Lots of junk going on.
By junk, I mean junk.
Attempted to make the trip downstate sunday night so that I could see Nicole and do some hiking on some terrain over 1500' above sea level.
Broke down in Newport.
Waited for 2 hours for Nicole to come pick me up on the side of the road, then spent the next few days doing less hiking and more figuring out what to do with my vehicle, that is still in Newport.
I'm thankful that I've got family in the right places.
They're gonna go pick it up with the car trailer and then we can go from there.
Soooo, Nicole drove me up here last night, and now I'm carless until further notice.
I used to hate the saying "everything happens for a reason", but the older I get, the more I believe that there are forces that we cannot control.
Interesting that I sign up for a MAJOR event next month that's going to require me to be on my feet for 2 and a half days, and now, during the time I need to train the most, I have no car...forcing me to be on my feet to transport myself.
Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not.
In the mental junk department, I've got this internal hippie thing going.
I have all this stuff I don't need.
An apartment I only sleep in.
A car I use to commute for like, 1 mile at time. Ridiculous.
I want to get rid of it all.
It feels like I'm wasting money on things like car insurance, gas, and a roof over my head.
I don't need that shit.
I can sleep in a tent, for free, and I am capable of riding my bike for hundreds of miles at a time, as long as I have time to do it.
I would be saving like 700 dollars a month. That is HUGE.
Training wise, I have about 10 days of high volume via running/walking before I scale it back so that I may survive the ordeal next month.
I'm keeping the details of the event a secret till I'm done, because I'm sitting on two DNF's...and that doesn't feel good to me.
I think advertising what I'm doing only makes me feel stressed about completing it...which doesn't allow me to get into the right zen type mode.
It's hot here. Good Mexico training.
thanks for reading...
krp
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
jinx, you owe me a coke
Guess it's time for an update.
It's interesting, learning the little things about one's self, psyche, and physical being, on this crazy journey of ultra triathlon training.
At first, I thought it would be really awesome to have my own website that made me look like "the man". I figured it would be awesome if it helped attract sponsors. If everyone knew what I was up to, they could track my progress...you know...keep me accountable and motivated, right?
Interestingly, wrong.
Expect some major changes to www.kalepoland.com. Why?
A couple of things, right off the bat. One, I cringe whenever I read my site. It talks me up, and frankly, I hate it. There's something within this sport that humbles you so much. You feel like really, it's not a big deal, even though the norms say otherwise.
Two, telling people what I'm going to do makes me feel like I have to stick to a schedule, which takes the adventure and spontaneity out of the training.
One of the great things about this sport is the ability to, on any given weekend, jump into a random century ride, do a marathon as an easy workout, or look at a map, point at a lake, and say,"I'm gonna swim that tomorrow".
That is why I love it so much. Adventure. Scenery. People that are so hospitable, awesome, and upbeat, that it would blow your mind.
Sometimes, I wish I could just give people the feeling I feel while training and racing. They'd be hooked.
Perhaps they might then understand why I've made so many life sacrifices to chase the feeling and these dreams.
Americans, as a whole, are getting dull and lethargic. In this subdued, mundane world of technology, safety regulations, insurance, seatbelts, helmets, lawsuits, and politically correctness, people need something that makes them feel alive.
Find it, make it your passion, and put the glimmer back in your eyes.
Enough just sitting there, thinking about it.
Go after it.
krp
It's interesting, learning the little things about one's self, psyche, and physical being, on this crazy journey of ultra triathlon training.
At first, I thought it would be really awesome to have my own website that made me look like "the man". I figured it would be awesome if it helped attract sponsors. If everyone knew what I was up to, they could track my progress...you know...keep me accountable and motivated, right?
Interestingly, wrong.
Expect some major changes to www.kalepoland.com. Why?
A couple of things, right off the bat. One, I cringe whenever I read my site. It talks me up, and frankly, I hate it. There's something within this sport that humbles you so much. You feel like really, it's not a big deal, even though the norms say otherwise.
Two, telling people what I'm going to do makes me feel like I have to stick to a schedule, which takes the adventure and spontaneity out of the training.
One of the great things about this sport is the ability to, on any given weekend, jump into a random century ride, do a marathon as an easy workout, or look at a map, point at a lake, and say,"I'm gonna swim that tomorrow".
That is why I love it so much. Adventure. Scenery. People that are so hospitable, awesome, and upbeat, that it would blow your mind.
Sometimes, I wish I could just give people the feeling I feel while training and racing. They'd be hooked.
Perhaps they might then understand why I've made so many life sacrifices to chase the feeling and these dreams.
Americans, as a whole, are getting dull and lethargic. In this subdued, mundane world of technology, safety regulations, insurance, seatbelts, helmets, lawsuits, and politically correctness, people need something that makes them feel alive.
Find it, make it your passion, and put the glimmer back in your eyes.
Enough just sitting there, thinking about it.
Go after it.
krp
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
DNF
Friday, May 7th.
I'm up early, gathering all my race gear for tomorrow's event, the McNaughton 100. It'll be my first attempt at running 100 miles.
My tiny apartment looks like hell, and the clutter of backpacks, bottles, shoes, and random gear piled in the middle of the floor makes it look worse than usual.
The phone vibrates on the counter. Sperv's text: "Don't hurry, I'm running late."
She's hungover.
Awesome. Now I can make fun of her for 6 hours in a cramped space.
She cannot get away.
A few hours later, I meet her in Bangor, and we start our long drive to VT in her 40 miles-per-gallon, football-resembling car.
In Waterville, we stop for gas and a bathroom break. I come out of the bathroom just in time to walk by Sperv, paying for a hot dog at the counter. The guy getting rung up next to her looks at her, then the hot dog, and says:"you feelin' lucky tonight?"...I walk out and die laughing.
We hook up with Anneliese in NH, and it's a beeline to the Green Mountain state.
As we approach Amee Farm(the venue), I'm reminded of the Death Race I'd done there a few months prior. Lifting a 50 pound bucket of sand and wood up and down the mountain, in the snow, with no snowshoes, had given me tendonitis that took forever to shake..
Now, here I was, getting ready to go up and down that same mountain 10 times for a grand total of 100 miles.
Whenever you get an injury somewhere, it's always in the back of your mind.
We arrive at the farm and chill with Andy for a few minutes, enjoying an epic cow battle.
Andy informs us that the farmer actually lives with the cows. Apparently, this guy was hiking the Appalachian Trail, was picked up in this town last November, and just never left. I love it.
Leaving the farm, we snag some food, and drive up the dirt road(four-wheeling in the football) to Mile 5, where we set up camp.
For May, it is COLD, and we are on a mountain, so it's even colder where we are than at the Farm.
The 150 and 200 had started the day before, and throughout the night, the racers walk past our tents.
Even though I know whats going on and can completely understand, I am selfishly frustrated by the amount of noise their crew makes as they cheer and chat with the racers. It's impossible to sleep.
A few days before the race, I'd been sick, and tonight i'm really hoping for one last good night of sleep before running for 24+ hours. No avail.
I spend the night freezing in my tent, and wake up at 5am on race day to a sore throat and annoying cough. It's pouring, and 40 degrees.
Forecast is to be mid 40s all day, pouring rain and snow showers.
Before I know it, it's 5 minutes until race time. For the first time ever in my life, I'm not excited to be at a race.
1 minute to start, and not one person is within 20 feet of the starting line, which is hilarious. At anything shorter than 50k, you'll find ninnies at the line 20 minutes before, doing sprints or stretches, fixing their shoes, and sizing up the competition by looking at their legs. I can't stand that. This is why I love Ultras. People are REAL.
After a few jokes from Andy about how noone wants to start, we're off.
It'll be a 6 mile climb to the top of the mountain, then a rolling descent of 4 miles back to the farm.
The course is soft from all the rain, and the field quickly thins out.
I couldn't find a free bathroom before the start, so I hit the Port-a-Potty at mile 5. Sperv and Annelieseare there, and have already tapped the Longtrail Keg. It's 6:45am.
Not much of the last mile to the top of the mountain is runnable, and there's a really cool section called the Labyrinth- a section of woods with really thick evergreens. You almost need a headlamp during the day there. After you break out of the Labyrinth, you're standing on top of the mountain with a great view of the Green mountains...but I don't waste any time admiring the view.
The descent is already super muddy. I run behind a couple veterans from NH who say the course is similar to the Muddy Moose, a ridiculously muddy 14 mile trail run in their home state. At any rate, it certainly doesn't make the descent any easier, as it's dangerous to go to fast, yet slippery if you try to hold yourself back.
Back at Amee farm, 10 miles is done. I treat the small crowd to a little "running man" dance, grab some food, and head back out on the course. I feel pretty good, but it is POURING.
At mile 15, Sperv and Anneliese are there helping serve the racers noodles and sandwiches, and coffee for me. Perfect.... I didn't have enough before the race. I run the last 5 miles of the lap, loving life with a nice little buzz. The buzz has a side effect, though, and I stop at the top of the mountain to pee. A racer walks by and says, "bad kharma to pee on top of the mountain!". Maybe I should've listened!
Mile 20, and the running man comes out again. Andy Asks if I'm going to do it after every lap. "Definitely", I yell.. but inside, I'm kinda feeling like junk.
On the course for my 3rd lap, the course is absolutely trashed. Most of the trail is barely runnable, with mud shin deep or worse. I'm not mentally strong today, and it's starting to really piss me off every time I lose my shoe or almost fall on my ass.
At mile 25, I eat some ramen noodles and cookies, and try to pump myself up mentally.
"How's it going to feel in Mexico?", I ask myself..It's a statement that usually makes me suck it up, but today it's just not there.
My legs don't even feel energized. Normally, around mile 25 is when I'm in a euphoric state. Around that time, endorphins are kicking in, but there's not enough fatigue to be mentally drained. Something's up.
I've been hacking stuff up the whole race, and my knee has a small twinge on the side from the relentless downhills.
I climb to the top of the mountain from mile 25, through the Labyrinth, chatting it up with a 200er. He's suprisingly alert for having run so many hours. I really want to do that race next year.
I come back to the farm, get a couple of burgers and sit by the fire. I'm cold and feeling like 100%, Grade A crap.
I don't want to tell Sperv, Anneliese, or Andy that I'm thinking about dropping. It's a humiliating, humbling, awful thing to have to say, but I say it anyways.
They convince me to go another lap, and I reluctantly set out. 10 minutes down the trail, and I know that its over, but I stick it out until 35. It proves to be a very motivating and educational last 5 miles.
I've all but given up, so I drastically slow my pace to mull things over why this day turned out the way it did. The 200 leader comes up behind me with his entourage, and he is on a different planet. A Lala land, if you will, of uncomfortable pain.
He's got 3 guys ahead of him, yelling to him the details of the trail and what he needs to do("run this part", "watch out for this root", etc.) One guy is behind him, hand on his lower back, making sure he doesn't fall over, and talking him up. Every so often, he complains about the mud, and you can hear the physical emotional stress in his voice.
He's at mile 175 and looking good. Badass.
At mile 35, I pull the plug, and spend the rest of the day drinking Long Trail, helping the racers, and watching storm after storm blast us with rain, hail, and snow. I had a great time being on the other end of things...getting food and gels for people.
CONCLUSION
File it under "unceremonious long workout".
I went in with not much expectation, at last minute, and unfortunately did not come out the way I wanted. I'm not mad or upset.
I just wasn't up to the challenge.
On a positive note, I am structurally sound, and raring to go now.
Those last five miles behind Ryan reminded me that I have a lot of work to do, for I will be in those same shoes in 6 months...out of it, mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other, and hoping to make it mile after mile.
Thanks for reading!
krp
I'm up early, gathering all my race gear for tomorrow's event, the McNaughton 100. It'll be my first attempt at running 100 miles.
My tiny apartment looks like hell, and the clutter of backpacks, bottles, shoes, and random gear piled in the middle of the floor makes it look worse than usual.
The phone vibrates on the counter. Sperv's text: "Don't hurry, I'm running late."
She's hungover.
Awesome. Now I can make fun of her for 6 hours in a cramped space.
She cannot get away
A few hours later, I meet her in Bangor, and we start our long drive to VT in her 40 miles-per-gallon, football-resembling car.
In Waterville, we stop for gas and a bathroom break. I come out of the bathroom just in time to walk by Sperv, paying for a hot dog at the counter. The guy getting rung up next to her looks at her, then the hot dog, and says:"you feelin' lucky tonight?"...I walk out and die laughing.
We hook up with Anneliese in NH, and it's a beeline to the Green Mountain state.
As we approach Amee Farm(the venue), I'm reminded of the Death Race I'd done there a few months prior. Lifting a 50 pound bucket of sand and wood up and down the mountain, in the snow, with no snowshoes, had given me tendonitis that took forever to shake..
Now, here I was, getting ready to go up and down that same mountain 10 times for a grand total of 100 miles.
Whenever you get an injury somewhere, it's always in the back of your mind.
We arrive at the farm and chill with Andy for a few minutes, enjoying an epic cow battle.
Andy informs us that the farmer actually lives with the cows. Apparently, this guy was hiking the Appalachian Trail, was picked up in this town last November, and just never left. I love it.
Leaving the farm, we snag some food, and drive up the dirt road(four-wheeling in the football) to Mile 5, where we set up camp.
For May, it is COLD, and we are on a mountain, so it's even colder where we are than at the Farm.
The 150 and 200 had started the day before, and throughout the night, the racers walk past our tents.
Even though I know whats going on and can completely understand, I am selfishly frustrated by the amount of noise their crew makes as they cheer and chat with the racers. It's impossible to sleep.
A few days before the race, I'd been sick, and tonight i'm really hoping for one last good night of sleep before running for 24+ hours. No avail.
I spend the night freezing in my tent, and wake up at 5am on race day to a sore throat and annoying cough. It's pouring, and 40 degrees.
Forecast is to be mid 40s all day, pouring rain and snow showers.
Before I know it, it's 5 minutes until race time. For the first time ever in my life, I'm not excited to be at a race.
1 minute to start, and not one person is within 20 feet of the starting line, which is hilarious. At anything shorter than 50k, you'll find ninnies at the line 20 minutes before, doing sprints or stretches, fixing their shoes, and sizing up the competition by looking at their legs. I can't stand that. This is why I love Ultras. People are REAL.
After a few jokes from Andy about how noone wants to start, we're off.
It'll be a 6 mile climb to the top of the mountain, then a rolling descent of 4 miles back to the farm.
The course is soft from all the rain, and the field quickly thins out.
I couldn't find a free bathroom before the start, so I hit the Port-a-Potty at mile 5. Sperv and Annelieseare there, and have already tapped the Longtrail Keg. It's 6:45am.
Not much of the last mile to the top of the mountain is runnable, and there's a really cool section called the Labyrinth- a section of woods with really thick evergreens. You almost need a headlamp during the day there. After you break out of the Labyrinth, you're standing on top of the mountain with a great view of the Green mountains...but I don't waste any time admiring the view.
The descent is already super muddy. I run behind a couple veterans from NH who say the course is similar to the Muddy Moose, a ridiculously muddy 14 mile trail run in their home state. At any rate, it certainly doesn't make the descent any easier, as it's dangerous to go to fast, yet slippery if you try to hold yourself back.
Back at Amee farm, 10 miles is done. I treat the small crowd to a little "running man" dance, grab some food, and head back out on the course. I feel pretty good, but it is POURING.
At mile 15, Sperv and Anneliese are there helping serve the racers noodles and sandwiches, and coffee for me. Perfect.... I didn't have enough before the race. I run the last 5 miles of the lap, loving life with a nice little buzz. The buzz has a side effect, though, and I stop at the top of the mountain to pee. A racer walks by and says, "bad kharma to pee on top of the mountain!". Maybe I should've listened!
Mile 20, and the running man comes out again. Andy Asks if I'm going to do it after every lap. "Definitely", I yell.. but inside, I'm kinda feeling like junk.
On the course for my 3rd lap, the course is absolutely trashed. Most of the trail is barely runnable, with mud shin deep or worse. I'm not mentally strong today, and it's starting to really piss me off every time I lose my shoe or almost fall on my ass.
At mile 25, I eat some ramen noodles and cookies, and try to pump myself up mentally.
"How's it going to feel in Mexico?", I ask myself..It's a statement that usually makes me suck it up, but today it's just not there.
My legs don't even feel energized. Normally, around mile 25 is when I'm in a euphoric state. Around that time, endorphins are kicking in, but there's not enough fatigue to be mentally drained. Something's up.
I've been hacking stuff up the whole race, and my knee has a small twinge on the side from the relentless downhills.
I climb to the top of the mountain from mile 25, through the Labyrinth, chatting it up with a 200er. He's suprisingly alert for having run so many hours. I really want to do that race next year.
I come back to the farm, get a couple of burgers and sit by the fire. I'm cold and feeling like 100%, Grade A crap.
I don't want to tell Sperv, Anneliese, or Andy that I'm thinking about dropping. It's a humiliating, humbling, awful thing to have to say, but I say it anyways.
They convince me to go another lap, and I reluctantly set out. 10 minutes down the trail, and I know that its over, but I stick it out until 35. It proves to be a very motivating and educational last 5 miles.
I've all but given up, so I drastically slow my pace to mull things over why this day turned out the way it did. The 200 leader comes up behind me with his entourage, and he is on a different planet. A Lala land, if you will, of uncomfortable pain.
He's got 3 guys ahead of him, yelling to him the details of the trail and what he needs to do("run this part", "watch out for this root", etc.) One guy is behind him, hand on his lower back, making sure he doesn't fall over, and talking him up. Every so often, he complains about the mud, and you can hear the physical emotional stress in his voice.
He's at mile 175 and looking good. Badass.
At mile 35, I pull the plug, and spend the rest of the day drinking Long Trail, helping the racers, and watching storm after storm blast us with rain, hail, and snow. I had a great time being on the other end of things...getting food and gels for people.
CONCLUSION
File it under "unceremonious long workout".
I went in with not much expectation, at last minute, and unfortunately did not come out the way I wanted. I'm not mad or upset.
I just wasn't up to the challenge.
On a positive note, I am structurally sound, and raring to go now.
Those last five miles behind Ryan reminded me that I have a lot of work to do, for I will be in those same shoes in 6 months...out of it, mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other, and hoping to make it mile after mile.
Thanks for reading!
krp
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