost. Previously, I had been going back and forth in my mind about how much I really wanted to do this, how much I wanted to get it done. The three hours of heavy rain was a tough way to begin the race, especially beginning at 11:30 at night, but once committed there is nothing to do but accept your fate and move forward. You fight the doubts off, tuck them away and get on with it, running at all opportunities and never dawdling.
Having passed a couple of guys right near the summit, I decide to float the early descent in an attempt to earn some running space behind. I want to run the scenic section to Courmayeur around the Arete Du Mont Favre at a comfortable and unhurried pace.
I drop the 1,600 feet to Lac Combal at a good clip, see Kim Gaylord at the aid and then drop quickly into a strong hike gear for the remount to the stunning Arete du Mont Favre, where the aid station tent looks like it's ready to set sail. The view down Val Feret is gorgeous in the early light, but the running distance it represents is more than a little intimidating.
Cruiser, cruiser to Col Checrouit and then easy on the bomber, but tight descent into Courmayeur, where I arrive in a reported 11th or 12th place. My brother has all my gear laid out on a bench as I arrive, and we go to work on the night-to-day transition. Shoes and socks off, new ones on; jacket, hat, gloves and manpris off; race bib reattached; cap and sunglasses on; gel and Power 2 Go resupplied; and I'm off.
Courmayeur Pit Stop
I decide to run most of the way out of Courmayeur up the steep roads leading to the Bertonne trailhead. And then I drop back to the powerhike. It feels slow. I pass a few hikers and then catch sight of a racer near the top. We come into the summit aid station together, and also leave together. We then proceed to yo-yo at what feels like an up-tempo 'I want to drop you' pace. Back and forth for a few miles. He puts time on me on the downhill rollers and I proceed to make it back with interest as we roll upward. This continues for five miles out to the next aid at the Refugio Bonatti, after which my companion assumes a spot a few hundred meters behind. Right before Bonatti, we pass an ailing Salomon runner, which I figure puts me in tenth place. I am happy to be running in the top ten halfway into the race, while also still feeling decent.
The choppers are whizzing around by this point, steaming up and down the valley getting what looks to be some awesome footage. I get to Arnuva in quick order, enjoying the buffed out sidehill trail and the short, sharp drop down to the valley floor. The Grand Col Feret awaits, so I load up with some bread, three 'goblets' of coke, and some dried meats.
The 2,500' punch up the Grand Col to the course's high point is steep, but I still feel like there is some conviction to my hiking. I am, as Darcy likes to say, hiking with purpose. Looking down, I see Kaburaki about 20 minutes back. The metronome just keeps ticking. At the top, I take some time to banter with the hardy medical and timing volunteers, taking in the breathtaking views. My clumsy French has been terrible the whole trip, but up here on Grand Col Feret I find the fluency and clarity I once enjoyed. I learn that the guy in ninth isn't looking so good and that others are not far ahead. I start wondering if I can score a top-five finish.
I don't pick up anyone on the big descent into Switzerland to the small village of Feret but as I pull into town, a familiar French voice tells me to 'run like an animal.' It's Jean Yves, a local favorite at Sierre-Zinal who I ran with for a good section during that race in the Val d'Anniviers, on the other side of the Rhone Valley and a few more valleys off to the east. He says he's had enough and just like that I move up to ninth.
It's just a short bop over to La Fouly where my brother tries to fix me up a bit and informs me that the next guy is ten minutes or so ahead. I get a nice boost from seeing my parents, brother and nephews and then re-descend into the ultra vortex as I make my way out of town to run alongside the river.
I can sense that my legs are feeling pretty tired by this point, but I also know that the finish line is closer in front than the start line is behind. As tired as my legs feel, I still have good coordination (having yet to fall) and I can run at a good clip on both the rolling ups and rolling downs. A small climb up to Champex and then two more tough climbs over Bovine and Catogne and we're on the Chamonix Valley Express to the finish, I tell myself.
The running is good out of La Fouly, some of the easiest of the entire run in fact. Just a gentle roll down the valley, one short climb and then more descent into the chocolate box Swiss town of Praz de Fort from where I can see a few high rise tourist accommodations sitting on the edge of the high valley that Champex sits at the end of. The route up to Champex' high valley hideout looks decent enough. It will be a hiker for sure, but hiking seems like a nice option after the last 20km of uninterrupted running and 4,700 feet of descending from the top of the Grand Col Feret.
Praz de Fort
The hike up is steady, if not fast, and I opt not to run a few of the sections where I know I should be breaking out the shuffle. The atmosphere is lively in Champex and the big aid tent appears to be a free for all when compared to some of the militantly officiated aid stations from earlier on the course. No one seems to care that my brother, Linus (from Pearl) and my parents are all attending to me. The rules are pretty clear that only one person is supposed to interact with the runner. I express my concern, but Linus tells me they don't care. All the while, the jolly announcer banters on about nothing in particular. People are too damn cheerful, so I go about my business and then get the hell out of dodge.
Linus accompanies me around the paved lake trail. I desperately want to get out of town so I can continue my day of solitude. I'm excited about the climb up Bovine as I know it means I can hike without guilt. I can feel that my legs are still reeling a bit from the long descent from Grand Col Feret.
The route out of town veers left onto hardpack doubletrack and I look around guessing which drainage is going to be my route up Bovine. I know the left turn will come soon, so I feel a bit weird about the continued descent. Two miles later and I run into Mike Wolfe, just as we are getting ready to hang a right onto a ribbon of singletrack. He drops the bomb and explains that we have been rerouted ... to Martigny. I know exactly what that means because I traveled by way of Martigny when arriving in Chamonix. It means a huge descent followed by a huge climb. He tells me it's a 6k detour and an additional 4,000 feet of climbing and descending. My heart sinks.
The descent into the village we hit before Martigny is interminably steep and I am lightfooting at a ridiculously slow pace all the while grumbling and firing daggers. I can see a big vineyard all the way on the other side of the valley thousands of feet below. It looks so far off, and yet I know we'll be climbing back up it. The weather heats up as I descend into the valley and I feel just miserable. One flick of the switch and I go from being driven with a finish line in sight to being defeated with no end in sight. It's taking way too long to get to the bottom of the valley.
I finally get there and spill into town, desperately looking for somewhere to fill up my long-empty bottle. I find a fountain and whisper some words of thanks. I cross under a main road and finally the descent is over. A French runner - Patrick - appears from nowhere and overtakes me. I let him go as we begin to climb the switchbacked road servicing the vineyard. The purple grapes look good, kind of. I look back. Kaburaki, of course. We hit some singletrack and roll a ridge for a while. I'm confused, knowing that we haven't climbed even close to the advertized 4,000 feet; 2,000' tops.
And then we start descending and I catch back up to Patrick and pass, regaining my position in eighth. Salomon team manager Greg Vollet is attending to one of the guys from his stable of runners. I think it's the Scot that I was running with early in the race, but I'm not sure. He looks to be in a very bad place. I move up into seventh. And then we drop into an aid station and confusion reigns. I have absolutely no idea where I am, but vainly hope that it might be Trient. No such luck. I am told that we're in Martigny and that we'll be climbing 4,000 feet up to Col Forclaz to get to Trient and back on course. The news just about kills me. I quickly dismiss thoughts of stopping but take on board a very negative frame of mind, becoming one of those obnoxious ultrarunners that deserves to be put down.
Three hours after leaving Champex, I finally gain the pass and rejoin the course. It is now cold and I stop to sit down for a few minutes. I tell people that I am done and that I just need to get the hell out of there. Of course, they try to talk me out of it but there is nobody there that I know and am prepared to listen to. I start shivering uncontrollably and I know that I'm running out of time. I try to walk, but my legs refuse. They tell me it's just 600 feet and 3k down to Trient and that I can collect myself there. Some bloke tells me it takes him 10 minutes usually to run down to Trient. I laugh at how irrelevant this piece of information is to me. Three downhill kilometers right now might as well be a full blown mountain marathon. After another failed attempt to walk and more violent shivers, I plead with a volunteer to drive me down to Trient. I am defeated in every sense; mentally, physically and emotionally.
They take care of me in Trient, massaging my tight, torn-up quads. I shiver and shiver some more before the warm blankets raise my body temperature. My race bracelet is cut and my parents drive me back to Chamonix.
According to the new Highgear Axio HR watch that Scotty was wearing, the total climb was in the 35,000 foot range. And then according to a Garmin-clad runner I chatted to at the finish, the route ended up being about 180km long (111 miles). How accurate these readings are I don't know, but the elevation change sounds about right, and I have to say that the reroute felt way longer than the advertized 6km.
So, yeah, it was a tough race, but no tougher than other mountain 100s I have done. I would put it up there with Wasatch and Hardrock. A little tougher than Wasatch, but certainly no tougher than Hardrock.
However, as similar as the Hardrock and UTMB elevation profiles are, they are in fact very different races. Both races offer unique insight into their respective mountain environments and communities; however, at Hardrock you get the sense that you are running in and engaging with the natural environment whereas at UTMB it feels more like you are running over the land, while avoiding the harsher realities of the mountain. Being such a popular route, the UTMB trail is extraordinarily well defined and at no point feels particularly wild or remote. The mountains are simply too developed.
Nowhere are the differences between the two races more apparent than in the way they are directed. At Hardrock, the runner is made explicitly aware of the conditions they can expect to encounter and told to prepare accordingly, but not babied with gear requirements and overly strict rules and regulations. The relationship between organization and runner at Hardrock feels like that between two adults. At UTMB it feels more like a relationship between parent and child. Can I pack surgical gloves as my waterproof gloves? Will they find out, and if they do, will they care and will they punish me? To think that Dale would delay the start of Hardrock because of a storm is borderline preposterous.
I may not get into Hardrock next year because the field is limited to 140 runners, but I am okay with that. We need to keep our wilderness areas wild, and if that means strict caps for races in remote areas, then so be it. The Alps are stunning, no question, but as Dakota likes to say, they 'shit all over their mountains' over there, or certainly that was the case in the areas we visited. The access afforded by cable cars, train lines, roads and mega-trails comes at the severe detriment of the mountain wilderness experience.
I am sure I will be back to UTMB, given the opportunity. I mean how can I not feel like I have unfinished business there? And after all, it is such a grand celebration of our sport, but at the same time I feel that I would like to visit the grassroots flip side of European mountain ultrarunning before I go back to UTMB - maybe try to find something a little more organic.
Any suggestions?
It is not a pristine mountain experience, but rather, it's a spectacle of the sport of mountain ultra running. I happen to like this aspect of the race. For a sport that is often niche and very grassroots and an activity that I spent a vast majority of my time doing alone, almost everything about the race is an over-the top, at times kitschy, experience. A true celebratory event.
Once the races kick off on Monday, the town is awash in the cacophony of the crackly voice of the race announcer and overly dramatic canned music blaring over the main square and a nervous energy permeates the crowds. The streets are lined with sponsor laden barricades, and big screen TVs, spread across town, play moments of the race on repeat, or show live splits of races underway, as crowds gather around, mesmerised by the self-induced suffering that is happening on the trails and peaks around them.
So there is a lot of anticipation as the week builds toward the big Friday races, with the CCC starting in the morning from Courmayeur on the other side of the mountain and UTMB in the evening from Chamonix. As Adam indicates, there was a lot of gear-related talk (water proof gloves were a particularly fond topic of conversation), some last minute scrambling to shave grams, in addition to media stuff, so things were kept pretty busy as we moved toward Friday.
Team PI Europe/USA
As race day neared and I began to get a little more thoughtful about the race, I found that I was in a pretty neutral emotional state about it, not really wanting to give it too much mental energy. I wanted to run well, sure, but was really not too nervous or anxious about anything. Physically I felt okay. A sore right ankle and achilles tendon, but nothing too far out of the ordinary. I wasn't expecting or hoping for any particular goal, so paid no attention to splits from previous years. I thought a sub-24 hour run and top-ten finish would be more than satisfying, and I had every intention of easing into the race slowly. After learning of the delayed start and shortened course due to the fast and heavy storm coming over the Col du Bonhomme I tried to grab an afternoon nap. Mostly I just lay in bed with the shutters closed, but I may have snagged 20 minutes' sleep.
The wait for the 11:30 start was a long one, but once we got there we were finally in the moment.
It is awesome to look around in the rain and see so many friends and amazingly talented athletes. As cheeseball as the production is, I am really getting into the mood as we await the countdown. Broad grins, lots of hugs and just a bit of shivering. It feels like we're heading off on an adventure.
The start isn't as fast and mad as I was expecting, but there must be 40 to 50 people who get out in front of me, striding early with the energy from the crowds. I slot in with Nerea Martinez, the eventual second place woman, for much of the run to Les Houches, also yo-yoing with Tyoushi Kaburaki, the metronome-like veteran from Japan. I pick up a few places on the way up the first climb from Les Houches in the still steady rain and now patchy fog. I exchange places with Hal and Jez on this section, although I go solo on the long, slippery and foggy descent into St. Gervais.
Up to this point, and despite the rain, I haven't been feeling particularly cold, so I am managing just fine with a light jacket, light gloves and a hat. Thing about waterproof gloves is that they stay wet if water gets in them. Anyway, I hustle through St Gervais after a quick first glance at French aid station fare and a couple shots of coke. According to a guy reading off race positions coming out of the aid station, I am in 23rd or so.
Running out of town, I hook up with a Scottish (I think) Salomon runner and Jez. Seems like decent company for the pouring rain we are all dealing with. By Les Contamines, we catch up to Scott Jurek and he fills me in with a few of the goings on up front, and also the unfortunate news that Joe has twisted his ankle and will likely have to drop. At Les Contamines I spend a couple of minutes unloading grit from my shoes and reloading on gels and Power to Go trail mix with the help of my brother, Matt.
Heading up the valley from Les Contamines, we pass through some small villages and I pass Lizzy Hawker, the lead female, in addition to Hal and some others in the dark of night on a steep doubletrack section of the climb. We hit the small village of La Balme, fuel up, and then begin the serious climbing up the narrowing and increasingly craggy valley towards the Col Du Bonhomme. I pass by Kaburaki as the crag starts and fall in behind the Scots runner, with Scotty J a few strokes behind. We ascend quickly in this order over a skiff of snow to the top of the long 5,600' ascent that began in St. Gervais. At the pass I am with Scott and Karburaki and we run somewhat cautiously in Indian file all the way into Les Chapieux, some 3,300' below.
At Les Chapieux, I check in with Linus from the Euro PI crew and get encouragement from Scott Jamie's wife Nicole. There is a big fire burning at the aid station, so I assume it's pretty cold. I don't really feel it however, as my internal furnace is burning well. After a quick bag check, where they make sure I have a phone, I head out on my way.
On the in-between-graded road out of Chapieux toward Col della Seigne, the Jurker and I assume a pretty strong pace, leaving Kaburaki behind and catching runners in front. Apparently we are running in 16th and 17th and we both seem to feel pretty good about things. Scott takes off on me a bit as we begin the steep two track stuff up to the singletrack that will snake us quickly to the top.
I watch and listen-in a bit as Scott strikes up a conversation with an English speaker in front, but I can't make out who it is. As I go by I realize it's Geoff, which is a major bummer. We chat briefly and then continue with the head-down grunt. Geoff wishes me well. I go by Scott and a couple of others by the top of the pass - a solid but not brutal 3,300' climb - and see that Kaburaki is sitting a few hundred meters behind. Day breaks as we approach the pass and pour into Italy. The hues from the early light on the huge glaciated faces surrounding us are incredible.
While my legs haven't fired that well through the damp and cold of the night, the fact that I've made it through feeling like I'm still on course for a finish is a huge boost. Previously, I had been going back and forth in my mind about how much I really wanted to do this, how much I wanted to get it done. The three hours of heavy rain was a tough way to begin the race, especially beginning at 11:30 at night, but once committed there is nothing to do but accept your fate and move forward. You fight the doubts off, tuck them away and get on with it, running at all opportunities and never dawdling.
Having passed a couple of guys right near the summit, I decide to float the early descent in an attempt to earn some running space behind. I want to run the scenic section to Courmayeur around the Arete Du Mont Favre at a comfortable and unhurried pace.
I drop the 1,600 feet to Lac Combal at a good clip, see Kim Gaylord at the aid and then drop quickly into a strong hike gear for the remount to the stunning Arete du Mont Favre, where the aid station tent looks like it's ready to set sail. The view down Val Feret is gorgeous in the early light, but the running distance it represents is more than a little intimidating.
Shot from both ends coming into Courmayeur.
Cruiser, cruiser to Col Checrouit and then easy on the bomber, but tight descent into Courmayeur, where I arrive in a reported 11th or 12th place. My brother has all my gear laid out on a bench as I arrive, and we go to work on the night-to-day transition. Shoes and socks off, new ones on; jacket, hat, gloves and manpris off; race bib reattached; cap and sunglasses on; gel and Power 2 Go resupplied; and I'm off.
Courmayeur Pit Stop
I decide to run most of the way out of Courmayeur up the steep roads leading to the Bertonne trailhead. And then I drop back to the powerhike. It feels slow. I pass a few hikers and then catch sight of a racer near the top. We come into the summit aid station together, and also leave together. We then proceed to yo-yo at what feels like an up-tempo 'I want to drop you' pace. Back and forth for a few miles. He puts time on me on the downhill rollers and I proceed to make it back with interest as we roll upward. This continues for five miles out to the next aid at the Refugio Bonatti, after which my companion assumes a spot a few hundred meters behind. Right before Bonatti, we pass an ailing Salomon runner, which I figure puts me in tenth place. I am happy to be running in the top ten halfway into the race, while also still feeling decent.
The choppers are whizzing around by this point, steaming up and down the valley getting what looks to be some awesome footage. I get to Arnuva in quick order, enjoying the buffed out sidehill trail and the short, sharp drop down to the valley floor. The Grand Col Feret awaits, so I load up with some bread, three 'goblets' of coke, and some dried meats.
The 2,500' punch up the Grand Col to the course's high point is steep, but I still feel like there is some conviction to my hiking. I am, as Darcy likes to say, hiking with purpose. Looking down, I see Kaburaki about 20 minutes back. The metronome just keeps ticking. At the top, I take some time to banter with the hardy medical and timing volunteers, taking in the breathtaking views. My clumsy French has been terrible the whole trip, but up here on Grand Col Feret I find the fluency and clarity I once enjoyed. I learn that the guy in ninth isn't looking so good and that others are not far ahead. I start wondering if I can score a top-five finish.
I don't pick up anyone on the big descent into Switzerland to the small village of Feret but as I pull into town, a familiar French voice tells me to 'run like an animal.' It's Jean Yves, a local favorite at Sierre-Zinal who I ran with for a good section during that race in the Val d'Anniviers, on the other side of the Rhone Valley and a few more valleys off to the east. He says he's had enough and just like that I move up to ninth.
It's just a short bop over to La Fouly where my brother tries to fix me up a bit and informs me that the next guy is ten minutes or so ahead. I get a nice boost from seeing my parents, brother and nephews and then re-descend into the ultra vortex as I make my way out of town to run alongside the river.
I can sense that my legs are feeling pretty tired by this point, but I also know that the finish line is closer in front than the start line is behind. As tired as my legs feel, I still have good coordination (having yet to fall) and I can run at a good clip on both the rolling ups and rolling downs. A small climb up to Champex and then two more tough climbs over Bovine and Catogne and we're on the Chamonix Valley Express to the finish, I tell myself.
The running is good out of La Fouly, some of the easiest of the entire run in fact. Just a gentle roll down the valley, one short climb and then more descent into the chocolate box Swiss town of Praz de Fort from where I can see a few high rise tourist accommodations sitting on the edge of the high valley that Champex sits at the end of. The route up to Champex' high valley hideout looks decent enough. It will be a hiker for sure, but hiking seems like a nice option after the last 20km of uninterrupted running and 4,700 feet of descending from the top of the Grand Col Feret.
Praz de Fort
The hike up is steady, if not fast, and I opt not to run a few of the sections where I know I should be breaking out the shuffle. The atmosphere is lively in Champex and the big aid tent appears to be a free for all when compared to some of the militantly officiated aid stations from earlier on the course. No one seems to care that my brother, Linus (from Pearl) and my parents are all attending to me. The rules are pretty clear that only one person is supposed to interact with the runner. I express my concern, but Linus tells me they don't care. All the while, the jolly announcer banters on about nothing in particular. People are too damn cheerful, so I go about my business and then get the hell out of dodge.
Linus accompanies me around the paved lake trail. I desperately want to get out of town so I can continue my day of solitude. I'm excited about the climb up Bovine as I know it means I can hike without guilt. I can feel that my legs are still reeling a bit from the long descent from Grand Col Feret.
The route out of town veers left onto hardpack doubletrack and I look around guessing which drainage is going to be my route up Bovine. I know the left turn will come soon, so I feel a bit weird about the continued descent. Two miles later and I run into Mike Wolfe, just as we are getting ready to hang a right onto a ribbon of singletrack. He drops the bomb and explains that we have been rerouted ... to Martigny. I know exactly what that means because I traveled by way of Martigny when arriving in Chamonix. It means a huge descent followed by a huge climb. He tells me it's a 6k detour and an additional 4,000 feet of climbing and descending. My heart sinks.
The descent into the village we hit before Martigny is interminably steep and I am lightfooting at a ridiculously slow pace all the while grumbling and firing daggers. I can see a big vineyard all the way on the other side of the valley thousands of feet below. It looks so far off, and yet I know we'll be climbing back up it. The weather heats up as I descend into the valley and I feel just miserable. One flick of the switch and I go from being driven with a finish line in sight to being defeated with no end in sight. It's taking way too long to get to the bottom of the valley.
I finally get there and spill into town, desperately looking for somewhere to fill up my long-empty bottle. I find a fountain and whisper some words of thanks. I cross under a main road and finally the descent is over. A French runner - Patrick - appears from nowhere and overtakes me. I let him go as we begin to climb the switchbacked road servicing the vineyard. The purple grapes look good, kind of. I look back. Kaburaki, of course. We hit some singletrack and roll a ridge for a while. I'm confused, knowing that we haven't climbed even close to the advertized 4,000 feet; 2,000' tops.
And then we start descending and I catch back up to Patrick and pass, regaining my position in eighth. Salomon team manager Greg Vollet is attending to one of the guys from his stable of runners. I think it's the Scot that I was running with early in the race, but I'm not sure. He looks to be in a very bad place. I move up into seventh. And then we drop into an aid station and confusion reigns. I have absolutely no idea where I am, but vainly hope that it might be Trient. No such luck. I am told that we're in Martigny and that we'll be climbing 4,000 feet up to Col Forclaz to get to Trient and back on course. The news just about kills me. I quickly dismiss thoughts of stopping but take on board a very negative frame of mind, becoming one of those obnoxious ultrarunners that deserves to be put down.
Ugh!
The road out of town is incredibly steep, and then it gets steeper and steeper and, well, you get the picture. We criss-cross the road that leads cars up to the col, passing through small villages, back yards, farmers' fields all on very steep trail. My pace has dropped to somewhere in the realm of pathetic, and when Kaburaki finally goes by me, I am completely emotionless. Patrick, too, is long gone. My legs are now killing me and I start thinking about how on earth I am going to get myself out of this predicament. Thoughts of dropping are now taken seriously and I have trouble fighting them off. I am in abject misery and I just want it to be over. I can barely move now and the pass still seems like it's an eternity away. This is easily the most miserable I have ever been during the course of an ultra.
Three hours after leaving Champex, I finally gain the pass and rejoin the course. It is now cold and I stop to sit down for a few minutes. I tell people that I am done and that I just need to get the hell out of there. Of course, they try to talk me out of it but there is nobody there that I know and am prepared to listen to. I start shivering uncontrollably and I know that I'm running out of time. I try to walk, but my legs refuse. They tell me it's just 600 feet and 3k down to Trient and that I can collect myself there. Some bloke tells me it takes him 10 minutes usually to run down to Trient. I laugh at how irrelevant this piece of information is to me. Three downhill kilometers right now might as well be a full blown mountain marathon. After another failed attempt to walk and more violent shivers, I plead with a volunteer to drive me down to Trient. I am defeated in every sense; mentally, physically and emotionally.
They take care of me in Trient, massaging my tight, torn-up quads. I shiver and shiver some more before the warm blankets raise my body temperature. My race bracelet is cut and my parents drive me back to Chamonix.
According to the new Highgear Axio HR watch that Scotty was wearing, the total climb was in the 35,000 foot range. And then according to a Garmin-clad runner I chatted to at the finish, the route ended up being about 180km long (111 miles). How accurate these readings are I don't know, but the elevation change sounds about right, and I have to say that the reroute felt way longer than the advertized 6km.
So, yeah, it was a tough race, but no tougher than other mountain 100s I have done. I would put it up there with Wasatch and Hardrock. A little tougher than Wasatch, but certainly no tougher than Hardrock.
However, as similar as the Hardrock and UTMB elevation profiles are, they are in fact very different races. Both races offer unique insight into their respective mountain environments and communities; however, at Hardrock you get the sense that you are running in and engaging with the natural environment whereas at UTMB it feels more like you are running over the land, while avoiding the harsher realities of the mountain. Being such a popular route, the UTMB trail is extraordinarily well defined and at no point feels particularly wild or remote. The mountains are simply too developed.
Nowhere are the differences between the two races more apparent than in the way they are directed. At Hardrock, the runner is made explicitly aware of the conditions they can expect to encounter and told to prepare accordingly, but not babied with gear requirements and overly strict rules and regulations. The relationship between organization and runner at Hardrock feels like that between two adults. At UTMB it feels more like a relationship between parent and child. Can I pack surgical gloves as my waterproof gloves? Will they find out, and if they do, will they care and will they punish me? To think that Dale would delay the start of Hardrock because of a storm is borderline preposterous.
I may not get into Hardrock next year because the field is limited to 140 runners, but I am okay with that. We need to keep our wilderness areas wild, and if that means strict caps for races in remote areas, then so be it. The Alps are stunning, no question, but as Dakota likes to say, they 'shit all over their mountains' over there, or certainly that was the case in the areas we visited. The access afforded by cable cars, train lines, roads and mega-trails comes at the severe detriment of the mountain wilderness experience.
I am sure I will be back to UTMB, given the opportunity. I mean how can I not feel like I have unfinished business there? And after all, it is such a grand celebration of our sport, but at the same time I feel that I would like to visit the grassroots flip side of European mountain ultrarunning before I go back to UTMB - maybe try to find something a little more organic.
Any suggestions?
Sunday, August 28, 2011
UTMB: DNF
I dropped out of the Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc last night at Trient. The decision wasn't difficult as I couldn't walk, let alone run. Needless to say, I am disappointed. I pride myself on being able to grind all day long, but for some reason I just couldn't keep going last night.
I am still processing my feelings about the run, the race and the organization, but before I get to some of the major shortcomings of this race, I'd first like to say how impressed I am with the guys at the front of the pack yesterday. They are clearly in a different class right now and supported by far and away the best crews in the business. I really do not think there are enough superlatives in the English language to explain how impressive Kilian is in the mountains and for that matter as a person in general.
I'd also like to congratulate teammate Darcy Africa on her huge third-place finish, Mike Foote on his 11th, my young buddy Nick Pedatella for his 14-place finish, and to teammate Scott Jaime for grinding out yet another result. Oh, and not forgetting Mike Wolfe, who I passed on the way down to Martigny and who I was certain would drop, but who still managed to grind out a finish. You guys are awesome and I'm proud to call all of you friends.
Now with regards to the race - and I'm not trying to make excuses here - but I had no idea (not even an inkling) that the course had been changed until I was actually on the re-route (some 125 kilometers in). Coming out of Champex, I was mentally prepared for the 700 meter (2,300 foot) climb up Bovine. I had been climbing well all day and was enjoying the ascents way more than the descents. Nonetheless, I was counting the climbs down. Bovine was to be the second-to-last climb and mentally I had already finished the race coming out of Champex - there was no doubt in my mind as to whether or not I would finish, it was just a matter of working through the remaining hours and climbs.
And then, oddly, I started descending and descending some more all the while waiting for the turn up to Bovine pass. Two miles out of Champex I passed a very pissed off Mike Wolfe. He had learned from his crew at Champex that the race organizers had tacked on the extra distance, climb and descent, and he passed that information on to me. The decision had been made in the wee hours of the morning some twelve (12) hours earlier. According to a post-race interview with Kilian, the Salomon guys knew as the sun was coming up over Col de La Seigne. Why the race organization weren't telling people at Courmayeur is a mystery to me. At Trient, where I dropped, they told me that I had been sent a text informing me of the change! Really?
Strange as it may seem, I am not in the habit of checking my messages when racing.
So anyway, we descended the 3,500 feet down into some village outside of Martigny, climbed another, probably, 1,000 feet and then descended 500 more into the Martigny aid station. I hadn't had water in probably an hour and the sun was burning. I was prepared nutrition and water wise for a one-hour climb to a high, cool pass, not for a two-hour descent into a steamy valley. When they told me that I would have to climb a bonus 3,600 feet to get back on course I was beyond pissed off. I essentially checked out of the race there and then. Nonetheless I hoofed it up to the pass going back and forth in my mind as to what I should do. When I finally did make it up to the pass another 90 minutes later I had lost the mental fortitude to keep my legs from seizing up and the decision to drop was an easy one. What should have been an hour and a half to Trient ended up being closer to three and a half hours, yet I left Champex unaware of that.
As anyone who has raced an endurance event knows, especially one as demanding as a mountain 100-miler, there is a very strong connection between the performance of the mind and the performance of the body. A huge part of being successful in completing these events is an understanding of what lies in front of you. Your mind prepares your body, and your body delivers an output that is sustainable for the mileage and elevation change that remains. If the mind is checked out, the body follows. The unannounced Martigny re-route was just too big of a curveball for me and I lost my mental edge. Had race officials told me that morning in Courmayeur I could have made the necessary mental preparations and I am almost certain that I would have finished.
I am sure that my ramblings here sound like excuses, and I guess they are, but they are at least honest - if maybe a bit raw. I lost the mental battle and my race was over. The race organization did a very poor job in communicating information to runners.
It's funny the juxtaposition between the immense amount of organization that goes into ensuring that there are helicopters and endless video cameras on course to cover the UTMB event and yet they cannot get even the simplest of messages out to runners on course. I come away from this experience with a very mixed bag of emotions. The event is impressive, sure, but behind the grandeur they seem to have lost sight of the very basic elements of putting on a successful race. I could go on, but I won't.
I think if I ever do get to lap Mont Blanc, it will be alone with my kids and wife. We will decide what we want to carry. We will pick a start time and a route. And then we will stick to it.
I am still processing my feelings about the run, the race and the organization, but before I get to some of the major shortcomings of this race, I'd first like to say how impressed I am with the guys at the front of the pack yesterday. They are clearly in a different class right now and supported by far and away the best crews in the business. I really do not think there are enough superlatives in the English language to explain how impressive Kilian is in the mountains and for that matter as a person in general.
I'd also like to congratulate teammate Darcy Africa on her huge third-place finish, Mike Foote on his 11th, my young buddy Nick Pedatella for his 14-place finish, and to teammate Scott Jaime for grinding out yet another result. Oh, and not forgetting Mike Wolfe, who I passed on the way down to Martigny and who I was certain would drop, but who still managed to grind out a finish. You guys are awesome and I'm proud to call all of you friends.
Now with regards to the race - and I'm not trying to make excuses here - but I had no idea (not even an inkling) that the course had been changed until I was actually on the re-route (some 125 kilometers in). Coming out of Champex, I was mentally prepared for the 700 meter (2,300 foot) climb up Bovine. I had been climbing well all day and was enjoying the ascents way more than the descents. Nonetheless, I was counting the climbs down. Bovine was to be the second-to-last climb and mentally I had already finished the race coming out of Champex - there was no doubt in my mind as to whether or not I would finish, it was just a matter of working through the remaining hours and climbs.
And then, oddly, I started descending and descending some more all the while waiting for the turn up to Bovine pass. Two miles out of Champex I passed a very pissed off Mike Wolfe. He had learned from his crew at Champex that the race organizers had tacked on the extra distance, climb and descent, and he passed that information on to me. The decision had been made in the wee hours of the morning some twelve (12) hours earlier. According to a post-race interview with Kilian, the Salomon guys knew as the sun was coming up over Col de La Seigne. Why the race organization weren't telling people at Courmayeur is a mystery to me. At Trient, where I dropped, they told me that I had been sent a text informing me of the change! Really?
Strange as it may seem, I am not in the habit of checking my messages when racing.
So anyway, we descended the 3,500 feet down into some village outside of Martigny, climbed another, probably, 1,000 feet and then descended 500 more into the Martigny aid station. I hadn't had water in probably an hour and the sun was burning. I was prepared nutrition and water wise for a one-hour climb to a high, cool pass, not for a two-hour descent into a steamy valley. When they told me that I would have to climb a bonus 3,600 feet to get back on course I was beyond pissed off. I essentially checked out of the race there and then. Nonetheless I hoofed it up to the pass going back and forth in my mind as to what I should do. When I finally did make it up to the pass another 90 minutes later I had lost the mental fortitude to keep my legs from seizing up and the decision to drop was an easy one. What should have been an hour and a half to Trient ended up being closer to three and a half hours, yet I left Champex unaware of that.
As anyone who has raced an endurance event knows, especially one as demanding as a mountain 100-miler, there is a very strong connection between the performance of the mind and the performance of the body. A huge part of being successful in completing these events is an understanding of what lies in front of you. Your mind prepares your body, and your body delivers an output that is sustainable for the mileage and elevation change that remains. If the mind is checked out, the body follows. The unannounced Martigny re-route was just too big of a curveball for me and I lost my mental edge. Had race officials told me that morning in Courmayeur I could have made the necessary mental preparations and I am almost certain that I would have finished.
I am sure that my ramblings here sound like excuses, and I guess they are, but they are at least honest - if maybe a bit raw. I lost the mental battle and my race was over. The race organization did a very poor job in communicating information to runners.
It's funny the juxtaposition between the immense amount of organization that goes into ensuring that there are helicopters and endless video cameras on course to cover the UTMB event and yet they cannot get even the simplest of messages out to runners on course. I come away from this experience with a very mixed bag of emotions. The event is impressive, sure, but behind the grandeur they seem to have lost sight of the very basic elements of putting on a successful race. I could go on, but I won't.
I think if I ever do get to lap Mont Blanc, it will be alone with my kids and wife. We will decide what we want to carry. We will pick a start time and a route. And then we will stick to it.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
UTMB
Fever pitch over here in Chamonix. Check-in: done; drug test: passed; logistics: just about figured out. Time to run!
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Fortnight Ending August 14
Mon - 8.5 miles (1,800') easy with Ryan. Falls - Spring Creek - Stout - Sawmill - Loggers - Carey Springs - Towers - Herrington - Spring Creek - Soderberg.
Tues - 5 miles track. 2.5 mile w-u, then 1,000 open, followed by 6 x 200: 3:16, 31 (low), 32 (high), 33 (high), 33 (low), 33 (mid), 31 (high). Mile c-d. 200s are so far out of my comfort zone right now, these were almost comical. Good to get the turnover in, I guess.
Weds - 0 miles. Travel day to Geneva.
Thurs - 9 (ish) miles (2,200'). Ran along the river from Zinal with Dakota and Scott to a stout climb above the Zinal Valley, which offered majestic views of the Zinal Glacier and the big local peaks: Dent Blanche, Bossu, Pointe Zinal, Weisshorn (4,506m, 4th highest peak in Europe) and other awesomeness. Descended with Scott to the base of the glacier, then back.
Friday - 4 miles (1,500'). Climbed to the 3k-to-go point of the Sierre-Zinal course and back down.
Saturday - 4 miles (500') easy. Ran alongside the river.
Sunday - 20 miles (7,200'). Sierre-Zinal race.
Total: 51 miles (13,000')
Mon - Off
Tues - Off
Weds - 4 miles (700') hiking. A test hike up toward La Flegere after tweaking my knee at Sierre-Zinal. Felt pretty good so decided that Thursday I would resume with some light running.
Thurs - 11 miles easy with Scott. Out and back from Chamonix to Les Houches on lightly rolling double track. Knee felt good, so gave myself the green light for some vertical exploring.
Fri - 10 miles (2,000'). Up to Refugio Elisabetta near Col de La Seigne and then back to Courmayeur with a stop off for lunch at Jacko's refugio just above Courmayeur. Huge pasta/grilled veggie feed followed by a gut wrenching 2,500'/2 mile drop into town. Fun group including Topher and Kim Gaylord (and relatives), Scott J & Scott J, Krissy M, Roch & Cat Horton. Awesome, awesome views of the valley, passes and peaks from the Arete Mont Favre.
Sat - 10 miles (6,000'). Met up with Kilian, Dakota and two others at Les Houches for a run up Mont Blanc from the valley floor. At least that was their plan, I turned at 6k' climbing (9k' elevation), thinking the full 12.5k' up and down might be a bit much a week out from the race. More awesome views of the Chamonix Valley from my turnaround point. Legs felt like bricks.
Sun - 9 miles (2,700'). With Adam Campbell and Radio Joe G FM up Mont Vert to the Mer de Glace Glacier, with an awesome cruise back down. Legs felt way better today than yesterday.
Total: 44 miles (11,400')
It has been a fantastic trip to Switzerland/France/Italy so far. The mountains and valleys have definitely not disappointed, while the food and general ambiance has been equally as great. I feel like a very lucky boy right now and I owe my wife dearly.
The running, to be honest, has not been that great. Sierre-Zinal was a pretty big disappointment, and my continued lack of pep since then has been annoying. Until today, I have been pretty gloomy about my chances at UTMB. However, I got out for a good run with Joe and Adam this morning and felt a little more like my usual self, so that has perked my confidence a bit. US runners have started to file in, so there has been a definite buzz the last couple of days, which has also helped get my mind into race mode. I'm not expecting great things for Friday/Saturday, but I am at least back to thinking that I can fight for a top-10 spot, which - all things considered - is a result I would definitely be happy with.
Not much left to do now. My parents arrive tomorrow and my brother and nephews a few days later, so I'll just do some light jogging and catch up with the family before getting ready for one last bout of extended suffering before I close it down for the season.
Tues - 5 miles track. 2.5 mile w-u, then 1,000 open, followed by 6 x 200: 3:16, 31 (low), 32 (high), 33 (high), 33 (low), 33 (mid), 31 (high). Mile c-d. 200s are so far out of my comfort zone right now, these were almost comical. Good to get the turnover in, I guess.
Weds - 0 miles. Travel day to Geneva.
Thurs - 9 (ish) miles (2,200'). Ran along the river from Zinal with Dakota and Scott to a stout climb above the Zinal Valley, which offered majestic views of the Zinal Glacier and the big local peaks: Dent Blanche, Bossu, Pointe Zinal, Weisshorn (4,506m, 4th highest peak in Europe) and other awesomeness. Descended with Scott to the base of the glacier, then back.
Friday - 4 miles (1,500'). Climbed to the 3k-to-go point of the Sierre-Zinal course and back down.
Saturday - 4 miles (500') easy. Ran alongside the river.
Sunday - 20 miles (7,200'). Sierre-Zinal race.
Total: 51 miles (13,000')
Mon - Off
Tues - Off
Weds - 4 miles (700') hiking. A test hike up toward La Flegere after tweaking my knee at Sierre-Zinal. Felt pretty good so decided that Thursday I would resume with some light running.
Thurs - 11 miles easy with Scott. Out and back from Chamonix to Les Houches on lightly rolling double track. Knee felt good, so gave myself the green light for some vertical exploring.
Fri - 10 miles (2,000'). Up to Refugio Elisabetta near Col de La Seigne and then back to Courmayeur with a stop off for lunch at Jacko's refugio just above Courmayeur. Huge pasta/grilled veggie feed followed by a gut wrenching 2,500'/2 mile drop into town. Fun group including Topher and Kim Gaylord (and relatives), Scott J & Scott J, Krissy M, Roch & Cat Horton. Awesome, awesome views of the valley, passes and peaks from the Arete Mont Favre.
Sat - 10 miles (6,000'). Met up with Kilian, Dakota and two others at Les Houches for a run up Mont Blanc from the valley floor. At least that was their plan, I turned at 6k' climbing (9k' elevation), thinking the full 12.5k' up and down might be a bit much a week out from the race. More awesome views of the Chamonix Valley from my turnaround point. Legs felt like bricks.
Sun - 9 miles (2,700'). With Adam Campbell and Radio Joe G FM up Mont Vert to the Mer de Glace Glacier, with an awesome cruise back down. Legs felt way better today than yesterday.
Total: 44 miles (11,400')
It has been a fantastic trip to Switzerland/France/Italy so far. The mountains and valleys have definitely not disappointed, while the food and general ambiance has been equally as great. I feel like a very lucky boy right now and I owe my wife dearly.
The running, to be honest, has not been that great. Sierre-Zinal was a pretty big disappointment, and my continued lack of pep since then has been annoying. Until today, I have been pretty gloomy about my chances at UTMB. However, I got out for a good run with Joe and Adam this morning and felt a little more like my usual self, so that has perked my confidence a bit. US runners have started to file in, so there has been a definite buzz the last couple of days, which has also helped get my mind into race mode. I'm not expecting great things for Friday/Saturday, but I am at least back to thinking that I can fight for a top-10 spot, which - all things considered - is a result I would definitely be happy with.
Not much left to do now. My parents arrive tomorrow and my brother and nephews a few days later, so I'll just do some light jogging and catch up with the family before getting ready for one last bout of extended suffering before I close it down for the season.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Sierre-Zinal
Sierre-Zinal was a unique and highly enjoyable experience. The extended weekend that is. The race itself was a big old sufferfest, but fun and eye opening nonetheless.
In the days leading up to the race we had been staying in Zinal at the top of the valley (Val d'Anniviers) and so on the morning of the race we were bussed down for the 9am start near Sierre in the Rhone Valley. It was noticeably warmer in Sierre. The bus got us there well over an hour early, so the North American contingent set up camp in the shade and hung around. After a light jog with half an hour to go, it was time to strip down and file over to the start. I assumed a position six or seven rows back, safe in the knowledge that I belonged no closer to the start line on this particular day.
I knew that I had an immediate and almost guaranteed hour of suffering ahead, so I was unusually nervous as the seconds ticked down. Pablo shot the gun and we were off. Shoulders, elbows, a tight turn or two, a couple of trips and finally I found some space to open my stride. A huge lead pack was ahead, with a solitary Glenn Randall in his now customary early-race position: way off the front.
On the opening half mile section of road climbing, I was pacing with the lead two or three women and by the turn onto the trail I would guess that I was running in a position in the mid-20s. And then boom, we were on the steeps and gaining vertical quickly. A mile in and there were still a ton of guys around me. Dakota and Scott were a few meters ahead in a crowd of guys and looking back there were tens of guys waiting to pounce. This was pretty intense, and it hurt.
I don't think I've ever experienced the kind of jostling that I did during Sierre-Zinal. Normally in US trail races, position is established early and there tends to be very little back and forth. At Sierre-Zinal, if you take your foot off the gas for an instant in those early miles hordes of runners go streaming by.
About a half hour into the run, I was gaining familiarity with my partners in pain. There was the guy in the black unitarde who insisted on running absolutely everything. He would get passed by us hikers on the ridiculously steep stuff, and then would pass back ever so slowly on the just plain steep stuff before being buried on the mellower stuff. There was the burly dude in the Spanish colors who was as powerful a hiker as I think I've ever seen, but again a terrible shallower hill runner. There was the old-man Colombian who chugged along in his one and only short-step gear for the whole climb - steady - but looked like he might have been quite a runner back in the day.
I went by Scott about halfway up the climb and locked my sites on Dakota's white and orange singlet. We were moving at pretty much exactly the same (slow) pace. I would try everything to speed up the rate at which I was covering ground. I tried periods where I would run everything regardless of grade, but the minimal increase in speed was not worth the massive uptick in effort; I copied guys around me by dropping into the ugly looking Euro hike: hands on knees, pushing off with each stroke, but didn't like the way that constricted my air flow; so mostly I just focused on big strides, strong push-offs and an angled (rather than bent) forward lean. I felt like a complete novice. And I was.
If I had to guess, I would say that I gave up 10 spots by the top of the climb. I almost immediately dropped the pack I was with as we transitioned into a period of smoother ridge running on a mix of buff trail and hardpack road. At the Chandolin aid station, I stopped for some much needed fluids, popped a gel and got back on track with the pack of three that I was now working with. Jean-Yves was apparently a local favorite as just about every spectator seemed to know his name, offer him a drink or crack a joke. Andrew Peace, a fellow Brit, was also in tow.
I would find out later at the evening after party that Andrew has held the course record (2:46) for the famous Three Peaks race in Britain since 1983. I told him in a drunken haze that I'd be there next year to take it down. Andy responded with a cold stare and a blunt northern: "no f***in' chance," followed by a wry grin.
Some twists, some turns, into and out of a few gullies and then there on the ridge was the famed Hotel Weisshorn. It looked far away and a good 800 feet above me. I knew it would be roughly 50 minutes from Weisshorn to the finish, so I did a quick watch check. If I could get there in 10 minutes, then I might have a shot at 2:50, but there was no way I was getting up there in 10 minutes. Twenty minutes seemed far more likely, and I now realized that the 3-hour mark would be my goal for the rest of the run. Regardless of place, a sub-3 hour run paid out 80 CHF ($110), which I figured would cover my train ride to Chamonix. That seemed worth fighting for. And then I felt my calf muscles begin to cramp and I was forced to ease off the gas.
I arrived at Weisshorn a thirsty and hurting unit. I stopped briefly to take on fluids and a gel, all the while cursing myself for forgetting to bring electrolyte caps. One more little uphill push and we were essentially on the downhill express to Zinal. A quick watch check: 2:08 low. Scott had informed me the day before that Anna Pichtrova's fastest ever time from Weisshorn to the finish was 50 minutes. That was the year she set the women's course record (2:55) and when she was in 2:31 marathon form. I had a little over 51 minutes to close it out. It was going to be touch and go.
The track from Weisshorn gets pretty rocky in places, so the flow gets chopped up. In addition, there are a ton of 'tourist' runners, who had started four hours earlier, to get around on this section. By and large they would get out of the way in time, but there were a couple of occasions where I was brought to a complete standstill.
Twenty minutes out, I took a dive and almost rolled off down the valley. I got up and promptly ran into a tree. Expletives.
I had seen the last three kilometers of the course a few days earlier and knew they would be majorly hurtful. The course drops 1,500 feet in 1.8 miles, and the first kilometer of that drop is not particularly steep. Just as I hit the turn for the last 3km, I felt major quivers of crampiness down in my calf muscles. I ignored them and blazed Euro style, cutting switchbacks like they didn't exist. I went down on my butt a couple of times, but that didn't really slow me down as my butt was essentially on the ground as I was running anyway. I surfed across the field where I'd inspected the line two days earlier and then began the mega-steep shoot to the finish.
Full-on calf cramps. Aghh. The game was up. There was no way three hours was happening now. I was forced to stop and stretch, hobble, stretch, jog. I crossed the finish line in 3:01 in pretty bad shape and then guzzled. Chatting with Kilian at the fluid station afterwards, I quickly learned that Marco had almost taken down Jonathan Wyatt's course record, but not quite, and that Kilian had had a tough race on 'heavy legs.' I found Dakota, and learned that he'd put seven minutes on me from the top of the climb, overtaking Max King along the way. I was suitably impressed.
The post-race festivities were a blast, and quite honestly the whole experience was a lesson in hospitality, generosity and incredible race management. I have to give a sincere thank you here to Pablo Vigil, who acted as the liaison between the US runners and race management in the months leading up to the race, to Alexadra Jodidio - the amazing and multi-talented athlete coordinator in Zinal - and to Jean-Luc Pont who has been directing Sierre-Zinal since its inception in the early 70s. You guys put on an amazing show.
Right now, I am sitting here in Chamonix three days after the race nursing a bit of a dodgy knee. While it's frustrating to be missing running days in this gorgeous location, I think probably it's a blessing in disguise as Sierre-Zinal is a race that really puts some hurt on you, so recovery time is wise. I'm feeling like I'll be good to go by tomorrow, and so look forward to getting out and covering some of the massive Alpine relief that rises for miles around in every direction.
Kilian has invited us to go run up Mont Blanc with him on Saturday, but as tempting as that sounds, it just seems like a terrible idea. It's 12,000 feet up and, more importantly, 12,000' back down. Dakota is hotter on the idea than I am, but then he's also 16 years younger. Might just go part way and be the wise old man who turns early. But you never know, it's all so tempting right now.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Switzerland and some Sierre-Zinal Interviews
The last (and only) time I was in Switzerland was during my year abroad in France (many moons ago) as a third-year undergraduate student. And what a waste. We drove straight through without stopping, bee-lining it straight for Germany's Black Forest and the steins that awaited us there. This time around we're doing it up proper.
Scott Jaime and I flew out together on Wednesday, arriving to Geneva early Thursday morning. From the plane we had a stunning view of the Geneva valley with snow-capped Alpine peaks and the mighty Mont Blanc standing out in glorious Technicolor against the bluebird skies to the south. The two hour train ride east up the Rhone Valley was even more remarkable. I thought I had it good in Colorado, but wow, these here Alps are pretty spectacular. Jagged angles, burly ridges, huge glaciers, and dreamy amounts of vertical relief. Hog heaven.
And then we hit Sierre, transferred to a bus, and then another bus as we made our way up the tight and Colorado-esque Valais through immaculate Alpine Swiss villages to Zinal. And wow again. The skyline here is just phenomenal.
Before we had time to close our agape jaws we were being whisked off by our incredibly gracious hosts to a Raclette feast with a jazz ensemble, wine, cold cuts and oozing amounts of deliciously runny cheese from cows that had been feeding off the wildflowers 1,000 feet above us. And there was Young Money Dakota Jones putting away a glass of wine and his fair share of the local produce. That afternoon we were off up into the hills for an entirely too-long run, but what can you do when surrounded by such beauty. Another feeding and then we crashed hard for 13 hours.
Friday has been much the same - savoring views, running gorgeous and incredibly steep trails, eating delicious food and just generally having a wonderful time. I don't want to draw unnecessary comparisons between the US and Europe when it comes to putting on races, but let's just say that Scott, Dakota and I have been feeling astoundingly spoiled and incredibly thankful for the honest and gracious hospitality we have received here. Our Swiss hosts are from a different cut.
Anyway, in the two days that we've been here I've also been able to catch up with some of the other members of 'Equipe USA' on behalf of RunColo.com, including Max King, Joe Gray (coming), Glen Randall, Megan Lund, and Brandy Erholtz. Oh, and Ultra Boys Dakota Jones and Scott Jaime, in addition to a ditto with me.
We race tomorrow and then we'll drink and be merry, before we head south into France to assume residence in Chamonix in search of a couple more weeks of Alpine adventures.
One more thing. Here's a recent interview I did with the guys over at InsideTrail, a new site dedicated to trail racing.
Scott Jaime and I flew out together on Wednesday, arriving to Geneva early Thursday morning. From the plane we had a stunning view of the Geneva valley with snow-capped Alpine peaks and the mighty Mont Blanc standing out in glorious Technicolor against the bluebird skies to the south. The two hour train ride east up the Rhone Valley was even more remarkable. I thought I had it good in Colorado, but wow, these here Alps are pretty spectacular. Jagged angles, burly ridges, huge glaciers, and dreamy amounts of vertical relief. Hog heaven.
And then we hit Sierre, transferred to a bus, and then another bus as we made our way up the tight and Colorado-esque Valais through immaculate Alpine Swiss villages to Zinal. And wow again. The skyline here is just phenomenal.
Before we had time to close our agape jaws we were being whisked off by our incredibly gracious hosts to a Raclette feast with a jazz ensemble, wine, cold cuts and oozing amounts of deliciously runny cheese from cows that had been feeding off the wildflowers 1,000 feet above us. And there was Young Money Dakota Jones putting away a glass of wine and his fair share of the local produce. That afternoon we were off up into the hills for an entirely too-long run, but what can you do when surrounded by such beauty. Another feeding and then we crashed hard for 13 hours.
Friday has been much the same - savoring views, running gorgeous and incredibly steep trails, eating delicious food and just generally having a wonderful time. I don't want to draw unnecessary comparisons between the US and Europe when it comes to putting on races, but let's just say that Scott, Dakota and I have been feeling astoundingly spoiled and incredibly thankful for the honest and gracious hospitality we have received here. Our Swiss hosts are from a different cut.
Anyway, in the two days that we've been here I've also been able to catch up with some of the other members of 'Equipe USA' on behalf of RunColo.com, including Max King, Joe Gray (coming), Glen Randall, Megan Lund, and Brandy Erholtz. Oh, and Ultra Boys Dakota Jones and Scott Jaime, in addition to a ditto with me.
We race tomorrow and then we'll drink and be merry, before we head south into France to assume residence in Chamonix in search of a couple more weeks of Alpine adventures.
One more thing. Here's a recent interview I did with the guys over at InsideTrail, a new site dedicated to trail racing.
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