T-Minus 105 Days!

I'm tired this morning.
Was it the dog waking me up at 4:30, or the big thunderstorm we had last night?
Or, was it the time trial last night?
Hmm, I would indeed say... yes to all.

It's been a few years since I last did a straight up, all-out bike effort.
Double that up with the plyometrics I've been doing with Troy 3 times a week over at Northern Physical Therapy and whoa, what a shock to the system!
In reference to Mondays horror show of a bike ride, Troy figured that it just hasn't been long enough since the 50 to jump into those long workouts- which, he's right. It hasn't even been 3 weeks yet. Most people take about a month of recovery, but I took no time at all, thinking it would be cool because I was structurally fine.

Anyways, my energy is beginning to return. I've been eating everything in sight for the last few days, hoping to replenish anything I might be missing. In order to load up with calories. protein, and nutrients in the easiest way possible, I've started with Cytomax Recovery in addition to my regular diet..

I guess most importantly, I'm ready to recommit to Ultra Long training after this week is over. I'm guessing my bike ride in VA is going to be around 24 hours, and I have got to start building up to rides that long over the next 2 months.

Questions I need to answer for myself through training these next couple of months:
-Time trial frame or road frame with aero bars?
-Bring an extra, larger pair of shoes(bike and run) for swelling feet?
-What is the max number of calories I can absorb per hour without getting sick, and what mix of solids and fluids?
-How often do I need to switch from electrolyte replacement to water and back?
-How much fuel can I take in during the 4 hour swim without cramping?
-What is the least sleep I can go on? Most of the seasoned ultra-endurance dudes will not sleep. I will need to figure out whether I can do that at my experience level or not.

Oh there's so much more, but these are my major concerns, because they are directly related to finishing.
I can deal with chafing, blisters, and superficial things. I cannot deal with not finishing. They'll peel me off the course before I quit.

That's all for now.
Happy Training!
Kale

Abyss

Man, am I in deep.
I feel like something is very wrong with me.
This is where this blog is going to help me in my pursuit to finish the Triple.
I need to write to sort out my thoughts, so I'm sorry if this particular entry seems like I'm talking to myself.

I have no energy. None.
I had plans to do a long ride up to St Agatha and back yesterday.
Made it to New Sweden when I realized that the ride was not going to happen.
I literally want to sleep, and had all I could do to get back to Presque Isle, where I laid down in my bed and slept for 4 hours.

I know whats up...I haven't been doing the things I need to be doing...
Sleeping..I only average 7 hours a night.
Eating well...I am having a hard time getting the calories I need every day to maintain the volume of training.
My body is essentially harvesting itself. I'm starving, in short.
It's affecting my attitude. I feel lethargic and depressed.

I've never counted calories, but I guess it's time to do that.
As I pedaled home yesterday, each stroke hurting me deeply, I had second thoughts.
Can I survive the triple?
Right now, I can't.

I guess the positive thing is that I realize today, 3 months away, that I need to get more professional about this event. Having the will to do the training means nothing if you can't supply that training with the fuel necessary to complete it.

I'm up against some very real factors here. Age, experience, and base.
Everyone in this event has years of experience in Ultradistance racing, and are in their mid-thirties and older.
While an athlete might be able to fake a 50 miler by training haphazardly, no one can fake a 421 Mile event.

Some thoughts I'm having during this "down phase":
I'm sure I can swim 7.2 miles, but how will pedaling a bike feel after that, moreover, for over 24 hours?
At what point is the event going to "get real", aka, when do the first round of mental crises come?

I never get these thoughts most of the time, and this is how I know something is not right.
Perhaps I should have taken a little more rest after the North Face Challenge.

Escape

I'm not a part of this world,
Say my feet to my brain

And the rest of my body agrees.

For when I run,
I'm only in contact with the world
When my feet touch down

But they repel from Earth, and fly behind me,
bracing.
for the next dose of gravity

already craving the next air phase.

Race Report: North Face Challenge 50 Mile Run

It's 2AM, and it sounds as though a train is about to run over me in my borrowed Wal-Mart tent.
No, there's not a loud snorer in the campsite next to me.
There's literally a train just over the hill from my Ozark Trail shelter. Great spot...

I manage to get another 50 minutes of sleep in before my cell phone alarm wakes me up at 3.
Time to eat a bagel, gather my stuff, and get going. I've woken up early enough to get some calories in and find some coffee along the way to Camp Lutherwood- the venue for the North Face Challenge.

Driving into downtown Bellingham, WA, I'm mildly depressed to see that nothing is open. Nothing.
Going without coffee before a 10 hour+ event is simply not an option for me, but it might have to happen this day.
U-Turn, and it's a 10 minute drive to Lutherwood.
Upon arrival, I'm relieved to see that there's an array of food and COFFEE waiting for the racers.
I have just enough time to down a cup, eat another bagel and peanut butter, and pin my number on before it's 5AM and time to roll.

One of my favorite parts about Ultra-marathons is the start. No one sprints off the line. A wheelchair patient would beat most Ultra runners in the first half mile of the race. It's funny because you see all these super-fit people going in slow motion...I guess it's just not what you'd expect.

We run by the lake and up by the camps where all 90 of us funnel into a single-track, densely wooded trail. At this point, the trail is so tight and steep that it is pretty much a hike until we hit the fire road.

The pack starts to thin out as everyone begins to settle into their own pace. I pull up next to an older guy from Juno, Alaska. We run together for twenty minutes or so, talking about our hometowns, dogs, and bears. A first timer, he pulls ahead of me and I never see him again. Impressive.

After a steep mile and a half hike up the fire road, we hit the first aid station. I eat some crackers and drink some water, but waste no time. It's too early for slacking.
20 minutes later, we're ascending Chuckanut Mountain. And it is STEEP. Three of us hike and pant our way up the mountain, which would be a day hike for most. We know there's still some 40+ miles to go after this, so we do what we can to make light of the situation, talking about random things.

At the top, there's no real celebration or acknowledgment of the end of the climb, but the descent is long, open, and amazing. I get maybe a little carried away and let it fly for a while, clicking fast miles off...until I see two dudes peeing in the bushes. I'm reminded that I hadn't pissed yet....and suddenly, I REALLY have to go. My pee is still clear...so we're good on the hydration front.

The descent ends as we reenter a nasty section of single-track along the ridge of the Chuckanut trails. It starts with short, steep climbs and scrambles(on all fours), and ends with quad-busting, mentally draining technical descents. At one point, I look to my left and realize that I'm on the edge of a cliff with a vertical drop I don't care to estimate or think about.
It's at this point that I realize that I'm doing something I never would have thought about 5 years ago.
17 miles in, and my quads are already wrecked.
We come out of the woods, and all of a sudden, we're on fire roads again. It's a fast four miles to the next aid station, and it feels so easy to run when you aren't scrambling over things or holding yourself up with a tree to prevent you from sliding down a cliff on your butt.

I stay at the halfway aid station for a few minutes, taking stock of myself and downing bananas, chips, and drinks while a volunteer fills my Camelbak. I am a little tired, but my mind is fresh. My electrolytes are good, for once.

I pry myself off the pavement and start running down the fire road, raring to go. My levity quickly changes as I round the corner and stare at a wall. At least it's not technical, I think to myself, and start hiking.
Half an hour later, I round a turn and I'm still hiking. Half an hour after that, I get back on the trail, round the turn, and I'm still hiking. At this point, I'm pretty frustrated. Honestly, how long can a hill be?? Only after the race do I find out that the "hill" was actually Blanchard Mountain.
The hills level off, and I am running on the ridge of Blanchard, trying to keep my spirits up. That bitching mountain sapped a lot of my energy. I had gels and bars in my Camelbak, but I couldn't stomach another one of those. Finally, I get to an aid station and down potato chips like a pro. I take the whole bowl for myself and just chow down. I know I need it because of how amazing it tastes.

I leave the aid station and this time it's a climb in the middle of the woods. Not even a trail. There's an orange marker every fifty yards, and that's the trail. I'm pissed, which I know is bad, but I can't change it. I'm tired of climbing and tired of lifting my legs to get over boulders and downed trees the size cars.

The descent begins, and each step kills my feet. My muscles are sore already. It's a double-edged sword in that it hurts my muscles to hold myself back on the downhills, but letting it fly kills my feet, which hurt as well. I bitch and moan all the way to the aid station at mile 42.

My attitude improves immediately upon seeing human beings after having run alone for hours. I chill out for a good 8 minutes at mile 42, trying to sway my spirits to the better side of things for a last push to the finish. The volunteers, who aren't runners, tell me that the last 8 miles is all downhill. I trudge off feeling as though these last few miles will be an easy celebration of the day.

2 miles later, I'm staring at something I cannot comprehend. Gnarly roots. Massive rocks.
The Oyster Dome, called "Kill Bill Hill" by the locals, is a vertical monster that I can't even explain. Although I want to cry, I can only laugh at the situation.
There is no place for despair when you are out there. No one can really help you. You have to put one foot in front of the other and just deal with your own little crises as they come.

There are day hikers on the trail at this point, and they clear the way for us as we literally stagger up the mountain. You can see the sympathy in some of their eyes...for they are struggling up it, and know that after already going 45 miles, it must really suck.
I feel no thrill as I pass 4 racers on this section. We're grabbing trees to pull our bodies up and are forced to stop every couple of minutes to catch our breath and keep our wits about us.

I get to the top and try to get myself together, as I'm pretty messed up in the head after the climb. I descend the last 5 miles- a mix of painful single track and fire road. I'm so traumatized by all the climbing that I honestly expect a climb after every turn, even though I know these last few miles are downhill.

Finally, I run by the camps we ran by earlier in the day. I come out of the woods, and there's the finish line.
I'm beat up, but mentally good to go at the end... even faking a fall right after the finish line, to the laughter of the people I had run with throughout the day, and the concern of the medical people who didn't know I was joking.

So I was able to keep my electrolytes in balance, which has been a challenge for me in the past. I do need to improve my eating though, and discipline myself to eat even when I don't want to. Gels and bars are better than zero calories. That was my downfall in this race. I really feel as though I'm learning a lot with each Ultra I do. I certainly am proud of the finish, even though it took a lot longer than I hoped. I had never run anything that severe, so mentally I kept it together and that's all that matters for October.

Thanks for reading...
KP

Update, 6/14

Well, I certainly thought I would do better at updating this.
I guess when you make a commitment to do something that demands all of your focus and energy, the last thing you need is another thing to work on. I enjoy writing, I just haven't had the time!

The short story is that I am on track for where I need to be at this time. At 4 months away, the Triple is getting more real than ever. I really only have 3 months of quality training left.

Finished the North Face Endurance Challenge 50 Mile Run last weekend. There'll be a Race Report soon. It was a tough day, but I felt fine at the end, and I have no injuries from the race. That is the most important thing.

So, what's the plan now? Next month, me and one other guy from town are planning a run from Presque Isle to Houlton on the snowmobile trails. It'll be a nice flat 35 mile run. I am toying with the idea of the Great Cranberry Island 50 Mile Run two days prior to that, but it's still a little early to tell if I'll be ready. That's July.

In August, I will attempt to do the entire Maine Coast from Lubec to Kittery on a bike in one continuous ride.
After that, it's just maintenance in september, and that's about it.

Kale