6/21/08 Mount Washington Road Race - NEW!
For the last twelve months my training has been focused on one goal; doing well at the Mount Washington Road Race. This year, the 7.6 mile race, climbing Mt. Washington's Auto Road to the 6,288 foot summit, was serving as the National Mtn. Running Championships. The top 4 finishers in the race would make the US Mtn. Running Team and travel to Switzerland for the World Trophy Race.
After lengthy talks with the producers of the Food Network show, they decided to shoot the Mt. Washington race as the big finale to the show. Their romantic vision included me winning the race and being crowned National Champion. Despite my best efforts to inform them that I was in NO such shape, and that I was hoping for a top 15 performance, they would counter with "stop being so modest", or "don't sell yourself short". Needless to say, the pressure for me to perform was HIGH.
To keep the production of the show within budget, they wanted to group much of the filming into one weekend. This action packed adventure was to include filming me training in Central Park Friday morning, a lecture in NYC on Friday night (my first talk in New York, and we had 9 days to find a place and fill it with people - thanks Tera and Guy Goldmeer), filming on my family's farm in Vermont on Saturday morning, a five hour drive to New Hampshire Saturday afternoon, then up at 6am Sunday morning to begin filming for the race... oh, and then I had to run up a mountain 6,288 feet high.
By the time I got to New Hampshire I was run ragged. My nerves were shot, so I had a small salad for dinner, thinking that it would help me to sleep better with less food in my stomach. Upon waking Sunday morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 6am and had a small smoothie. I hadn't slept much and my stomach was in knots.
The camera crew attracted quite a lot of attention as I walked around the registration tent and said hello to other racers that I knew. There were pointed fingers, whispers, and the usual comments about the "raw food guy" as I passed. Many people had seen my video of last year's race online, and quite a few had even browsed around my site. The race director, Bob Teschek had given permission to the camera crew to film the race, and he had spilled the beans to many of the participants that they might be on TV. A few people that I knew only as acquaintances, greeted me like old friends in front of the cameras, offering hugs and well wishes. It was all quite unsettling.
Dave Dunham invited me to do a warmup with the Central Mass. Striders, 45 minutes before the start, but we were in the middle of filming, so I declined. I was hoping that we'd be done in a minute so I could get a good warmup. Before I knew it, there were only 10 minutes remaining till the start and I was still blabbing away on camera.
I hurried to the start line and worked my way into position near the front. The cameraman approached me and told me to get on the front line. I informed him that I didn't plan to start that fast and was going to let the rabbits get out quickly. He told me that it will look much better on camera if I'm in the front line. So I worked my way up and took position. A few of the other racers shot me looks. Yeah, yeah... not only I am the freaky raw food guy, but now I think I'm somebody special.
The race director approached the crowd to give us our instructions, which were quite sparse. "Relax, there is only one hill", he said and the crowd laughed. Next he informed us that we were to begin at the sound of the cannon. I thought nothing of it. Then moments later a CANNON went off and I jumped backwards instead of forward. I think I might have let out a little squeak at the same time, which was caught on the mic wired to my chest. As it turns out, the cameraman was standing right next to the cannon when it went off and he jumped farther than I did... I can't wait to see that footage.
With Dave Dunham as my pacer, I set off to a comfortable pace. We were about 30 seconds behind the lead pack at the mile and feeling comfortable, but I was going quite a bit faster than I had intended. This race is not won in the first few miles, but in the last few, where it feels like the whole World is crashing down on you. My goal time for the race was an hour and nine minutes, which was an average pace of 9 minute miles. We were under 8 minutes for the first mile, which was too fast. All the guys I had hoped to be close to in the race were either right in front of or right behind me, so I kept the pace. Mile 2 was an 8:16, still too fast. When I hit mile 3, something didn't feel right. I couldn't place the feeling, but I knew that something was wrong. At the half way point, I had slowed down, hoping to regain my strength, but it didn't work. Mile 4 was even slower than 3. Thirteen people passed me. I slowed down even more, hoping for a second wind in the later stages of the race. Mile 5 took forever. My legs were extremely weak, and I was becoming light headed and nauseous. Over 25 people had passed me. Mile 6 had me seriously considering dropping out of the race. I could barely move my legs. I was now walking 50% of the time, and my run looked more like a shuffle. 40 more people passed. My head was swimming as I worked toward my seventh mile. The pain in my legs was so severe that I could barely take 5 steps without needing to stop. It was difficult to focus my eyes, and my mind's eye didn't feel like it was attached to my body anymore. I was floating. There were points where I'd stop and just stand in the middle of the road, not knowing how I was going to take another step. Mile 7 clicked by like a dream. A bad dream. Spectators were beginning to appear along the road. There was only six tenths of a mile to go. To me that seemed like a thousand miles. I honestly didn't think I could make it. Then I remembered something. I was being filmed. This race was going to be on national TV.
DNF next to someone's name on a result sheet usually signifies Did Not Finish. But America was watching and if there was going to be any DNF next to my name it was going to stand for Did Not Fail.
I somehow managed to turn my wobbly walk into a hurried hobble. Somewhere in this dream state, my name was being called. Over and over again it rang out "go tim!". It took me a while to realize that a man was standing on the side of the road cheering for me. I stared at him as I slowly moved by, I wasn't sure who he was until I was about 5 feet away. My brain suddenly awoke to the realization that this was Sean, one of my friends and former students. I wondered what he was doing there as I stumbled past. The next four tenths of a mile are a blank. I became conscious again on a very steep section lined with screaming people. Someone had spanked me in the butt as they went by. It was another friend and former student of mine Mike. He said "come on Tim!" and tried to pull me along. I looked up and realized that I was only 50 meters away from the finish line. I could see the camera ahead filming me. I was embarrassed, mortified, defeated. I dragged myself as quickly as possible to the finish line where I collapsed into the arms of two EMT's who had seen me coming and jumped into action. They kept asking me questions, like "What's your name?", over and over again. Then they injected me with glucose. My eyes rolled back into my head and I collapsed into their arms. The camera caught it all, and there was nothing I could do about it. I looked like a fool. A shining example to America that raw food does NOT work for extreme athletic endeavor. At least that's what I thought they would be thinking when editing the story. It turns out that I had a pretty serious case of hypoglycemia. I had not eaten enough the day before or morning of. I had made a fatal error.
The next day, while preparing a huge raw feast for my family and friends (also to be filmed), the producers of the show told me not to worry about the disastrous results of the day before, they said it will make a great ending for "act II" of the show. Let's just hope that the hero in this story can rise up in act III.
6/7/08 Northfield Mtn. Race - New England Trail Running Championships - NEW!
As the Mt. Washington race looms ominously on the horizon only two weeks away, I've been a bit nervous about my readiness for the event. Although I have been training more these last few months than at any time during this journey, my legs just haven't felt fresh and fast in quite some time. Both the Wachusett Mtn. and Whiteface Mtn. races left me feeling less than prepared as my legs gave out in both races long before my lungs did. Perhaps it's a factor of my heavy training load combined with the lack of tapering in my training leading up to these races. Whatever the case, I was excited to test my mettle against New England's best at Northfield Mountain. Dave Dunham invited me down the day before the race to help him mark the course. I saw it as an opportunity to familiarize myself with the terrain and get a little home field advantage.
On a short warmup with Dave, he pointed out all the hotshot runners that were in attendance. There was Mark Miller who has run a 14:00 5k earlier this year, Ryan Carrara who won the Wachusett Mtn. Race two weeks prior and was second at the New Bedford Half Marathon in a time of 1:08:07. Josh Ferenc, a 30:00 10k runner and 3rd place finisher at last year's US Mtn. Running Championships. Erik Nedeau a sub 4 minute miler... yeah, you heard right. Justin Fyffe 2nd place at the Pack Monadnock 10 miler. Ben Nephew, one of the top trail and mountain runners in New England for the past 10 years. Greg Hammett, a former college standout who is still laying down some very fast times. Jim Pawlicki, 2nd place at the XTERRA Merrimack River Trail Race. Todd Callaghan, one of New England's best and most consistent trail runners. Jason Bryant from the mountains of North Carolina, who is one of the top mountain runners in the country and a member of the La Sportiva team. Then of course there is Dave himself, who is now one of the nation's top masters racers.
For those of you that follow my blogs and videos regularly, you might have noticed that I have a tendency to go out too hard in most races and then pay the price later on. This is not a habit that I want to continue, so when the gun sounded I let the lead pack take off. I have been logging heart rate data for all my races over the past two years and have noticed a trend: If I get my heart rate into the 170's in the first half mile I will have poor results, but if I can keep my heart rate in the mid to high 160's I will avoid bonking later in the race. So when Dave Dunham pulled up next to me in the first quarter mile (Dave is my barometer for proper race pacing), I looked at my watch and saw that I was in the low 160's. This was a perfect start for me and I even had some room to speed up if I wanted to... and I did.
At the half mile point I made a move on Ben Nephew and Jim Pawlicki (both great mountain runners, whom I've never beaten), and quickly gapped them. When I hit the one mile mark, my watch read 5:25, which is fast for the first mile of a 10.3k mountain race, but my heart rate was only at 168. I was feeling good. The course began to climb more substantially in the second mile, but I kept a swift pace and passed two more runners. Although the leaders, Mark Miller and Ryan Carrara were moving farther ahead with every step, I was gaining ground on the other racers in front of me.
My watch read 6:14 at the 2 mile mark. A moment later, my heart rate read 176 as I pulled up alongside Josh Ferenc. I was surprised that he had fallen away from the leaders, and even more surprised that I was now running at his side and about to pass him. We hit a very steep climb at around 2.5 miles and Josh had had enough of my brazenness and picked up the pace. I didn't want to risk redlining, so I let him go. Greg Hammett was not far ahead and I set my sights on catching up to him on the climb.
The 3rd mile was the hardest, with several hundred of feet of climbing coming in waves of steep ascents. Even though my heart rate was a perfect 176 and my breathing was quite relaxed, my legs were beginning to tire. I clocked 7:34 for the 3rd mile and was 10 seconds behind Greg and now 20 behind Josh. The final .7 miles of climbing were more than I could comfortably handle. My legs were now complaining loudly and my pace was slowing. Greg and Josh were moving farther ahead and I could hear Jim Pawlicki and Todd Callaghan moving up on me.
My goal for this race was to make it to the top of the mountain in a good position (which I had done), and then take advantage of my crazy downhill running skills for the remainder of the race to make up ground on a few of the runners in front of me. As I headed towards the 4 mile mark I was moving quickly, but on wobbly legs and Jim and Todd were rapidly closing in on me. Even though we had reached the top of the mountain, there were a few more ups to accompany the downs in the final 2.7 miles.
My legs were feeling better as began the 5th mile. Greg Hammett was now far enough ahead that I could no longer see him, and Todd was right on my heels, with Jim not far behind. I let loose on the downhill, and invited gravity to take my body down the mountain at a reckless speed. The trail was smooth dirt so I wasn't worried about tripping on rocks or roots. Todd was matching my stride, so I leaned forward and amped it up another notch. I could feel the toll that the quad shredding downhill pace was having on my legs, I hoped I would have enough for the last few uphills before the finish. I clocked 4:45 for mile 5.
With 3/4 of a mile to go we came out of the woods and began to run down the power lines. In the distance I could now see Ryan Cararra and Mark Miller fighting it out for the lead, Erik Nedeau solidly in 3rd place, Justin Fyffe in 4th, Josh Ferenc in 5th, and surprisingly Greg Hammett a lot closer to me than I thought in 6th. We had made up a lot of ground on him on the steep downhills. The power lines featured lots of rolling ups and downs where one could accelerate, which is what I did. I wanted to catch Greg, and I was going to lay it all on the line to do so. Todd had his sights set on me and shot past me on one of the short ups. I then passed him on the next down. This cat and mouse game went on for half a mile as we switched positions and pushed each other along.
When we hit 6 miles we were at the bottom of a steep hill that rose some 30+ feet. From my memory of the course the day before, this was the final uphill before the gradual downhill to the finish. I was determined to catch Greg, so I rocketed up the hill leaving Todd quickly behind. I moved within 10 yards of Greg as I summited the hill, but I was not greeted with a friendly view from the top. One hundred meters away lie the last hill of the race, and it was longer and steeper than the hill I had just spent my last drops of glycogen on. I was broken. My pace slowed, my stomach turned, and my legs wobbled. Todd quickly caught me and moved by. Greg was moving farther ahead now as well, and my chances of reeling him in were gone. I crested the hill and did my best to keep a strong pace to the line. Somehow I managed to stay within 3 seconds of Todd at the finish. I crossed in 8th place in a time of 38:25. More importantly, I had won the title of New England Trail Running Champion in the Master's division and as Dave Dumham informed me a bit later, I had broken the master's course record by an amazing 57 seconds. I can't wait to see what I can do on fresh legs at the National Championships on Mt. Washington.
See the video for the Northfield Mountain Race HERE.
6/4/08 High Rock to Indian Chair Race - NEW!
Although it had only been 3 days since my race up Whiteface Mtn., When Josh Merlis of the Albany Running Exchange invited me check out a trail race in the Catskill Mountains of New York I couldn't say no. Growing up in Southern Vermont, the Catskills had always held a magical lure for me. It was the place of legends. The headless horseman of Sleepy Hollow, Rip Van Winkle, The Mohawk Indians and many others. This area is only an hour and a half from my childhood home, but I had never spent any time there.
It was also an opportunity to meet ultra running legend Dick Vincent, who was hosting the race at his house atop a cliff overlooking the Hudson River Valley. Dick is also the director of the infamous Escarpment Trail Run which is reputed to be one of the most dangerous and challenging races in the U.S.
As we all stood there bouncing around at the start receiving our directions, the race director informed us that this was black bear habitat and that we should be on the lookout to avoid close encounters. The racer to my left informed me that they had seen two bears at the very start of the race last year.
I decided to bring a camera along in the race to document the challenging nature of the course, and perhaps catch a bear in action. When the starter yelled "go" I took a mid-pack position and filmed the racers around me as we got underway. After a few minutes I picked up the pace. Josh had informed me that the course climbed over 1,300 feet in 2.25 miles, but the first 3/4 of a mile was relatively flat, meaning that the bulk of the climb would take place in 1.5 miles - a much steeper climb than I had anticipated.
The trail was a narrow single track over slippery rocks and wet leaves. Every step was treacherous. Fallen logs across the trail made the going even more dangerous. I was pushing the pace hard, using this race as a hard effort in attempt to peak for Mt. Washington in a few weeks time.
As I neared the summit I could see someone moving on the trail ahead of me. I thought they must be trying to beat me to the finish to take pictures. I was surprised at how quickly they were moving as my best effort could not catch them. It wasn't until I burst onto the summit finding myself all alone that I realized that the person dressed in black, was no person at all, but a black bear that I had been chasing for two hundred meters.
I caught my breath standing on a cliff overlooking the valley below. The view of the Catskills and the Hudson Valley were breathtaking. It had been quite some time that I had been standing there and yet no one else had come to the finish yet. For a moment I thought I must have taken a wrong turn and was now lost. Eventually, the next runner came in, and then another and another. We all sat around sharing trail stories and taking turns sitting in the giant stone chairs that someone had carefully made near the cliff's edge many years ago.
Upon returning to Dick Vincent's house for post race refreshments and awards I was informed that I had broken the course record. Next year I'll have to take the start more seriously and leave the camera behind.
Dick's announcement of my course record, and my Running Raw jacket brought an onslaught of questions. I was more than happy to share my experience with raw foods. As it turned out, a few people in attendance had tried a raw diet, and there were a few vegans on hand as well. Overall, the crowd was quite receptive to my sharing. Even Josh Merlis became a little curious on the ride home.
When the van arrived back in Albany, I took Josh shopping for an evening snack. He told me that he had never shopped in the produce aisle before. Well, it wasn't long before I had him eating guacamole and carrot sticks, chased down by some grapes and nectarines... baby steps, baby steps.
See the video for the High Rock Race HERE.
6/1/08 Whiteface Mtn. Foot Race
June 1st was a busy day for racing in the Northeast. Among the numerous events being contested were the New England 5k Road Championships in Rhode Island, the Pack Monadnock 10 miler (the 2nd race in the LaSportiva Mtn. Cup Series) in New Hampshire and the Whiteface Mtn. Uphill Foot Race in New York. I wanted to do all three, but I haven't yet mastered the art of co-location so I had to chose. After consulting with my friend and "mentor" Dave Dunham, I decided to head to the Adirondacks of NY to race up Whiteface. Dave told me that this race would be great preparation for Mt. Washington. Whiteface is an 8 mile race, whereas Mt. Washington is 7.6 miles. Whiteface has a constant grade of 8% climb, and Washington averages 11% grade. The Whiteface race has been described as a medium Mt. Washington. This race would be more a test of my mental readiness for the big W than of my physical readiness. Last year at the Mt. Washington race I started way too fast and was crumpled in a vomiting heap by the 3rd mile. Mountain races are very different than regular road races; a pace that seems comfortable for the first mile can ruin you by the second mile. It's about pacing, patience and staying far away from redlining. Then there's the issue of pain management, you can't forget that part - are you tough enough to endure intense, unending pain for an hour or more? Whiteface was my chance to find out.
The day before the race, I drove to Montreal to pick up Tera Warner, my new partner in the Running Raw Project. For those of you that don't know Tera yet, she is a voice for empowering women with raw foods on her site www.therawdivas.com. But more importantly she is a ball of red-headed energy that would cheer me on and film me as I came across the finish line.
Whiteface Mountain, in Wilmington, NY is 4,867' high, ranking it as the 5th highest mountain in New York State. The mountain gained international fame in 1980 when it hosted the alpine skiing events of the Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, NY. So it is only fitting that for the last few years, this race has been dominated by 2 time Olympian Duncan Douglas. Duncan has been one of the top athletes in the US for cross country skiing and biathlon since the late 80's and has won numerous national championships. He's as tough as they get, and this was his home turf.
The field of athletes assembled on the starting line was intimidating. There were many top athletes from around the Northeast. Also of note on the line was 2 time Olympic Marathon trials qualifier Mike Slinskey. Mike's PR for the marathon is 2:15.
From the start line we could see dark ominous clouds enveloping the summit several thousand feet above us. It could get real nasty up there and I was concerned about what we might face above tree line.
The first mile found Duncan, Mike and myself all running comfortably at 7:30/mile pace and leaving the rest of the pack behind. The next two miles found the three of us pulling even farther ahead. I was feeling good. My heart rate was low and my breathing was comfortable, so I decided to make a move. Duncan matched my move and then some. He picked up the pace significantly. It was more than I was willing to commit to at this early stage so I let him pull away. Mike was drifting farther back. I thought Duncan might eventually tire of the new pace and I'd reel him in, so I stayed where I was in a solid second place slot.
There is a saying about the best laid plans... well, my legs had other plans for me on this day. Somewhere around the mile 5 mark, they gave out. Even though my heart rate and breathing were still comfortable, my legs had just had enough. I struggled to keep the pace for another half mile and then backed off. By mile 6 Duncan had moved well ahead, there was no catching him. The temperature had dropped quite a bit and I was getting cold. The wind was picking up. My legs were getting weaker and weaker with each step. Mile 7 came much too slowly and brought with it the sound of Mike Slinskey's feet pattering the pavement right behind me. As he passed we introduced each other and shared a moment to talk about the intense wind that was picking up and how cold it was getting. Then he pulled away. I tried to stay with him, but he was edging ever so slowly ahead of me and there was nothing I could do about it.
With half a mile to go the wind above tree line was blowing so intensely (50mph gusts) that I felt like I was being pushed backwards and making no progress at all. The temperature had plummeted into the 30's and my hands were stinging cold. My back began to spasm from the cold as well. Mike had disappeared into the fog ahead of me. It was the detoughest, coldest, longest half mile I've ever run. Then out of the fog a finish line appeared, and cheers could be heard above the screeching of the wind. I was done.
As I warmed myself and re-fueled in the stone castle on top of the mountain, I could see Duncan, outside on the summit platform still in his wet race t-shirt embracing the wind. There are few like him in the world.
My main source of post race fuel was a HUGE bag of sprouted buckwheat granola that I had made the day before. When Duncan came in from the cold I offered some to him. He was skeptical at first, but quickly found it to his liking. After a long conversation with him about diet and performance, I looked down to see that the bag was empty. Perhaps I've planted another seed.
I was not the only one on the mountain today spreading the word of raw power. Lauren Warren (who I've blogged about before) finished 2nd in the women's field and helped to solidify the raw vegan presence at this event.
As we all sat around talking about our trials on the mountain, Tera whipped out a box of her homemade chocolate lime balls... wow!! They were a hit... you'll have to go to her site and get the recipe.
Reflecting on the race on the drive home, I'm not sure what caused the weakness in my legs. Was it lack of mountain training? Improper pre-race fueling? The cold? Or just a bad day. Whatever the case, I hope I can address the situation before Mt. Washington arrives. To lose my legs there would be disastrous.
See the video for the Whiteface Mountain Race HERE.
And you can access interviews with Lauren and myself HERE
5/04/08 The Bennington Road Race
Although I cannot remember the bulk of my life (a result of years of depression perhaps) there are a few conversations that have stayed in my memory as clearly as the day they occurred. One such dialog took place at a high school track meet in 1984. My coach Steve Zemianek took me aside after a race and in a stern tone uttered the question; "Van Orden, when are you going to get serious?". It wasn't that I had done poorly in the race that caused him to single me out, but the opposite. I had done done quite well and really surprised him. He saw potential in me and challenged me to rise up to meet it. Coach Zem remains one of the most inspirational figures of my life. Were he alive today he might see that 24 years after he uttered those immortal words, I've finally gotten serious.
One of Zem's great legacies in my home town of Bennington, VT is the annual Bennington Road Race, held on the first Sunday of May. The race is a celebration of the end of a long Vermont winter and the beginning of a lush and vibrant spring. For over three decades this race has attracted many of the best runners in the northeast who want to challenge themselves on one of the prettiest courses anywhere in the U.S. Since his passing in 2000, the race has been held in honor of coach Zem to remember and celebrate his contributions to the thriving running community in Bennington. Three of my team mates on Zem's miracle team in the mid 80's have gone on to great national and international success. Dave Jareckie competed in the 1992 and 1994 Olympics, Lincoln DeWitt competed in the 2002 Olympics and Chris Lundy has competed in two Olympic trials (including 2008) and has been on many national teams competing at the world championships. Then there's me. I guess it took a lot longer for Zem's advice and coaching to sink in, but it has, and I'm grateful.
It was 5:15AM when I awoke Sunday morning on the 4th of May 2008. I was 40 years old. The previous two nights and days had been spent "partying" and celebrating my 40th birthday in New York City with the amazing raw community there. The "thin mint sundae" that I had consumed at 11:00PM at Pure Food and Wine the night before was doing the cha cha in my intestines, and my groggy eyes did not want to open. It's a 3 hour drive from New York City to Bennington so I figured that we would have to leave at 5:30 in order to make it to the race. The first race of my 40's. The first race for me to show my hometown just how serious I had become.
The Bennington Banner, the local newspaper, had come to my house a week earlier to do a story on the Running Raw Project. I was very surprised when they had called me, as Bennington is a very conservative town (by Vermont standards). The reporter wanted to do a run with me and then film me making some food. I had thought that it might end up as a little blurb in the sports section of the paper but it turned out to be front page news, and consumed almost all of the print real estate on page one. I was shocked, and I must say a little embarrassed, but at the same time grateful that I had been given such a large voice in my community. This issue of the paper came out just a few days before the race, and I was hoping that the race would be a great opportunity to demonstrate the power of a simple raw diet to my community.
When I arrived at the race, which takes place on the grounds of the former Governor's mansion (now a park), there were smiling familiar faces everywhere. I have spent the vast majority of my 6 months in VT running alone in the woods or working at home on the computer. My interaction with the community has been minimal and this grand celebration of spring and sprint felt like my "coming out" party. I was worried that I might be perceived as a freak after the article in the paper ran, but the cheerful greetings and questions that I was being bombarded with told a different story. Aside from the usual questions about protein, calories and "what do you eat?", the general consensus among my inquisitors was that it made sense. Vermonters are very practical people and can appreciate the benefits of eating a simple more natural diet.
Race psychology is a strange phenomenon. As I warmed up and shared greetings with friends and runners from years gone by, my mind was still focused on that thin mint sundae, my lack of sleep for the two previous nights, and the cramped quarters on the drive up from the city that morning. The outer calm that I displayed was in direct contrast to the fear that I was going to look like a fool in front of my hometown crowd. My brain told me that they were expecting big things from the raw vegan bold enough to be a front page news story. The pressure was intense. Had the race been held elsewhere I might have choked, but the bright green tunnel formed by the stately old maple trees lining the dirt road and the perfectly placed stones of the old stone wall in between the trees touched a relaxing chord somewhere deeper in me. This was home, I was safe. But more importantly I was running to honor coach Zem, not for my own personal ego.
As the race began I found myself immediately in the lead and feeling surprisingly swift. After a few hundred meters a man pulled up to my side. I said hello and we began to converse. His name was Greg and he worked as a registered nurse at the local hospital. I could feel that it was a quick pace, but Greg seemed comfortable and I was excited not to be running alone. The conversation was still going strong as we hit the first mile in 4:50. Ahead of us stretched a quarter mile long hill that climbed quite steeply. I kept the pace going strong as I charged up the hill, Greg could not maintain the pace and fell back. I offered a "good luck" and ended the conversation. I would run alone until the finish. The clock read 19:50 as I broke the tape and crossed the line. It would be the first time that a local runner had broken the 20 minute mark on this hilly 3.8 mile course. Congratulations poured in accompanied with comments about my diet. One woman offered "Whatever it is that you are eating, it seems to be working". The day continued with many wonderful conversations with friends old and new. I can only hope that a seed has been planted in the town of Bennington, VT, and I can't wait to see how it grows in the times to come.
This is the story that appeared in the Bennington Banner the following day: http://www.benningtonbanner.com/ci_9156067
Click HERE to see the Video.
Although the 62 storey Aon Center race was a grueling affair, it only lasted a little over 8 minutes. Since I don't have a coach, I find it hard to push myself to the limit on my own, so I do a race as my hard workout for the week. So the following day I went hunting for a fast 5k to compete in. One of the things I love about L.A. is the abundance of races every weekend throughout the year. With plenty of races to choose from I picked a celebrity studded 5k in Century City (L.A.'s other downtown, adjacent to Beverly Hills).
At 9:50AM it was already 86 degrees and climbing. I don't do well in the heat and there was not a spot of shade anywhere on this hilly course, so I reminded myself that this was only a workout and not a race to be taken seriously. As I warmed up I felt surprisingly light and swift considering I had raced up a building the day before. Many of the top local latino racers were on hand and it was intimidating to watch them do their warmup strides. I was certain they would dominate this race.
This event was a fundraiser for the Children's Cancer Research Fund, so naturally there were a LOT of children gathering at the start line. I stepped right to the line to get a good position and not trample any children, but i was quickly standing in the 10th row as children began to amass in front of me and the start line. The race organizers asked the children to step back to the line, but they did no such thing. They were caught up in the moment and the fun of getting to run a race. For a brief moment I remembered when I used to think racing was fun. But those days are long gone, for it's serious business now. I laughed at myself on the inside and looked to the other "elite" runners standing next to me on the line in the same perdicament. They smiled and shrugged their shoulders as if to say "they're kids, what are you going to do?". One of the men recognized me and told another man next to him that I was the one to beat. I was surprised by this and told him that there were many runners in the line that looked faster than me. He smiled at me and said "no, no, I know who you are". I was a little embarrassed, I didn't know what that meant, so I just looked away.
Moments before the gun went off I was scanning the crowd of children gathered in front of me trying to ascertain the best route through without hurting anyone. When I couldn't find one, I just resigned myself to a very relaxed, slow start and decided to have fun running with the kids for the first 100 meters. Bang. We were off. Children swarming and swerving everywhere in front of me. I must have looked like a ballerina as I bounced and dodged about trying to avoid them. If felt good not to burst off the line. I wasn't nervous, I was relaxed. Two hundred meters later I had moved beyond the mass of screaming joy and calmly set to getting my race on. Many of the other top runners had gotten through the crowd much faster and they were quite a ways ahead. I was about 20 places behind.
With calm precision I made a slight adjustment to my pace and slowly started to reel in the runners in front of me. Half a mile into the race and I had taken the lead. I didn't notice the heat, only that I felt very smooth and the pace seemed effortless. We weaved through the skyscraper clad streets often looping back on ourselves offering a view of all the runners behind us. It was fun to acknowledge the other racers as I went by, it made the effort even less noticeable. At one mile only one runner remained with me. It was one of the latino speed demons that I had seen warming up before the race. He was lean and efficient and not breathing very hard. Mile two came quickly and the man at my side was still there, but the rest of the runners were now far behind. We came to a hill and I picked up the pace, my opponent's footsteps could be heard trailing off behind me, so I picked it up even more. Despite the increase in speed the pace was still comfortable and I cruised the last mile increasing my lead the entire time. I was very surprised when I came across the line and saw that I had just run my fastest 5k ever. How could that be possible? I had a run a grueling tower race the day before, it was 86 degrees, I still had plenty of gas in the tank and I lost at least 20 seconds in the start. A flood of elation poured over me, I was in much better shape than I thought, and my goals for the year were not as far away as I had feared.
After being swarmed by kids and other runners wanting to congratulate me and get training advice from me (as you can imagine, my advice was primarily about diet), I did a short interview for the local KTLA news. Hopefully at least one person gets to see it and makes a change because of it. This one was for the children.
4/26/08 Aon Center Stair Climb
For the first time in more than 10 years I found myself a visitor rather than a resident of the great city of Los Angeles. Mark Trahanovsky and his company, West Coast Labels had generously offered to fly me out to L.A. to compete in the final tower race of the season - a 62 storey, 858 foot climb to the top of the Aon Center. This race is the second in the successful Climb California series, which raises money for the American Lung Association.
Being the last race of the season (tower racing season starts in October and ends in April for some odd reason), I knew that the competition would be intense. The best stair runners in the country would all want to mark the end of their season with a victory in L.A.
Among the elite field were 2006 Sears Tower winner Jesse Berg out of Chicago and 2006 US Bank Tower winner Tommy Coleman ouf of Cardiff, CA. These men placed 6th and 5th respectively at the unofficial world stair climbing championships at the Empire State Building and are considered the best stair racers in the country. This was going to be a great race.
I met Mark Trahanovsky at a 5k race in Los Angeles in the early spring of 2007. We had talked briefly about the Running Raw Project and went our separate ways. Mark became very interested in Running Raw and became a regular visitor to the site. After a very extensive knee surgery last year, Mark was told that he would not be able to run again. That's when he read about my knee injuries and how I got into tower racing as a way to train while injured. Mark also discovered that he had little to no knee pain when going up stairs and began to train for his first stair race at the US Bank Tower in October of 2007. Well, Mark is now hooked. He's done 7 tower races around the country in the short time since October and is on the board of directors for the Climb California race up the Aon Center. Mark wanted this inaugural race to be a big success, so he brought in the best racers, inspired local TV personalities to race and did a great job of advertising the event. It was an action packed adventure for sure. Mark also set me up with a pair of Vibram 5 Fingers for the race. If you've never seen these shoes, you have to check them out. Wearing them is like being barefoot without the worry of something sharp puncturing your foot. http://www.vibramfivefingers.com/.
During my warmup I bumped into Tommy Coleman and Jesse Berg. We shared a few words and wished each other luck. Tommy had mentioned to me that we had to arrange our starting lineup so that the three of us were not near each other in the stairwell. He didn't want one of us breathing down his neck and he didn't want to try and catch one of us in front of him and ruin his pace. I agreed. I wanted to run my own race and not be focused on another. In a tower race, if you start too quickly, your race is over long before you ever reach the top. Once your legs begin to fail there is no recovering and your race quickly falls apart. Tommy was to go first, with Jesse 20 seconds behind him and me 20 seconds behind Jesse. Which should have been enough time for us not to see each other in the stairs considering our similar abilities.
As we lined up, other racers commented on Tommy's brand new Nike Mayflys and my bright red Vibram 5 Fingers, both of which I would highly recommend for the sport of tower racing. When the horn sounded, Tommy burst through the door as the first competitor in the stair well. Racers were going off every 10 seconds, with times being calculated by timing chips attached to our shoes. Jesse was third into the tower, I was a nervous 5th. My friend Jeff Dinkin, who I met while training for the US Bank Tower race this past September started right before Jesse, but his chances of doing well were stripped away in a pretty severe bike accident the week before. Jeff was to do the entire race using only his legs, as a dislocated shoulder and severe road rash prevented him from pulling on the railings.
I entered the stairwell like a rocket. It was not an all out sprint, but I was moving pretty quickly. My recent stair climb successes and my increase in training and fitness prompted me to put the hammer down early and see how long I could sustain the pace. It only took a few floors to catch the racer that had started 10 seconds in front of me. In another 10 floors I caught up to Jeff, who was feeling the effort of his leg only venture. We shared some words of encouragement and I hammered on to catch up to the footsteps I could hear just a floor above me. The sign on the door read "20th Floor" when I caught up to the next racer. He was moving at a decent pace so I tucked in behind him for a moment before attempting to overtake him. As I looked up to make my move I noticed that the racer I was about to pass was none other than Jesse Berg. A bolt of fear shot through my body, my stomach turned and I could feel my face redden. I had made up 20 seconds on the 6th fastest stair climber in the world in only 20 floors. I was going WAY TOO FAST. Well, that's the thought that shot through my head and initiated the fear cycle that was now cascading through my body. I decided to just latch on to Jesse and hold on to the top. That strategy had worked for me this fall when I beat Jesse by 3 seconds at the US Bank Tower (the only time I've beaten him), but I didn't make up a 20 second gap in that race. If I could stay with him to the top I would beat him by a huge 20 second margin.
The floors flew by despite the fact that they were the tallest floors of any building I've run in. Jesse had picked up the pace when I had latched onto him. He had probably thought (as I did) that I had gone out way to fast, and that if he picked up the pace he could exhaust me and lose me. When we reached the 52nd floor, an exhausted Jesse put the hammer down and picked up the pace for the final 10 floors. I tried to stay with him, but I was done. Jesse quickly moved ahead of me. I could only hope that he didn't have enough in him to make up the 20 second gap in 10 floors. I reached the 61st floor and made my best effort to "sprint" the final floor knowing full well that my body could barely move at this point. When I hit the 62nd floor I looked for the finish line, but there was none. We were to finish on the roof. Even though this building technically only has 62 floors, the roof would be considered the 63rd floor. Those last two flights of stairs took forever. I had already given everything I had and now I felt cheated by this extra floor. Dejected and beaten, I walked up the final flight of stairs and walked across the finish line. I was spent.
Had I known in the race that I would finish in 2nd place, only 2 seconds behind Tommy Coleman, and 5 seconds ahead of Jesse Berg, I might have treated that last floor differently. Those two seconds were easily given away as I did my walk of defeat up the final floor of the building. Despite the feeling of failure that would later come over me, I was quite pleased to have been 2 seconds behind the legend Tommy Coleman. Not only have I never beaten Tommy in a stair climb, but up until this point I had never been within 40 seconds of him. My performance today was very promising. As this journey continues, I'm learning more and more about training and remaining injury free, both of which are helping me consistently improve even as I age. Running Raw is officially in the big leagues now.
Click HERE to watch the video.
4/12/08 Merrimack Rivah Trail Race
Over the past two years, it has become clear to me that New England is the epicenter of trail running in the United States. This tiny region of the country boasts the greatest number of trail races and the best talent you can find anywhere. Many of the top trail racers in the country call this area home. When the snow finally clears in April, the trail racing season begins. The Xterra Merrimack River (pronounced "Rivah") trail race in Andover, MA signals the beginning of that season. This challenging 10 mile race features scenery second to none, hills to challenge the toughest quads, water, and MUD. Just as the Japanese have a distinct 5th flavor known as "umami", New England has a distinct 5th season - MUD Season. It's impossible to run in New England in April without getting wet and muddy.
Dave Dunham was kind enough to let me stay at his place in Bradford, MA, so that I wouldn't have a 3 hour drive in the morning. Kevin Tilton from North Conway, NH was also staying at the house. They both turn in quite early (unlike myself, who refuses to adopt east coast time), so I found myself in bed by 10pm. I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of heavy rain on the roof of the house. I'm not a big fan of getting wet while running, so my mind began to spin yarns about the perils that would await in the morning - April showers steal Tim's powers. The rain continued till early morning making the course very soggy and boggy. In one spot, the river had even overflown it's banks, making for a treacherous 20 foot knee deep water crossing.
At the gun, Kevin Tilton jumped right out in front and never let go of his lead. Kevin has been one of the top mountain and trail racers in the country for the last few years, and looks to turn in some very impressive performances this year. I wasn't sure how much endurance I'd have in a 10 mile race with steep climbs, so I settled into 6th place at the start. The 5:20 pace felt good, so I put it in cruise control for the first 3 relatively flat miles. At the beginning of the 4th mile the hills began. After rocketing down the first of the steep downhills we came full speed upon a wooden plank bridge that was leaning to the right. This would have been difficult to negotiate in dry conditions, but the rain had turned the thin film of moss and algae that coated the bridge into greased lightning. The first step I took on the bridge had my feet flying out from under me. I was horizontal in the air before i crashed down hard on my knees on the bridge, then bounced backward into the rocky stream 3 feet below. The intense pain filled me with rage as I scrambled out of the brook and back onto the trail. My knees began to lock up almost immediately from the pounding they had just taken. I didn't think I could finish the race in this condition, I could barely move my legs. A runner quickly caught me and overtook me. As he passed he said, "That must have hurt. Don't give up, keep going". I did my best to chase after him, but my legs were not cooperating anymore. I stumbled up the next hill as best I could, my knees were beginning to free up, but the pain was not subsiding. We came to another steep rocky downhill (my forté) and I let loose. It probably wasn't the smartest choice, but I seldom make those choices. Within 30 seconds of the decline, I passed the runner that had passed me after the fall. As I went by he exclaimed, "Wow! Way to get back in there!". I was not giving up on this one. My anger fueled me for the next two miles as we climbed several quad thrashing 30 to 40 percent slopes.
When I had reached the 5 mile turnaround point, I was relaxed and finding my rhythm again. I had made some good distance on the runners behind me and I was beginning to make ground on Ben Nephew (3rd place finisher) in front of me. Back over the hills we went. I charged up and down each one with reckless abandon. I still wasn't sure if I had 10 miles of race endurance in me, so I wanted to make up as much ground as I could on the hills before the relatively flat and fast last 3 miles. At long last I found myself descending the last of the steep downhills, it would be relatively easy from this point on. Well, that was until I tripped on a root at the bottom of the downhill and flew shoulder first into a large pine tree. I bounced off and careened face first down the slope. The thumb pad of my right had took the force of my weight as i came down hard on a rock. My knees were again smashed by roots and rocks. Something sharp pierced the soft flesh on my right side. I scrambled up onto my feet with pure adrenaline, the pain was shooting all over my body. I tried to run, but so many things were beginning to lock up and swell that I couldn't make a running stride. A runner flew by me and asked if I was alright. I wasn't sure if I was. Trying to match his pace was an exercise in futility and he quickly disappeared. Shortly thereafter, Dan Verrington (one of the best masters racers in the country) passed me like a rocket, I couldn't keep his pace either. I was watching my race fall apart and there was nothing I could do.
With two miles remaining, another runner passed me, the same gentleman that had passed me after the first fall. I had loosened up a bit and tried to go with him. I still couldn't get a full stride, but I managed to pick up the pace. My last two miles were under six minutes each, but the three runners that had passed were easily outpacing me. I crossed the finish line in 7th place. Although I did not achieve the result that I had hoped for, my time was quite good, and the competition was as good as it gets. I am in much better shape than I had expected. The seven week break from running this winter, hasn't set me back as far as I thought it might. Things are looking up. Let the healing begin.
Click HERE to watch the video.
3/29/08 A 22 Storey Sprint
Planning is not my forté. In fact, I'm pretty darn awful at it. I had intended to compete in the 52 storey Climb California race in San Francisco. Last year I placed second in this event and was eager to come back and demonstrate my new fitness. That didn't work out, so I decided on plan B - the 38 storey Climb Pittsburgh race. Well, that didn't work out either, so I had to settle for plan C - a 22 storey climb at the University of Albany in Albany, NY. Third time's a charm.
At 289 feet, the Livingston Tower is barely a skyscraper and compared to all of the other tower races I've done, this race could be placed in the "spint" catagory. I consider myself more of an endurance athlete, and the height of this building had me concerned. The University of Albany has a top notch athletics program, which meant that this race was going to be packed with top athletes. A short race like this is much more about power and speed (which I feel I'm lacking in) than endurance. Which means that this race could belong to any of a number of people entered. During registration I bumped in David Tromp who narrowly beat me at the 42 storey Climb Albany race a month earlier, and who finished 4 seconds behind me at the Empire State Building race. David is a great athlete and one of the top stair climbers in the country. After assessing the competition in the registration area, I was hoping to be in the top 5.
The race began shortly after a failed attempt by a group of aerobics instructors to get us up warmed up in the freezing 18 degree temps (there was no lobby for us to wait in). David was one of the first through the door. I got held up a little bit at the start by a timing chip confusion, but still managed an early start. It was an all out sprint from the very start. I flew up the first 17 floors without any noticable pain. The theme music from "Rocky" was now filling the stairwell as I hurled myself up the last few floors. With half a flight to go, my legs started to fail, but I had plenty left to finish up and burst through the door. As I wobbled around the room on jellyfish legs, I noticed David doing the same. I approached him and asked him how he did. He said it was over before he knew it and that he'd like to do it again, knowing now how short it was. His time was 1:15. I looked at my watch for the first time, it read 1:13. That pace was more than twice as fast as any building I've run up to date. I knew that I had narrowly nipped David, but there were a lot of great athletes still to come, and a victory was not to be mine yet.
I was a bit frustrated with the timing chip fiasco at the start, so David suggested that we do it again. We ran down a different stairwell and prepared for our second round. This time we would do it head to head. David launched ahead at the start and I tucked in behind. The pace was faster, I could feel it. At the 15th floor David began to slow and offered to let me by. I charged around him and picked up the pace. When we hit the 20th floor my legs began to buckle, so I pulled harder on the railings to take the strain off of my legs. Seconds later I burst through the door, exhausted. David was a few seconds behind me. My watch read 1:11, David's read 1:14. We had both improved.
I felt that I could have gone a bit faster in the beginning, and David wanted another crack at me, so we decided to do it again. After about 10 minutes of rest, we were at the starting line once again, but this time David wanted me to lead. As I've learned numerous times in my life, if you want me to run faster, just put someone on my heels. I launched up the stairs like a man possessed, moving my body as fast as I possibly could. If I could keep up this pace all the way to the top, I could break a minute I thought. Gravity had other plans. When I reached the 17th floor, my legs were done. I mean DONE. I didn't think I'd be able to make the last 5 floors. I hobbled and pulled on the railings with everything I had just to keep moving. With 2 floors remaining, I was walking, and not elegantly. I had given up on getting a good time at this point, but at least I was getting a great workout. Moments later, I stumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor. The race officials and spectators that had been following our repeat climbs thought we were crazy, and just watched as I writhed around in pain. Eventually I hobbled to a chair and sat down with David. He informed me that he had run a 1:13 on the final climb, his fastest yet. That didn't make sense to me, because I must have done it in two minutes and he didn't pass me. When I found out that my final ascent was 1:09 I was shocked. Third time's a charm. Unfortunately, our first ascent was the only one that officially counted, as we would have had to pay additional entry fees to get the 2nd and 3rd ascents entered.
An hour later I was informed that I had won the race and set a new course record. David finished a close second, and third went to Fred Eames of NY in 1:24. Fred has been one of the best stair climbers in the east for over a decade now, and held the course record at the Corning Tower, until David and I broke it a month ago. Fourth place was was quite a ways back in 2:02.
Apparently, all the training that I've been forced to do at the gym has paid off.
The best part of the day for me was hearing that since meeting me at the Corning Tower climb, David and Fred have been spending time on my website learning about a raw vegan diet. Another victory for Running Raw.
Click HERE to see results of the race.
2/23/08 Climb Tampa (are shower shoes the new power shoes?)
My original intent on traveling to Tampa, FL was to compete in the Climb Tampa race up the 42 storey US Bank Plaza. As plans for the trip evolved, the race took back seat to all of the other events that had been planned for me. The heel injuries that I had sustained two weeks earlier prevented me from wearing any type of shoes other than flip flops or shower shoes (sandals with a wide velcro strap fastening just below the toes). This in turn forced me to take two weeks off from training. So as the race drew near, I had decided that it would not be in my best interest to participate.
The thud of a flying kumquat landing on my chest aroused me from sleep. It was rather late in the morning on the day of the race (the one I wasn't doing). Clint, my host, had prepared a delicious breakfast of sliced fruit for us to enjoy. As I groggily shared the locally grown bounty, we discussed my plans for the day. Clint thought that it might be a good idea for my sister Merrie and I to head down to the race and hand out flyers for my talk at the Glass Onion that evening. I agreed.
The race had long since started when we arrived and the excitement in the air was palpable. The rush of race day energy was now coursing through my veins. It didn't take long for me to get sucked in. I jogged over to the registration table, which was packing up and asked if it was too late to register. After a short pause they said OK, but that I needed to hurry. The last person was about to head into the stairwell and I would need to be right behind them. I already had my "Running Raw" gear on as an advertisement for the talk that night, so all i needed to do was to take of my jacket and warm up pants and put on my racing shoes - wait a minute, I can't wear shoes!! I had on my Adidas shower shoes, which flopped around on my feet as I walked, and ever tenth step I'd have to scuffle my feet to force my toes closer to the front of the shoes again. I had no choice. Using safety pins, I attached my timing chip to the large velcro strap on my left shoe and I dashed into the building. There was no time for a warmup, there was not even time to get nervous. As I followed the pink signs which directed me down a long corridor into the basement of the building, I caught up to a fireman wearing 60 pounds of gear. Seeing him made me relax. In comparison, I had it easy, and I had nothing to prove today. I was ill prepared and ill equipped and I was going to have fun for the first time in a stair race.
That lasted for all of 3 floors, and then my competitive engine took over. My legs felt really stiff, but my lungs felt great. I charged up the stairs, pulling the railings with all my might. It's only 42 floors I told myself, as I kept pushing the pace. The shower shoes were light, breathable, and yeah, they flopped around on my feet and nearly came off a few times, but they did the job. The intense heat and humidity (think Florida) in the stairwell actually helped my throat, as the moist air coated my trachea. When I arrived at the top I was exhausted, but had none of the usual fear of suffocating from throat closure. My watch read 5 minutes and 11 seconds, a respectable time under any circumstances. An hour later when the results were posted, I learned that I had won the race by over a minute, a huge margin for such a short race. Within minutes I was approached by a few members of the media. As much as I tried to guide their attention they were not interested in my diet, they only wanted to know about the shoes.
This race makes me reflect on a statement that many of us uttered as children while playing hide and go seek: "Ready or not, here I come!". I had always seen that phrase in terms of the hider's preparation, but now I have a different perspective. There will be no more excuses or reasons for not doing, there will only be doing. Whether I'M ready or not, here I come.
Click HERE to watch the Video.
2/10/08 Northern Vermont SnOWshoe Championships
In the 3 months that I've been in Vermont, I've done very little exploring in the state. So when a qualifier for the US Snowshoe Championships was scheduled for Smugglers Notch Ski Area in northern Vermont, I thought this would be a great opportunity to get reacquainted with my home state.
After a few hours of pretty treacherous winter driving, I arrived at the Smugglers Notch Nordic Center where I was greeted once again by Eddie Habeck (see previous post). We chatted for a bit, and then it was time for me to borrow some snowshoes for the race. You see, I don't actually own snowshoes. In all of the previous races I've done this year, I have borrowed shoes from either Bob Dion of Dion Snowshoes or from Dave Dunham's personal stash. Neither Bob nor Dave were at this event. A new snowshoe company located in Vermont, called TSL was doing a little demo at the race, so I approached them and asked if I could borrow a pair for the race. They were kind enough to oblige me. The first pair they gave me were made of a very lightweight composite plastic with a unique binding system that involved a sliding plate that secured your heel to the binding. Within a few steps the backs of my heels were hurting. So I asked if they had anything else I could use. They offered me a heavier pair of aluminum shoes. The second pair of shoes had the same binding system but didn't hurt nearly as much. I thanked them and ran quickly to the start line so as not to miss the race.
When I arrived at the start, the race director, Zeke, approached me and said "you look like you might be in the lead pack, so let me give you directions for the course". For the next 5 minutes Zeke outlined no less than 20 intersections, turns and cutoffs. I was terrified, there was no way I was going to remember all of those directions. So I chose to remember what I thought were the key elements of Zeke's discourse - Do Not cross the 3 hemlock branches stuck in the snow of every trail that you are not to use - except one tricky intersection near the end. I was thoroughly confused, but hoping that someone else would be leading and I would just follow them. Aside from the directions, I was concerned about something else Zeke had mentioned - The first 3 kilometers were almost entirely UPHILL - climbing 1,700 feet. This was going to hurt.
As I warmed up for a few minutes prior to the start, the backs of my heels began to hurt. There was no time to change shoes now and I didn't have any other shoes to use anyways. It was either suck it up or drop out of the race. I decided to race. The worse that could happen would be two blisters on the backs of my heels. A little Dr. Scholl's Moleskin would take care of that and I'd be back to training a day or so after the race. I only needed to be in the top 10 to qualify for nationals, so I didn't need to kill myself in the race. Afterall, I had been fighting a pretty tough cold for the past week and a half, that was only made worse by the two tower races earlier this week. The decision had been made - Do only what I needed to do to stay in the top 10 and not hurt myself or make my illness worse.
The gun went off and I found myself in the lead. I was running very comfortably though, so I kept up the pace. When I arrived at the first of the long climbs I charged up at a blistering pace. I wanted to test my legs and lungs, both of which felt fine when I reached the top. My lack of training over the past two weeks (due to illness and tapering for the Empire State Building stair climb), must have allowed my body the full recovery it needed because I was flying today. Perhaps I've been overtraining these past few months and didn't even know it. The backs of my heels were hurting, but I didn't pay any attention to them, I was too busy enjoying my new level of fitness. The trail turned off of the cross country ski trail we were on into the woods on a single track snowshoe trail with about 18 inches of fresh snow in it. It was tough going, but I wasn't getting tired. Eventually, we looped back onto a ski trail and began to climb steeply again. This climb lasted over a kilometer and I flew up without slowing at all. At the summit, I turned back to see who was behind me. I was stunned, there was no one there. The trail was visible for at least a quarter of a mile, and there was no one there. I guessed that I was 2 to 3 minutes ahead of second place at this point. Even though I still had over a kilometer, and 500 feet of climbing to go to reach the top of the mountain, I knew I had this one in the bag. It was going to be my first snowshoe victory, and it just so happened to be on the longest course (8 kilomoters), with the toughest climb (1,700 feet), and in the deepest snow (18 inches) that I have competed in. I was going to prove once and for all that raw food rocks and was now determined to push even harder and increase my lead to 5 minutes or more. The pain in my heels didn't even register anymore, all of my energy was focused on pushing the pace. The last kilometer of climbing was faster than the previous two. I was running like a man possessed.
The twists and turns along the spine of the mountain were straight forward and simple. It wasn't until the last third of the race that things became fuzzy. Out of nowhere a blizzard engulfed the area and produced white out conditions. For those of you that live in warmer climes, a "white out" is a sudden winter storm that produces so much snow that you can only see white - visibility is reduced to only a few feet in front of you. I was winding through the woods on a virgin trail when it hit. The markings on the trees were far enough apart that I couldn't see them in the white out conditions, so I wandered aimlessly through the trees. My pace slowed considerably, and I had to zig zag back and forth to try and find the next trail marker. It took quite some time to get through this one particular area. I burst out into an open field, the wind was howling hard and blowing drifts across the trail. The snow was at least two feet deep at this point and coming down at a rate of 5 inches every 15 minutes. It was extremely difficult to keep up a good pace. Halfway through the field I passed a sign that read 7 kilometers, I had only 1 K to go. I started my final charge to the finish, I was not yet tired and wanted to widen my lead if possible. A few hundred meters later I came to a very confusing intersection. The main ski trail that I was now on was splitting in two and a single track snowshoe trail was creating a 3rd tine of the fork to the left. A yellow arrow pointed to what I thought was the snowshoe trail which was lined with pink tape, but there were 3 hemlock branches crossing the trail. Perhaps this was the trail that Zeke had mentioned that I was supposed to cross the bows, I wasn't sure, but the arrows seemed to be pointing down that trail, and away from the nicely packed ski trail (well, packed is relative term, the ski trail had at least 7 inches of new snow on it). I made a quick decision and headed into the deep snow of the snowshoe trail. The pink tape continued down the trail and I was confident I had made the correct choice. That lasted for about 500 meters. The trail I was on was now beginning to head uphill, and I was certain that I should be seeing the finish line at the bottom of the hill only a few hundred yards away - it was nowhere in sight. For a moment I thought of turning around, but I had already gone to far, so I continued ahead, hoping that I would hit another trail soon that would take me down to the right and to the finish. Eventually it came. I barrelled down the trail and quickly reconnected to the main ski trail that I had gotten off of. I sprinted. The storm was letting up and the finish line was now visible a short distance away. I was frustrated and upset and I ran with angry determination straight to the line. Huddled about the finish were 6 race officials with several inches of snow on their hats, shoulders, feet and in some cases beards. They looked like strange snowmen.
After I caught my breath I approached Zeke and told him of the wrong turn I had made and how confusing the markings were, he apologized and informed me that I had gone 8.4 kilometers instead of 8, and smiled as he said "you should be happy you won considering the extra distance, that's quite an achievement." His attempt at levity had no effect, I was not happy.
Nearly 5 minutes after I had crossed the line, the second place racer was making his final charge to the finish. I was stunned. The wrong turn had eroded my confidence and left me thinking that someone might have edged me out as they tore down the correct trail to the finish. As the rest of the field trickled in, one thing was consistently being mentioned - they had all followed my zig zag tracks through the woods where I was trying to find the trail, and had all contemplated making the same wrong turn that I did when they saw my tracks leading that way, but had all decided not to cross the 3 hemlock bows. I was the lone idiot in the pack.
I waited for Eddie to finish, congratulated him and began walking with him to the lodge. That's when I noticed that my heels were really hurting. Even though we often run through deep snow in a snowshoe race, it is common practice to wear running shoes. They fit in the bindings much easier and they are lighter in weight than boots. BUT, your feet get very wet, cold and numb. After 5 minutes in the lodge, the numbness was wearing off and my heels began to scream. It was one of those situations where the pain was so intense that I didn't want to know how much damage I had inflicted. I was afraid to look. When the pain had increased to the point that I could no longer walk, Eddie convinced me to take my shoes and socks off.
In the words of Forrest Gump - "Stupid is as stupid does". When I peeled back my bloody socks, there were bloody open wounds the size of half dollars on the back of each heel. What had started as blisters had worked their way through the entire epidermis all the way down to the dermis. I had literally worn off the flesh on the backs of my heels. No amount of moleskin was going to fix this. A nurse on staff at the center got me a first aid kit and we cleaned, bandaged and wrapped my heels. Putting my winter boots back on was an ordeal, but driving 4 hours home in them was nauseating.
Later that night as I was elevating my feet and checking the results online, I discovered that the man who came in second place (almost 5 minutes behind me) was 15th at the US National Snowshoe Championships last year. He was no slouch. Interestingly, he was about 4 1/2 minutes behind the winner and National Champion. Could this be my big break and a possible shot at a national title? I'm hoping the answer is yes. Let the healing begin.
Note to self: Next race, wear snowshoes that I'm familiar with.
Click HERE to watch the video.
2/7/08 Climbing Albany's Corning Tower
As a kid growing up in rural Bennington, VT, my first city experience was in Albany, NY. It was only a 45 minute drive away, but to a farm kid it was a completely different planet. In the 1970's Albany, the capital of New York State, was a booming city. The state funded an enormous development project right in the heart of downtown which is known as the Empire State Plaza. There are many buildings in the Plaza, but two have stood out to become symbols of Albany's distinctive skyline: The Egg and the Corning Tower. The Egg is an oddly shaped building that resembles a flying saucer in mid flight, it houses a performance arts space. The Corning Tower at 42 storeys high, is the tallest building in New York State outside of New York City. I remember making the drive to Albany as a kid and staring up at the Corning Tower. It just seemed to go up and up forever.
Truth be told, the Empire State Building race really took a toll on me physically and emotionally. The minor cold that I had experienced leading up to the race had turned into a full on Nyquil commercial after the race. The smart thing, was to go back home and rest for 4 or 5 days. But for those of you who've been following this blog for any length of time will know, that I seldom do the smart thing. So only two days after running up the Empire State Building, I found myself coughing and sneezing on the start line of the Corning Tower race. I mean come on, how could I pass up a race on my home turf, in my adopted city, in a building that inspired me as a small child? I just had to do it.
When I arrived at the tower, I was enthusiastically greeted by a man named Eddie. Eddie had seen me filming at my first snowshoe race in Woodfood, VT in December and went to my site to find out what I might be doing. Well, he's been following my journey ever since. The video that I posted on YouTube of the Empire State Building race start really piqued Eddie's interest. So when he saw that there was going to be a race not far from where he lives in NY, he thought he would give it a try. We chatted for a bit and I gave him some tower racing tips - two steps at at time, always pull the railings with both hands, don't start out too hard, and take water at the stops to soothe your throat. A moment later I was again being greeted by some Running Raw fans. Lauren and Michelle had made the 45 minute drive from near Kingston, NY to meet me and try their very first tower race. They both shared their stories of being raw and how it has affected them (watch the video) and really inspired me to grow this movement quickly.
This was not a mass start race. Racers were sent off in 5 second intervals - by number. My number was 142. There was no elite start, which meant that I was going to be the 142nd person to run through the door and there were going to be a LOT of people for me to pass. It took a while to get the race started, so I started running back and forth very quickly in the long lobby where all the racers were lined up... it was too cold to run outside. I noticed that I was the only one moving or warming up... which I thought was very odd... but apparently everyone thought that I was the odd one for using up energy before the race began. A state trooper stopped me and said, "you'd better save your energy son, this is a very tall building.", I thanked him and smiled and continued to sprint back and forth as everyone gave me strange looks and commented on my "Powered By Raw Food" running singlet. I later found out that the man standing next to Lauren had said about me "that guys gonna get last place if he keeps that up". It amazes me that people don't understand the critical importance of a warmup. Especially in a race that requires a very sudden thrust into a great deal of physical stress. If your body is not warm and your heart rate elevated prior to the start, the gradient that your body's systems must travel can have adverse effects on performance and enjoyment of the race.
At long last it was time for me to start. I jogged off the start line and took the first few floors at a comfortable pace to let the adrenalin settle. I did NOT want to repeat my Milwaukee or Empire State Building Race. After the second floor, I shifted into high gear, strong and steady. There were a lot of slow people in my path. Most of the time I could easily get around one or two, but on many occassions they would be two abreast with someone directly in front of them, so there was no where for me to get through. I'd call out that I was coming through, but several people didn't move. So I just had to push my way through. I didn't really notice the Empire State Building in my legs until the 25th floor, it was then that I noticed the deep ache of a previous workout or race. When I hit the 32nd floor, I had only 10 to go. I was feeling very strong, so i decided to put the hammer down and sprint the last 10 floors. I managed to get through about 4 at a half sprint as the people started to pile up on the higher floors. It seems the people get slower and slower the higher they get in a tower race, and their ability to move out of the way becomes hampered as well.They are just doing their best to stay up and keep moving. In a few spots people were sitting down on the landings. I managed to squeak out some extra speed for a few more floors, and then I hit the 39th. I was ready to explode up the final 3 floors, but there were so many people in front of me that I found myself trapped behind them just waiting and jogging in place and probably saying something like "OUT OF MY WAY!!". The 42nd floor was the slowest of all as I was stuck behind 6 people who were on death's door. When we reached the final landing, I pushed through them and burst down the hall to the finish. I was frustrated. I looked down at my watch, it read 4:54. The course record for this building was 5:00. I was even more frustrated, as I knew I could have put the record way out of reach and made all you raw vegans proud. But it was a great effort considering the circumstances, my intense cold and well, running up a building twice as tall two days earlier.
My new course record was not a new course record. The man who had reserved bib #1 and had been first through the door had beaten me by 10 seconds, and set a new course record of 4:44. He is a top local road racer and had run 5:00 the year before in this race. He really wanted this record, and it meant a lot to him. So I'm glad he got it. I was happy with second place, and being one of only two people in 20 years to break the 5 minute mark on this iconic tower of my youth.
As for Eddie, Lauren and Michelle, they are all hooked. I'll be seeing them at all the tower races in the North East I'm sure, if not the rest of the country.
Click HERE to watch the video.
2/5/08 The Empire State Building Run Amok
New York was nicknamed the Empire State, to recognize its vast wealth and variety of resources. Among the treasures of this great state is the Empire State Building, the crown Jewel of New York City. Although there are three buildings taller than the ESB in Chicago, you'd never convince a New Yorker that that Empire State Building was not the greatest building in America. There is a certain pride that New Yorkers feel for this building, it's almost a part of them. Therefore the race up the ESB is run as only a New Yorker would see fit - Manhattan rush hour style.
I arrived at this race in the best shape of my life. My preparation was extensive and far beyond that of any other stair race I've entered. Other than a minor cold that had been nagging me for the 5 days leading up to the race, I was ready to rock. At the check in table I received number 70, which was NOT a seeded number. This meant that I would not be anywhere near the front row when the gun went off. I was devastated. This is a mass start race - meaning that 150 of the fittest men on earth will be fighting for position as they cross 30 feet of slick, polished granite in an attempt to be the first to enter a stairwell door that is 38 inches wide. The first racers through the door are almost guaranteed a top five finish in the race. Not being ON the start line, is a death sentence in this race. It means you will be tripping, pushing, getting pushed, punched, elbowed and kicked, crushed, and possibly trampled as you clamor for the door in the midst of the chaos. I liken it to the Running of the Bulls in Spain.
As I warmed up around the lobby, I noticed a very large international contingent this year. They were taking photos and being interviewed by the press. Being the understanding guy that I am, I just assumed that there were lots of amazing foreigners here today and that's why I didn't get seeded. I would just have to do my best and fight my way through the crowd into a top 20 finish, which was the best I could hope for under the circumstances. That was until I bumped into my friend from Chicago - Jesse Berg (see the US Bank Tower entry). Jesse was wearing number 5, and would be standing squarely on the start line. I congratulated Jesse on his great position, but inside my heart had dropped to the floor, I felt totally disrespected by the race organizers. I took it personally. Had they not seen my win at the US Bank Tower in Los Angeles, where I finished 3 seconds ahead of Jesse? My head started to spin. I felt defeated.
My friend Jamie, who had come to video the event overheard Jesse and I talking about my starting position. Jamie lives in Lower Manhattan, and she doesn't tolerate her friends being disrespected. So with a few minutes to go until the start, Jamie marched over to the race organizers desk and let them have it. As they began to line us up at the start line, Jamie ran over and told me that they were going to allow me to start in the front row. I had to aggressively push my way through the crowd, which wasn't easy, because no one wanted to give even a single position away. As I arrived at the front row I was yelled at by an official who told me that I had to get back to my position. I told him I had permission to be there. He said I didn't. Jamie ran to my aid and a very heated New York style conversation erupted. Rather than being ejected from the race, I quickly ducked behind Marco Gaspari from Italy and took a position in the second row. No one complained, but I was a nervous wreck. I thought this position might have its advantages as Marco is the World Mountain Running Champion and the best stairclimb racer on earth. He recently won the race up Tapei 101 (the World's tallest building) in Taiwan, beating the two time defending Empire State Building champion, Thomas Dold from Germany, quite easily. My plan was to shadow Marco for as long as I could, thinking that would guarantee me a phenomenal race.
When the gun went off, all hell broke loose. Jesse Berg got off quickly on the left side, and Ricky Gates (US Mountain Running Champion) got off quickly on the right. The middle was a different story. Jan Mathias from Germany (2nd at last year's ESB race), extended both his arms like a cross, and forced them into the chests of Thomas Dold and Marco Gaspari on either side of him. This action pushed Jan out in front of the middle group, with disatrous results. Within 2 seconds of the gun going off, Marco found himself pushed off balance and heading to the floor, and about to be trampled. His chances of claiming this tower for himself had just vanished.
It's amazing how time slows down when you have pure adrenaline pumping through your body. When I saw Marco taking a dive only inches in front of me, hundreds of thoughts and calculations cascaded through my mind. I was already moving at full speed and could not put on the breaks as the frenzied crowd behind me would have trampled me as well. So I decided to jump over him. But his body was still moving forward on the floor. Instead of looking ahead, I was scanning the ground so as not to step on his head or neck when I came down. This became problematic when people started pushing me from behind while i was in mid air. I was turning sideways as I neared my landing and my path was no longer in line with the door ahead. I hit the ground and was swept up in the commotion and forced off balance into the wall next to the door opening. Like a cat trying to land on it's feet while falling, I whipped my body around and rolled through the door. The strong flow of bodies now coming through the door forced me straight ahead towards the downward flight of stairs to the basement. I fought my way back to the upward flight and began doing what I came here to do - climb stairs. People began to pull on my shoulders and my shirt in order to get by in an old stairwell not wide enough to two people. A man in front of me elbowed me in the face and then did the same to other racers who came up on him. I was totally disoriented. I wasn't even aware that I was running anymore. I was swept up in the flow and I was panicking. I was having a full on panic attack. Now I have never been in a crowd of people that has tried to escape from a burning building, and I do not want to lessen the horrific nature of that experience, but to me that's what I imagine it would feel like. I was no longer thinking clearly, I was acting like a frightened animal.
I "woke up" somewhere around the 18th floor when I realized that I was running every step - instead of every other step which is my racing and training technique, AND I was NOT pulling the railings!! I was doing the whole thing with my legs. The subconcsious panic quickly became conscious dread as I realized that I had lost control and was blowing the race. I tried to find a rhythm and exercise my normal technique, but my heart was coming out of my chest and I just couldn't make it stop. The pace was steady from that point forth, but the damage was already done. I was well behind the lead pack, and my accelerated heart rate had sucked the life out of me. I had to settle for 14th place.
Thomas Dold managed to overcome his shaky start and duked it out with Ricky Gates all the way to the top to win by just 8 seconds, for his 3rd straight victory. Jan Mathias was 3rd. Jesse Berg was 6th. An injured Marco Gaspari remained calm after his starting disaster and ran a very solid race. He worked his way through the pack in the congested stairwell and finished in a phenomenal 7th place.
I interviewed Marco after the race. He was rightfully upset with the way the race is run and commented that it's not a race to see who's in the best shape, but it's a race of luck and dirty tactics.
Reading all of the above might lead one to believe that I had a bad experience at the race, but that would be far from the truth. I rate this race as the most successful event to date for the Running Raw Project. Not because of my place in the race, but due to the large number of people who approached me before and after the race and shared their stories with me. Dozens of people in the race said they had seen my video of last year's race on YouTube. Many others had looked deeper and made their way to my site. A few more even shared with enthusiasm that they had made major changes in their diet leading up to the race because of what they saw and read on my site - I was blown away. It was actually working. It occurred to me, that my success didn't have anything to do with winning races, but it had everything to do with showing up to a LOT of races, always willing to share and talk to anyone who is curious. It is momentum that makes things happen, that starts the process of transformation. I had been so caught up on trying to win all the time that I had missed that.
Click HERE to watch the race video.
Click HERE to watch my NYC raw restaurant adventures video.
1/27/08 The Ups and Downs of Snowshoeing
What goes up, must come down. The competitors in the Curly's Record Run snowshoe race in Pittlsfield, MA this past weekend might rephrase that statement as: what goes up, up, up and still higher up, must come down, down, and very quickly down. Standing at the registration table, the air was abuzz with talk of the 700 foot non-stop climb a mile into the race. Now had this been a mountain running race, such a climb would be seen as insignificant, but snowshoeing is not running. The weight and awkwardness of the shoes combined with the challenge of running on snow make snowshoeing infinitely more exhausting. The week prior at the race in Florida, MA, a hill of only 80 feet had laid me to waste, so naturally I feared for the worst.
During a short warmup with Dave Dunham, he informed me that a very tough crowd of athletes had assembled. Top mountain runner Tim Mahoney was again on hand. National Showshoe bronze medalist and All American mountain runner Ben Nephew was there. New England standout triathlete and snowshoe racer Matt Cartier had also been spotted in the crowd, and well, then there was Dave. Dave is first and foremost a mountain runner. He's a legend in the American mountain running scene, for his ability to tirelessly grind away at a solid pace on never ending uphills. This course was designed for racers like him and everyone else in the race knew it.
Curly's Record Run is named in honor of Albert "Curly" Voll's record setting downhill skiing performance on the Shadow Trail in Pittsfield State Forest back in 1944. Curly doesn't race anymore, but he was kind enough to blow the starting whistle to get the race underway. From the start, the strategy of the other top racers was clear - get to the hill with a solid lead on Dave Dunham in hopes of providing just enough cushion to hold him off on the monster climb. Dave is not a crazy downhill runner, he prefers the ups. So to beat him to the top of the hill, or to even be close to him at the top of the hill meant certain victory for a fast downhill runner. The course started climbing almost immediately, and Ben Nephew and Tim Mahoney jumped out into an early lead. I stayed back a bit with Dave Dunham and Matt Cartier. A mile later when the "hill" came into view, it was clear that Ben and Tim were already beginning to tire. A hundred meters into the climb Ben stepped aside and let us pass. Dave took off and I couldn't keep up. It wasn't long before he passed Tim and took the lead. Tim was about 10 seconds ahead of me on the climb and was keeping a steady pace. I didn't want to go after him and risk dying as I had the week before, so I kept the gap and made sure that he didn't widen it. After nearly a mile of constant climbing we reached the top, exhausted. Dave was so far ahead that he was no longer visible. I was very excited that I had made it to the top of the hill in third place, because my forte was yet to come. Tim picked up the pace on the rolling course on top of the mountain and widened the gap a bit. I couldn't hear anyone behind me so I stayed where I was, trying to get some strength back in my legs. That strength would be absolutely necessary to safely navigate the steep pitch of the Shadow Trail at high speed. It was after all a downhill ski run, and could prove quite dangerous if one got out of control. A left hand turn brought me to the top of the Shadow Trail. I could see Tim Mahoney about 15 seconds ahead of me, so I let it rip.
The trick to fast downhill running is to let yourself fall under control. You let gravity do the work for you as you guide your feet to the next safe landing. But with twists and turns, trees, rocks and logs to jump, that's not always an easy task. I must have been going 25 miles an hour, as each step carried me about 20 feet down the trail. In no time I was blowing by Tim as if he were standing still. I couldn't see Dave in front of me, but I had every intention of catching him and renaming this trail "Tim's Record Run". That thought lasted about two minutes, which was the amount of time it took Matt Cartier to pass me as if I was standing still. He must have been doing 30. I've never seen anyone run downhill that fast. I was demoralized. Even though I kept up my blistering pace, part of me was already beginning to settle in to 3rd place. It's funny how the mind does that to you.
Somehow, I managed to make several high speed log jumps and arrived at the bottom of the hill safely. Matt was no longer in sight. With about 1.5 miles of flat and bumpy terrain left in the race a little voice popped into my head. "You beat Matt on the flats and ups already, you can do it again", it said. The voice was right. I shifted into high gear and went after him. The sinuous twists and turns through the woods made it difficult to see anyone in front of you, but I knew he was there somewhere, getting closer with each stride. Then suddenly I saw two sticks planted in the snow next to the trail, that spelled "YI". These sticks would have gone unnoticed by most in the race, but they were of special significance to me because I had placed them there before the race. On my warmup before the start, I had gone backwards on the course from the finish to a point 4 minutes in. I chose to mark this place as my point to begin my finishing kick. I found two sticks of interesting shape and placed them next to eachother in a way that I'd easily notice - the "YI" formation. My adrenalin rushed as I now saw the familiar sticks, the end was near, no holding back. I picked up the pace, and braced against the nausea in my stomach. Two minutes later I burst into the small field containing the finish. Dave was now visible as was Matt. I had gained considerably on them, but they were too far ahead to catch in the ever shortening sprint to the finish. I did not settle for 3rd place. I earned it.
Ten minutes after the finish I was invited to do a warmdown with Dave, Ben and Tim. Dave is a man of many lists. One of these lists contains the names of every town in Massachusetts. His goal is to run in each of these 350+ towns. Well it so happens that this race was near the intersection of four towns that Dave had never run in, so we set off on a long easy snowshoe run to help him check them off. Wait, did I say easy? Scratch that, the course that Dave had plotted on some online mapping site had us running up a logging road that climbed over 1500 feet in one solid stretch. This mind you, was taking place shortly after getting pummeled by a hill half that size at race pace. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful trek and I enjoyed the company and conversation. At the summit of the Taconic Range we were presented with a gorgeous three state view of MA, NY and VT. We stopped to reflect for a moment next to a small lake as well, where a state forest sign informed us that it was the highest lake in Massachusetts at 2,150 feet in elevation. It was beautiful. The warmdown took well over an hour. I was spent. Dave on the other hand was planning to knock off two more towns on his 3 hour ride home north of Boston. Dave is no ordinary human being, he is the stuff legends are made of.
1/19/08 Snowshoeing in Florida
Yes, you read the title correctly - I snowshoed in Florida yesterday with a hundred other winter sports fanatics. Of course I'm referring to Florida, Massachusetts, just south of the Vermont border on the high Green Mountain plateau. It's an oddly named town, as it sits at an elevation of over 2,000 feet and registers the coldest temperatures and greatest snowfall in Massachusetts. Not many retirees living up there.
This being the third race in the WMAC snowshoe series (and my 3rd snowshoe race as well), it attracted all the usual suspects. There was the legend Dave Dunham, several members of the infamous CMS (Central Mass Striders) team were on hand, and the ARE (Albany Running Exchange) showed up with an entire van-load of racers, including Josh Merlis who had won the race in Guilderland, NY on the 6th. This was the deepest field of snowshoe talent that I'd seen.
As I was beginning to warm up, a man in his late 40's stopped me in the parking lot. He told me that he had seen my jacket at the last race and went to my website. Shuffling through a bag he had next to his car he pulled out a few bananas and an apple to show me. "It makes sense" he said, "I'm going to try eating a lot more fruits and veggies and see what happens." he added. I chatted with him for a bit longer and then continued my warm up. It's difficult to know how much of an impact I'm having on this journey. I often wonder if people just think I'm crazy, especially when I turn down the free doughnuts, homemade chili, hot chocolate and stacks of pancakes that usually follow these races. It only takes one person to approach me and tell me that I've affected them somehow to keep me going strong on this lonely road.
Two days before the race I began to feel a little off and could only many to struggle through two 2 mile runs with great difficulty. The day before the race I was feeling a little better and did a longer run, but much slower than my normal pace. I was hoping that I'd be 100% by race day. As I discovered half way through the race, I was clearly not.
The snow was what skiers refer to as "sugar snow", small hard granules that don't stick together and slide very nicely on eachother. It's the kind of snow that makes for very fast runs down the slopes. It's also the kind of snow that gives way under foot every step of the way in a snowshoe race making the effort similar to running in deep sand with snowshoes on - not something I'd advise.
My goal leading up to this race was to take the lead from the start and hold on for as long as I could. Ideally this strategy would have me win the race, but the main purpose was to learn my pace. I wanted to test myself early in the race to see how long I could endure a faster pace before breaking down.
The bell went off and I blitzed out of the start. Dave Dunham was right next to me. We were neck and neck, leading the field through the first 150 meters on a wide snow covered road. I picked up the pace to move into the lead, but Dave picked it up as well and we remained side by side as we entered the more narrow single track through the woods. I couldn't go any faster. We were less than 300 meters into the race and I was already exhausted. I knew that I'd never be taking the lead in this race, so I tucked in behind Dave. My breathing was eratic and strained, my legs felt sluggish, but I kept up. Four racers had formed a chain behind me, with the rest of the field drifting away. The course featured several short, steep climbs and a few very long climbs. Dave was pushing the climbs hard. He would charge up each hill on the mushy snow, he was trying to lose us. I stayed right on his heels, but I was paying the price. The hills were turning my legs into sludge and I was in trouble.
Approximately one and a half miles into the 3.3 mile course, we came to a long steep climb. I tried my best to relax into it and just push forward, but I could barely pick up my legs for each step. I turned around to see the 4 racers still in the train behind me, they looked fresh. So I stepped aside and let them all pass. I stood on the side of the trail for a few seconds watching them all snake through the woods with their brightly colored spandex outfits. It looked like a festive parade, and now I was just a bystander. I started walking up the hill. Even that made me nauseated. I finally reached the top of the hill, the train in front of me was gone from sight, they were well ahead of me now. Fortunately, we were all well enough ahead, that I couldn't see anybody coming up behind me. My goal now was to stay in 6th place. I was being optimistic.
I trotted through the woods for a good five minutes when I realized that my heart had slowed down significantly and my legs were feeling revived again. So I picked up the pace a bit - still felt ok. I crested the top of a little hill and a very long steep downhill appeared in front of me. I love downhills. Not because they are easier to run than uphills, because they are not, running downhill on snowshoes is actually quite dangerous. It's very easy to catch a tip on a branch, tree or frozen crust and go down, but even worse is the possibility of "post-holing". The increased weight and speed of a downhill descent reduce much of the snowshoe's ability to keep the runner on top of the snow. Often you will hit a pocket of very deep snow that has blown over fallen logs or rocks. It appears flat from the surface of the snow, but it hides a very dangerous topography below. With three times your body weight coming down on each downhill step, it's easy to punch a hole straight down to the bottom of the snow and in between rocks and logs - post-holing. Your momentum then continues to carry your body forward with great speed and inertia, all while your leg is now jammed into a hole a few feet behind you. It's the perfect recipe for a broken leg of the worst kind. Despite this danger, I am an absolute madman on the downhills. I hold nothing back and do not break my speed. When I reached the bottom of this very long downhill I must have been moving well in excess of 20 miles an hour. An object in motion tends to stay in motion and that's exactly what I did. I carried my speed as long as i could. I was refreshed. Another reckless descent put me within close sight of the 5th place racer. With newfound hope I bore down on him and caught him within a hundred yards, I was flying. Another quarter mile and I was closing quickly on the racers in 4th and 3rd place who were still running together. A slight decline in the trail gave me just enough of a crazy-man advantage to catch them. The trail had started to turn up again, so instead of passing them I tucked in behind them and waited for the next downhill to make my attack. A hundred yards ahead of us I could now see 2nd place Josh Merlis, who had won the previous race. Judging by his side to side bobble, I knew he was hurting. Slowly over the next half mile we reeled him in. I was still waiting for my downhill to make my move, But it never came. We burst out onto a snow covered road with the finish only 300 meters away. Josh had 5 seconds on the three of us who were now running side by side fighting for third place - or possibly second if our kick was strong enough. Alas the finish was a gradual uphill and it quickly brought me to a hobble as the other racers slowly edged me out. I would settle for 5th, just a handfull of seconds out of 2nd place. Dave Dunham had easily won the race.
Dave joined me for my post race warmdown run. During the run Dave revealed to me how tough he thought the course was. He said he was dead out there and when he saw the train of 5 people behind him in the beginning he thought he was doomed. Perspective is an amazing thing.
1/6/08 Brave The Blizzard Snowshoe Race
The second race in the WMAC snowshoe series was held in Guilderland, NY, just a few miles outside of the state capitol Albany, NY. This is the 5th year of this event, and the first time in those 5 years that there has been snow to run on. This winter bounty attracted an excited crowd from all over the Northeast to take on this challenging 4 mile course.
Once again I showed up with my dad's big old clunker snowshoes, hoping that the added weight and size wouldn't slow me down that much. But as luck would have it, I bumped into Dave Dunham in the parking lot who happened to have 4 extra pair of racing shoes in his trunk - the perks of being a sponsored athlete. Dave was kind enough to lend me a pair and I was ready to go.
The Albany Running Exchange, the club that put on the race, pulled out all the stops. They had a full on snowshoeing expo in gym of the elementary school adjacent to the course. You could test all kinds of gear, get a massage, fill up on a pancake breakfast, purchase A.R.E. clothing, hang out with a snowman mascot, etc. Did I mention the throngs of smiling people? This was my kind of race.
The start of the race was through an unpacked field with about 10 inches of heavy, wet snow covering the ground. I noticed Dave Dunham meticulously walking back and forth along a single path perpendicular to the start line. What I discovered after the start, was that Dave was packing a trail for himself to use out of the gate. While we were all trampling through the deep wet snow, Dave was running on a packed trail. Now why didn't I think of that? Despite the sludgy start, I managed to come out of the mess in second place behind Dave as we entered the single track through the woods. My goal: Stay with Dave as long as I could - he was the man to beat, or should I say, he was the man to pull me to a great performance.
The pace seemed slow to me and I was barely laboring, but we were pulling away from the pack. I didn't want to pass as I thought maybe I'd tire out too quickly, so I just tucked in behind Dave and relaxed. Near the one mile point we were caught by another racer who joined the lead train. The three of us ran the next two and a half miles on eachother's heels. Past a hundred cheering fans along the course, and even a young girl who was building snowmen to block the trails we were to avoid.
Dave's shoes were a little different than I was used to and landed at a bit of an angle, which caused me to crack my ankle bones with the hard aluminum frames every 100 steps or so causing my ankles to swell and bruise. If it weren't for my recent reading of "The New Toughness Training For Sports", I'm sure I would have let out a scream each time it happened (note to self: wear ankle pads).
I was starting to tire. The course seemed to go on forever with no end in sight. We were told that it was a 5k, but I had a feeling that we had reached that point a while back. I could sense Dave slowing in front of me as well, and later learned that he was also wondering when this thing was going to end. He had the added burden of running the entire race with someone (me) six inches off his heels, which is a huge psychological weight to carry. Finally, the racer behind me said "on your right" as he burst around me through the deep snow. I was in no mood for a duel, so I let him in. We remained a chain of three, but now I was in 3rd. The "easy" victory that I was savoring in the early stages of the race had vanished. Two hundred yards further and the racer in the middle called "on your right" to Dave. But Dave was in a spunkier mood than I was and he sped up. He was not going to let this kid win easily, he was going to make him earn it. Dave's increased speed was more than I could handle now, and the two of them drifted slowly away from me. Another hundred yards and the racer tried again, but this time he unleashed a fury of flying snow as he launched by Dave's best effort to stave him off. I could see the field containing the finish line through the trees ahead, it must have been only a quarter mile to the finish. The lead runner was still sprinting and getting farther ahead of us as we entered the field. Dave kicked enough to keep me from catching back up and crossed the line in 2nd. I finished 3rd, only seven seconds behind him. The winner turned out to be the founder of the Albany Running Exchange, Josh Merlis. Had we known the course as well as he did, perhaps we would have had some extra mental steam to get us through the dragging later parts.
Goal for next race: Don't tuck in behind anyone - go for it and see how long I can hang on to the lead (that's gonna leave a mark).
Click HERE to see the video.
12/30/07 My First Snowshoe Race
Since snowshoeing has become such a staple of my winter workouts, I thought it only natural to start entering local snowshoe races. The Western Mass. Athletic Club (WMAC) has a winter race series, with races held in VT, MA, NY and NH. The first race of the series happened to be in my backyard - Woodford, VT.
Since the warming of the climate has softened the New England winter over