You have all heard the saying "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again". Wise words indeed considering that most of our great endeavors involve an initial "failure" and learning curve. But where are the great maxims that prepare us for those brilliant moments when at first we DO succeed? In my experience, it often goes as follows; "if at first you do suceed, make sure to throw an obstacle or two or six in your path to make things more interesting". The past week and a half would serve as a textbook example of this latter statement.
Coming off of a series of big wins and record breaking performances, I was flying high. Perhaps too high. The wax on my wings was melting and I began to plummet back to earth. This manifested itself in the form of a mega toothache accompanied by mind altering headaches... The general feeling of malaise from the intense anti-biotics I was taking to fight the infection in my tooth... The craving to eat lots of really fatty, gooey raw foods late at night to ensure that I wouldn't sleep properly... The inability to train adequately when I did wake up due to the large mass of unhappy food trapped somewhere in my gut... And let's not forget the whirlwind tour of Los Angeles and related stressors. In other words, I was setting myself up to fail. But why?
Could it be that something as small as a tooth could affect my behavior so dramatically and so quickly? Or was there some deeper, possibly subconscious agenda jumping at the opportunity to rear it's ugly head? I would have exactly thirty minutes and forty-four seconds to contemplate this burning question, as I ran for my life up the 2,100 foot incline of the Palm Springs Tram Road Challenge.
I arrived in Palm Springs thirty minutes before the race, with no expectations. I was here to run. I was here to learn. I was here to see what I'm made of when the odds are not stacked in my favor. At the registration table, I was excitedly informed that I was bib number "1" because I had won the race last year. Every one at the table looked up and congratulated me. A man at the table asked me "are you going to break thirty minutes again?" I smiled and silently shrugged my shoulders. Other registrants who overheard the conversation were also lauding me. I didn't much feel like being congratulated. I was hoping to just blend in and quietly do the best I could under the circumstances. There was no chance of that. It wasn't long before my "Running Raw" jacket began to attract attention and I was swarmed by people saying things like "Dude, I watch your videos on YouTube", or "you're the raw food guy" etc, etc... This was one occasion where I didn't feel very inspiring.
As I wandered over to the start line, I bumped into Jon Clark, who I had raced a month earlier at the Xterra Pt. Mugu trail race. Although I had beaten Jon in that race, I knew him to be a much better uphill runner than I. In fact, Jon is one the best uphill runners in the United States. We shared a few words and began to warm up. I could feel the voices in my head wanting to chime in and declare my defeat before the race had even begun. This race would not be against the mountain or Jon, but against my shadow self, and that was a race that I didn't plan on losing today.
Moments before the start, the sun peaked it's head over the horizon and began to illuminate the field of runners, 500 strong. The morning glow had been slowly lighting up the giant mass of Mt. San Jacinto for the past half hour. It's imposing 10,890 foot height was painted pink and orange in the morning light. I took one last relaxed look at the mountain. It would serve as my only visual for the next half hour. I stood in amazement.
I stood on the line... breathing... grounding. I didn't come to lose, but I also didn't come to win. I was there because nothing ever happens if you don't show up.
Suddenly we were moving. I bolted into the lead quickly, with Jon at my side. The pace was fast but comfortable. The low lying sun was casting long shadows of our bodies on the desert sage and tumbleweed on the side of the road. I was slightly ahead of three other shadows. For a few moments I took my eyes off the mountain in front of me and focused on the movement of the shadows playing with the vegetation at road's edge. One of the shadows began to fade, now there were three. Uphill running produces much less impact, and is therefore much quieter than the pavement pounding footfalls of your average road race. It would have been a very peaceful experience had it not been for the heavy and tortured breathing of the shadow to my left. This poor gentleman was obviously running beyond his abilities and his toxically loud breathing reflected this. A sudden burst of movement to my right caught my attention. It was Jon making a very fast and aggressive break for the lead. Within no time he was twenty feet ahead of me. I responded and quickly made up the ground. The third shadow and his unpleasant symphony were now fading into memory. The quiet began to engulf us.
Jon and I charged through the first mile in a 7:32, which was thirty seconds faster than my average per mile pace for this race last year... but I felt comfortable and dismissed any warning bells that such a fast time might have set off. At several strategic points over the next two miles, Jon made breaks for the lead, but each time I answered with my own burst of speed. We ran much of the race shoulder to shoulder.
Midway through the third mile, the road straightens out and reveals the long and increasingly steep climb that awaits. I took this unsettling view as an opportunity to "show up" yet again. I slowed down the race in my mind and began to take inventory of the moment. First I focused on my breathing... it was relaxed and deep. Next I focused on my shoulders... which needed some work... so I shook them about. My quads were experiencing an "intensity", that most would catagorize as extreme pain. I chose to feel the intensity but not judge it... just be with it... choose it. I checked in with my thoughts next... There was no negative self talk... no "when is this going to be over" or "I can't take anymore"... I was calm and present. It was nice. I closed my eyes for a few strides and took a deep breath of crisp desert air. That's when I noticed Jon. It was his breathing that entered my attention first. I've learned to size up my competition by their rate and ease of breathing, and Jon was breathing beautifully. It relaxed me to hear the lack of effort in his breath. My ears then tuned in to his stride and cadence... it was the same as mine. We were running in unison... in the quiet... in the sharp light... opposing gravity... determined... separate but one. We seemed to be powering each other up the mountain.
In early September, I had a conversation with a dear friend and potential lover about the nature of "true" relationship and codependence. The ideal relationship that she described to me involved two people side by side, each in their own power, moving together in life. Not pulling or pushing, not leading or following, not fixing or yearning. Two people moving as one in the same direction, but each under their own power. This ideal image sounded wonderful, but it also scared me intensely. Yes, I dream of this type of relationship as well, but what if I'm not ready for it? What if I'm not "conscious" enough, or enlightened enough? What if there are some things in my life that I just haven't dealt with yet? I desired that type of perfect union, but feared that it might never be in the cards for me.
At 7:22 AM, on a lonely stretch of mountain road in America's harshest desert, I knew exactly what she was talking about. Although this was not a romantic relationship, it was the perfect example of two human beings, not wanting or needing from the other, but achieving more side by side than would be possible alone. It was catalytic... an unseen force, operating between us, moving us... demanding that we be all that we can be. Jon felt it too. "This would be a LOT easier if one of us weren't here" he said, referring to the level of effort that we were non-verbally demanding of each other. I thought for a moment and came to the opposite conclusion. His presence was bringing out more in me than I thought possible. His presence was making this effort feel easy.
We ran as one to the three mile marker. Jon had done some math in his head and realized that there is no individual victory in two people crossing the finish line together, so he made an aggressive break. There were only six tenths of a mile to go until the finish, and from previous experience I knew that the road only got steeper from this point forward. I surmised that he would not be able to sustain that pace for long and I would reel him back in as his legs began to fail on the 22% grade of the last quarter mile.
Jon's legs did not fail. He did not slow down. I did not reel him in. He put an amazing forty-nine seconds on me in those last thousand yards, and bested my winning time of last year by three seconds. I finished a respectable second, forty-six seconds behind my previous time.
Considering the week and a half that I had just been through, I was quite pleased with my performance. Yet there is a sense of wonder in my mind. I had been running a brilliant race. I was fully present and powerful in each moment, each stride. What would have happened if I had gone with Jon when he made that final break? Would I have been able to stay with him? Or was I already running at edge of my abilities? I ran a smart race, but the smart race strategy didn't win. Perhaps I should have run like the late Steve Prefontaine and made it a show of who has the most guts rather than the fastest legs. But wait, I wasn't here to win. I was here to learn, to grow and to come to terms with my "dark" side. To choose courage when the going gets tough. Each race is an opportunity to find one's self. Each stride is an opportunity to find one's self... or better yet, to create one's self.
I choose this life. I choose my strengths, I choose my weaknesses. I choose, therefore I am.
As many of you have already noticed, I love superlatives. How many times over the past three years have you heard me say "It was the toughest race I've ever done!"? Well, get ready, you are about to hear it again. The Bisbee 1000 Stair Race was the toughest race I've ever done. You are probably thinking that I'm either a drama queen or a thrill seeking, glutton for punishment always looking to up the ante and find the most challenging event possible... perhaps I'm a little of both. But wait, I'm not done with the superlatives yet. The Bisbee 1000 was also the coolest and most interesting race I've ever done. The town of Bisbee, AZ is one of the most fun, beautiful, livable and eclectic places I've ever had the privilege to visit. The townsfolk are by far the friendliest I've ever encountered. In a nutshell, October 18th, 2008 will go down as one as the best days of my life.
I had first heard of the Bisbee 1000 two years ago and ever since I have been fantasizing about competing in it someday. The only deterrent - Bisbee is located in extreme southern Arizona. Quite a trek to make for a single event. I was about to head to Los Angeles for a few weeks, (thanks to the generous support of Mark Trahanovsky and West Coast Labels) when my friend Jeff wrote me an email and mentioned the race... "wouldn't it be fun to treck over to AZ and do this race?", "Hell, yes!" I replied, and the beginning of a yearly pilgrimage had begun.
Unlike most stair climb races, which take place in an enclosed stairwell in a skyscraper, the Bisbee 1000 (actually 1,037 stairs) takes place entirely outside on nine different stairways throughout the old mining town of Bisbee. The course snakes 4.4 miles through the narrow, sinuous streets of this Europeanesque village, 5,384 feet above sea level.
Jeff and I arrived in Bisbee the evening before the race to jog the course and see what we were in for. The town quickly charmed us with it's unique layout and architecture. It reminded me of a rugged Maine coastal town... without the coast. At first glance, the course seemed easier than I had anticpated. The staircases were quite short (73 to 181 stairs), and there were several downhill sections en route that could be used for recovery. I took mental notes of each feature we were to encounter during the race and began to plot strategy. I calculated that if I could maintain a 6:30 per mile pace (which seemed totally reasonable) I could be the first person to break 30 minutes on this course and set a new course record. Considering that I had completed the eleven mile XTERRA Pt. Mugu Race a few weeks earlier at an average 6:13 per mile pace (a race that had nearly 2,000 feet of climbing compared to Bisbee's 700 foot climb), I was certain that a 6:30 pace would be a peice of cake... No one told me that the cake would be made of lead.
There were so many participants in the race that the organizers broke us up into three waves to aleviate congestion on the narrow and often delapidated stairs. I jumped into the front of the lead wave to scope out the competition. Judging by the look and shape of the other athletes standing at the front of the line, there was a lot of talent here. I had no expectations of placement, I was going to follow the leaders and see how I felt. The first half mile was all downhill and I knew that many racers would be tempted to start too fast. I was going to play it safe... this race was not going to be won on the first set of stairs.
Like a herd of stampeding buffalo, we were off down the hill through town. The pace was comfortable and I wasn't worried about getting my heart rate too high on the downhill, so I opened up my stride. In a moment I was in the lead, which surprised me. The sound of a single set of footsteps to my right was all that I could hear. Where had everyone gone? Was I breaking my own rules and going too fast? I checked in with my heart rate and it read 165 which is right in range for a good start. Game on.
The first two staircases were shorter and I chose to run them at a good clip. The second place runner was right on my tail and I tried to lose him on the stairs, but it didn't work. So I ran the flat and somewhat downhill section to the third set of stairs at a very fast pace. I wanted to put as much distance on him as I could on the easy section, hoping to lure him into going out too hard on the stairs to try and make up the gap. The strategy I had devised the night before while walking the course was to take stairway number three at a somewhat easy pace as sets four and five were very quick to follow with little or no recovery. I was going to put it all on the line on set five. Within the first thirty steps, of set three, the racer behind me asked to pass. I obliged and hugged the side of the building next to me. He quickly put distance on me on the stairs. During the short recovery before set four I made up most of the ground on him. Set four saw him blasting up the stairs to try and gap me. I let him. As we approached the top of set four I could see his legs beginning to wobble. Forty feet of recovery before set five (a large set of 181 stairs) and I was passing him. I knew there was a 3/4 mile long downhill recovery before set six so I let out all the stops and flew up the stairs, pulling hard on the railing. A few minutes later as I rounded a switch back on the road I looked up to see where he was. The gap was at least thirty seconds and he was hurting. I never saw him or looked back again. I charged forward and claimed this race.
Changing gears constantly between flat, UP, and downhill running was taking a toll on me. I can't remember being this consistently nauseous in a race before. It would have been easy to back off the pace, but I was committed to giving it my all. So I took a deep breath into my lower lungs and did my best to relax into the feeling. A quick scan of my body found several points of tension as I ran. I focused on each area and made adjustments to each until I felt smooth, powerful and relaxed.
I rounded a sharp downhill corner and was greeted with the view of a corral of 500 people waiting to begin wave number three. They were seconds away from starting their race and their energy was high. A roar erupted from the crowd as they noticed me barrelling down the hill in their direction. The MC got on the mic and riled them up even more. I must admit, it was really exciting... I was covered in goose bumps as I whipped around the final downhill corner right in front of them and bolted my way to stairway six.
The 6th and 7th set were a blur of uneven steps, brightly colored buildings, folk musicians and tunnels of ivy. It wasn't until I arrived at set eight that I fully realized how much pain I was in. The 8th stairway was the steepest and one of the longest. I could feel the burn everywhere in my body. The nausea was nearly overwhelming. I thought about walking. Then suddenly my mind became fixated on something else. It was a woman's voice. She was singing in a very soft and soothing manner. I couldnt see her anywhere, but her song was drifting all around me and through me. It relaxed me. The pain melted away and so did the steps. I was at the top in no time, which is where I discovered her singing behind a tree with her back to me. I never saw her face, but I was grateful for her anonymous generosity.
One more long uphill in the road followed by a mile long downhill and flat section and I was taking my first step up the last staircase. There were cheering fans in the "yards" of every house that I passed going up the stairs. They cheered encouragingly, counting off the number of steps I had left until I reached the top. It was almost like watching the "ball" drop on New Year's Eve in Time Square. I charged with all my might. My legs were failing quickly as I reached the last step and made a sharp left hand turn on the road. I eyed my watch - 28:35. I knew the final road section to the finish was at least a quarter mile. My hopes of being the first person to break thirty minutes on this course were quickly eroding. I began to sprint. Every muscle in my body was screaming at me, but I ignored their pleas to slow down. Before I knew it, I was wrapping around the back of the art deco City Hall perhaps 100 meters away from the finish. I found another gear and pushed even harder. The round shape of the building concealed the finish line which was actually only 20 meters away and not 100 as I had thought. I rounded the corner and found myself crossing the line at full speed. It caught me by surprise. My battered legs couldn't break me fast enough and I plowed into and through the metal barricades that separated the finishers from the cheering fans. I was uninjured but confused and startled. I was helped up by a few kind townsfolk and informed that I had broken thirty minutes and the course record. I was amazed. It was the toughest race I've ever done. All of the 1,000 plus racers who completed the course are heros in my book.
Two hours later Jeff and I were taking on another equally unique and challenging race called the "Ice Man Competition". The rules were simple - carry a 10 pound block of ice held by antique ice tongs up 151 stairs as fast as you can. It sounded simple enough, but my legs were in no mood to move with any dexterity. The first race of the day had taken it's toll on me. Jeff on the other hand had enough in his legs to make two runs at the Iceman stairs. On his second attempt, Jeff put down a very fast time and took 3rd place. I was pleased that we both came away with some victory booty.
The races were over at noon, but It wasn't until after six before we were able to leave this little gem in the desert. There is an openess and friendliness in Bisbee that is unlike anything I have ever experienced. Every one you meet becomes your friend, and the conversations flow like a gentle river. I'll be back... again and again and again.
Click HERE for a great post race write up in the Sierra Vista Herald.
A Huge hello to all my friends and supporters of the Running Raw Project.
In This Issue:
• The Little Victories
• Food Networking
• The Running Raw Buzz
• The Race Report
• The Training Log
• Upcoming Events
• The Running Raw Experience
• Your Support
• In Conclusion
The Little Victories:
As a troubled teen, trying to find my place in the world, my father told me that "all glory is fleeting". It was a quote from General George Patton, who was remarking on the lavish victory celebrations of ancient Rome. Standing in the shadow of the US Bank Tower Stair Climb, now two weeks behind me, I finally understand the value of my father's words. This race was to be a defining moment of The Running Raw Project. A race that could change everything... or so I thought. The setup couldn't have been more Rocky-like. My confidence was at an all time low. I had "choked" in the two previous televised events. My personal life was up for auction. I was tending to a recently broken heart. The Food Network needed a grand finale for the show and was expecting victory. The two best stair climb racers in the country were entered - one whom I've never beaten and another who has NEVER been beaten by anyone in the U.S. The pressure was on. Fortunately, in a stair climb race there is only one direction to go - UP.
My victory in this race was one of the most startling in the history of the sport of stair climbing. A raw vegan at the age of 40 had come out ahead of the country's best in one of the World's most grueling sports. I had beaten a man thought to be unbeatable and set a new course record in the process. It was more than I could have possibly imagined... And it was all captured on television. I was grateful, I was happy, I was celebrated by my friends, peers and fellow competitors. So why didn't my life magically change in that moment? Why did everything feel the same? Why was I not as happy as those around me? It was my moment to shine... why didn't I feel shiny?
Today as I drove home from a limit stretching workout at the gym, it all became clear to me. We've been trained in this culture to believe in Hollywood endings and fantasy. That "someday" our lives are going to magically come together and everything will be perfect and we will live happily ever after. When we have "this", or do "that" everything will be different. This race was one of those moments. I had set myself up. I had placed the responsibility of my "definition" on some outside force. Even in victory I had given my power away.
As I sat in my car contemplating this issue I was struck with a profound realization; it's what I do when no one is watching that defines me. It's the choices I make when I am accountable only to myself that defines me. It is everything that I do to PREPARE for a race that defines me. It is the mastery of the voices in my head that defines me. Ultimately, it is the choices I make in the every day average moments where nothing is seemingly at stake that defines who I am... the little victories, not the glorious victories that are celebrated in the streets with hugs, cheers, laughter and tears... Although, those moments do make for better photographs and Hollywood screenplays.
Food Networking:
As they say in Hollywood, "It's in the can". Meaning that after five months of filming, we are satisfied with the content on both sides of the camera and production of the show has wrapped. The editing process can be a laborious one, so please be patient as the brilliant production team at Al Roker Productions whips this show into shape. The rough cut that I have seen looks fantastic! I couldn't ask for a more professional and compelling vehicle to spread the word of health and success to the masses and with a name like "The Fountain of Youth", I'm certain it will get a lot of attention.
Air date to be announced.
The Running Raw Buzz:
XTERRA Planet Newsletter
The Race Report:
With the busy summer racing season behind me, I have moved into a more focused racing zone. It's tower racing season now and if a race doesn't include some serious vertical, I'm not interested.
US Bank Tower Stair Climb - Los Angeles, CA
The first of the three big U.S. tower races was a huge success for Running Raw. With a 29 second improvement over my winning time last year, I managed to edge out America's top two stair climbers in this epic race and claim victory. Following the race, Terry Purcell, a man who had previously been unbeaten in stair climbing since 1996 voiced these words - "I think I'm going to have to go raw". Read the full story here.
XTERRA Pt. Mugu Trail Race - Malibu, CA
Thirty-six hours after tackling the US Bank Tower, I competed in this challenging 18K (11 mile) mountain trail race. My legs and breakfast of fresh fruit served me well again as I blazed to victory in near course record time. Read the full story here.
Stark Mountain Hill Climb - Fayston, VT
The scenery was anything but stark in this test of uphill stamina. Fall foliage in peak display was the backdrop for this 2,000 vertical foot climb up the trails of Mad River Glen Ski Area in central Vermont. It was a choose your own course style of race - any which way you can to the top. I choose the 38% slope of the lift line as my path of beast resistance. It seemed to pay off, as I brought home my third straight victory. Read the full story here.
The Training Log - The Letdown and the Letup:
So you've just trained your butt off for a big event, and the event is now over. What do you do? How do you keep up the intensity? How do you train on the dark side of the moon? These are questions that I've had to answer on a daily basis as I ready myself for the Go Vertical Chicago Sears Tower Stair Climb on November 9th. The bar has been raised, the gauntlet has been thrown down and I enter this race with a target on my back.
Albeit beautiful, the fall weather in Vermont has tested my resolve. The wet, cold mornings are bone chilling. Deer hunting season has shut down most of my favorite trails leaving me to run on pavement or at the gym. Neither is very appealing to me. The result - a significant reduction in my training load. Some could look at this as needed recovery, and I often try on that perspective as well. Deep inside I know it to be otherwise... and that has lead me to introspection and growth... which is often more difficult than working out itself.
To compensate for my reduced mileage and training frequency, I've upped the intensity of my workouts. Throughout much of this journey, I have feared the hard workouts that must be completed in order to compete at an elite level. It's easy to slack off and avoid the real tough stuff... the workouts that push me beyond my limits and WAY beyond my comfort zone. It's easy to come up with excuses as to why I should take a day off or stop halfway through a workout. But as I'm sure you know, taking the easy route never leads you to anything extraordinary.
I've had to develop some "mental" strategies to make this endeavor less frightening. Among them is an exaggerated short-sightedness. I choose to focus only on the smallest task in front of me, e.g. getting out my shoes, laying my running clothes on the bed, getting dressed in said attire, and then simply walking out the door. When I focus on the small steps so intently, I don't see what lies ahead, but in a matter of minutes I find myself in the midst of the workout cheering to myself "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!"
The second tool that I employ is a rundown of my present physical and emotional state, quickly followed by alternative states to "try on". If I find myself squinching my face and grimacing, I relax my facial muscles and make note of the new feeling when I do this. I work all the way down my body... neck, shoulders, arms, chest, stomach, hips, thighs, calves, feet, changing the state of each as I go. Then I start over and run down my emotional state and offer upgrades where needed. I choose how I feel during these intense workouts. I create my experience. Today while breaking through to new levels on the stepmill at the gym I chose to call my right leg "joy" and my left leg "ease". As each leg fired I would call out it's name in my mind and embody those two thoughts in my body and mind.
This has had a significant impact on my training experience. I won't tell you that the fear and dread of a painful workout to come has completely disappeared, but I will tell you that I'm FAR more likely to do the workout as scheduled and actually enjoy the process. It's somewhat of a spiritual experience to choose to push beyond my limits and choose to be present to what I am feeling at the same time and then author that experience. It's not about choosing the pain, it's about choosing the experience. When you choose the experience, the pain transforms... into what? That's up to you.
With these tools in my toolbox and the celebration of my little victories each day, I move towards the Sears Tower race with a smile on my face.
Upcoming Events:
October 18th - Bisbee 1000 Stair climb - Bisbee, AZ
October 25th - Palm Springs Tram Road Challenge - Palm Springs, CA
October 25th - Raw Meetup/Potluck - Altadena, CA
November 2nd - Presentation - Tulsa, OK
November 3rd - Presentation - Wichita, KS
November 5th - Presentation - Kansas City, MO
November 9th - Sears Tower Stair Climb - Chicago, IL
November 9th - Presentation - Chicago, IL
The RunningRaw.com Experience:
Thank you for all of your great feedback on the new site! I'm still in the midst of updating pages and transferring information from the old site. Please check back often as I am committed to keeping you well informed and entertained on each of your visits to RunningRaw.com.
Paying it Back and Forward:
Please support my sponsors Larabar, Blendtec, Nutiva, Garmin, Excalibur, West Coast Labels, and Supercharge Me
Your Support:
Your donations help us more than you can imagine. Even very small contributions help to pay for event registrations, travel, etc.! Thank you in advance for your support. Your generosity allows me to do what I do and touch the lives I touch. You can make your donation through http://paypal.com to the address donate@runningraw.com. No amount is too little, and every dollar is greatly appreciated.
In Conclusion:
The Running Raw Project is taking off like never before. The stories you share of how Running Raw has made a difference in your lives inspires me to continually expand this project. If you're excited about what we do and would like to be a part of the team, please get in touch with us. We're always looking for new contributors, sponsorship and enthusiastic athletes to help make this project all it can be.
Please pass this newsletter along to anyone that you think might be interested in this journey. If you have any suggestions on how to make runningraw.com better, please pass them along. If there is anything you'd like me to try or blog about, send it my way, it may become a part of this journey.
Thank you for your continued support.
With Love and gratitude
Tim VanOrden
When my friend Dave Dunham first described the Stark Mountain Hill Climb race to me earlier this summer, I knew that it was a "must do" event. This race is unique in New England mountain racing in that each athlete gets to choose their route to the top of the mountain. The notoriously steep terrain of Mad River Glen Ski area on Stark Mountain in Fayston, VT served as the playing field for this event. There were numerous routes to the top. The access road was the longest and most gradual, the lift line was the shortest and steepest. In between these two extremes were several intermediate and black diamond ski trails to choose from.
The vertical climb from the Base Lodge to the Summit House was 2,000 feet. The ridiculously steep and often VERTICAL lift line trail ascended this elevation in one mile, making the grade a mind blowing 38%. Curious to see how my legs would fare on a climb twice as high as the US Bank Tower race in L.A., I chose the most direct route to the top.
My return to Vermont after eight days in Los Angeles affected me more than I anticipated. California still holds a lot of magic for me. It's an extraordinary place populated by extraordinary people. Although the drive north on Vermont's Route 100 offered up a spectacular display of fall foliage in peak brilliance, I was sad to be back in the land of impending winter. Being a raw vegan and a dedicated athlete does not mean that I eat the perfect foods at the perfect times in the perfect amounts. Yes, I often eat emotionally. A giant, super delicious salad with all the fixin's at 11PM the night before a big race was probably not the best choice... It was definitely NOT the best choice.
I stood on the starting line bouncing about and looking straight up the mountain at the summit looming high in the distance. My intestines were voicing their disapproval of my dietary choices of the night prior. I felt bloated and sluggish and had a good mind to knock some sense into myself on this vertical test. Well, had I had some "sense" to begin with, I probably would have noticed the light snow on top of the mountain and dressed accordingly. The winds were fierce. Temperatures at the base of the mountain were in the 40's. At the summit, they could easily have been in the 20's with the wind chill.
In a flash we were off in a stampede of lycra, wool hats and fleece... one brave soul ran shirtless. I headed left towards the lift line, everyone else headed straight, up another trail. Before the race I had talked to many of the locals about the best route up. They all offered their advice, none of which was to take the lift line. As I noticed the mass of bodies moving off to my right I began to question my decision. That's when I noticed the twenty foot cliff near the bottom of the lift line trail. A quick adjustment had me veering right and chasing the pack up the other trail. Within a few hundred meters I had made up the ground and overtaken the lead runner. I scrambled up the steepest trail at each intersection I came to but realized that I could no longer see the lift line. A quick look back revealed that no one was following me. Was I moving across the mountain and not directly up its slope? Was I headed to the other peak of the mountain? After scaling some small cliffs and soggy moss covered waterfalls I started cutting through the woods to where I thought the lift line might be. It was rough going. The ground was slippery and muddy and extremely steep. My run had turned into an off balance jungle jaunt. Having the camera in one hand only made matters worse. Every time I slipped or fell, I would roll to avoid hitting the camera on the ground or in the mud.
When I finally emerged onto the lift line I could see the midway lift station not far ahead. I charged on. The lift line was even steeper than the trails and woods I had been traversing. I climbed, slipped, grabbed at brush and small trees, fell, scaled ledges and worked my quads to the point of near extinction. When my legs could take no more, I would press my hands down on my knees and power hike. Every now and then I would start back into a run until my legs would fail again. I did my best to not look up at how far I had to go and how slowly I was moving from lift tower to lift tower. Voices of people in the chairs above me calmed me in the midst of my struggle. Their experience of ascending this mountain was very different from my own, and it was nice to adopt their jovial energy as they casually chatted and remarked at the intensity of the fall colors. I was so immersed in their conversation that I didn't realize until I was nearly at the top that I was almost keeping up with the lift and could therefore tune in to their chatter for what must have been 10 minutes of the climb.
A smattering of snow speckled the ground like a patchwork quilt. The winds were intensifying the higher I got. I could hear more voices ahead and finally looked up. A hundred meters away was the Summit House. With all the energy I could muster I let out one final charge to the finish. On legs of molten lead I crossed the finish line in first place. It will be a race I will never forget.
Standing on the summit of Stark Mountain and taking in the sea of orange and red mountains that stretched out for a hundred miles, I was a happy man. Not only was I in one of the most beautiful places on earth, but it was the third straight victory for the Running Raw Project. I cheered on the other racers as they appeared from several different trails and converged on the finish line, and then I quickly jumped on the lift for a twenty-two minute ride to the bottom of the mountain and a mild case of hypothermia. Nothing that a bowl of hot soup can't take care of... wait a minute... damn raw food diet!!!!
Just kidding... I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Thirty six hours after tackling the US Bank Tower I found myself toeing the line once again. The view from this starting point was dramatically different. The concrete, steel, glass and sheetrock were replaced by an old road lined by stately sycamore trees, crystal blue skies peeking through the morning fog drifting off the ocean behind me, the sound of waves crashing on the beach, and the sharp contours of the Santa Monica Mountains rising abruptly into the heavens. The La Jolla (pronounced La Hoya) Canyon section of Pt. Mugu State Park just north of Malibu is one of the prettiest places I've ever run. The scenery is breathtaking and I was looking forward to a nice long tour of this Southern California gem.
XTERRA has been hosting a Southern California trail race series for quite a few years now. It's popularity has grown immensely and XTERRA sponsored races can be found all over the United States at this point. There are XTERRA regional championships and even XTERRA national and World championships. They have done a fantastic job of making trail racing into rapidly growing sport. The So. Cal. series has always attracted the top runners in the Los Angeles area and the competition is fierce. One racer in particular has stood out as the king of trail racing in Southern California, 24 year old Sal Bautista, a quiet, diminutive, kind, young man of Mexican heritage. In 2006 Sal won the National 50K Trail Championships in Lake Tahoe, CA. Sal owns the course record on every one of the five XTERRA races in So. Cal. His records are thought to be untouchable. Last year Sal decided to attend college in the east and left the title of king of the mountains up for grabs.
On this particularly glorious beach morning, I found myself questioning my position on the line. A quick look around revealed many of the fastest men and women on the west coast. My legs were feeling quite knotted and stiff from the tower race and I haven't done a race this long in a year and a half. Eighteen kilometers works out to be around eleven miles. But these were not eleven ordinary miles. We were to quickly ascend to the top of Pt. Mugu Peak which is nearly an 800 foot climb. The course then rolled up and down in the HOT interior of the park before we would climb another nameless peak over 1,200 feet in elevation. The grand finale was a screaming three mile downhill to the finish at sea level. I felt that I was in WAY over my head, but I wanted to see what I could do. So I toed the line.
The MC of the event (XTERRA spares no expense on putting on these events) was a gentleman that I studied with in acting class eight years ago. His name was Conrad. Before the race began he approached each of us and got a little bio of our previous results so that he could announce to the crowd who would be in the front of the pack. He asked me what I thought I would run for a time. I said I didn't know. He offered a very respectable time of one hour and fifteen minutes as a target to hit. My friend Jonathan Toker, who was standing next to me countered that he had won this race last year in a 1:13 and change. Conrad then went on to inform the crowd that Sal Bautista had blazed this course in a record of one hour and nine minutes flat two years ago. An audible "wow" whooshed through the crowd. Moments later the whoosh of bodies hurriedly scampering for position filled my eyes and ears. We were off.
I took off quickly and found myself in the lead within the first hundred meters. The pace was comfortable so I kept it up. The climb started within half a mile. At the first hairpin turn I noticed that no one was giving chase. This surprised me as my legs were feeling far from fresh and the pace seemed a bit slow. When the three mile mark rolled around I had finally summited Pt. Mugu peak. There was no one in sight behind me. Hundreds of feet below I could hear the crashing of the surf. The fluffy top of the marine layer shrouding the ocean appeared like a soft blanket caressing the mountains. My legs were tired and the rolling terrain gave me an opportunity to rest and relax. I was in a good place mentally. I was calm. I was running my race and I was running fast.
The sound of footsteps behind me broke my peace at mile five. Jon Clark, (one of the best mountain runners in the country) had made up the gap and was coming on strong. We were in the interior of the park and it was at least twenty degrees hotter. Voices began to echo in my head. "It's too hot, you can't sustain this pace.", "Let him take the lead and coast behind him.", "You had a great first five miles, but you just aren't in shape to go the whole 18k.". In the distance the striking sillouhette of Boney Mountain had grabbed my attention. In all of my travels, it still remains one of the most beautiful mountains I've ever seen. I began to relax. I quickly turned off the voices that were offering their advice and took control of the mic. I chose four words: "ease", "joy", "peace", "love". I repeated them again and again and each time I said them I'd bring the feeling of each word into my body. My breathing became deeper. My stride relaxed. My shoulders softened. I took in the scenery and picked up the pace. The display on my heart rate monitor read 178, which is quite high for a race this long. That pace would normally be reserved for the final mile of a 5K street race. I stayed calm and eased into it. It felt differently this time... "ease", "joy", "peace", "love".
The sound of Jon's footsteps was beginning to fade as I approached the halfway mark. There were several volunteers manning an aid station and I noticed chip timing blankets in the middle of the trail. As I crossed they clapped and cheered and then a voice rang out above them all - "34:34!!", a man said, "you are on record pace!! Keep it up!!". Could this be possible? I checked my watch and saw a similar time. Was I running in the footsteps of the invincible Sal Bautista? I became excited and quickly forgot about Jon behind me. The hardest part of the course was now complete. We had one more medium 400 foot climb and then it was three miles of screaming downhill to the finish. I was feeling good. I kept repeating my new mantra and smiled into the pace as I began to accelerate. Every stride was intentional, every breath, every thought. I was in the driver's seat.
Mile eight found me cresting the summit of the final climb. My legs were solid, my breathing smooth, my heart rate read 184. Under normal circumstances this would have raised serious alarm. There have only been two races that I have competed in over the last three years that have seen my heart rate at this level - and they were both ONE MILE races on the track! I wasn't sure how I was able to sustain this level of effort, but the nausea that normally accompanies such an intense exertion was nowhere to be found. I continued to repeat my mantra. To my left was the wide expanse of Sycamore Canyon with it's blanket of grasslands and mature sycamore trees. Rising abruptly out of this sylvan paradise were the sandstone spires of Boney Mountain which were now splitting the rays of the early morning sun. To my right were the fjord-like snakings of La Jolla Canyon filled with morning fog which was illuminated on it's upper surface. It was a sight well worth running eight miles at breakneck speed to view. I was grateful to be witness. For a moment I forgot I was racing and soaked in my surroundings.
I was awoken by the sudden shot of adrenalin that fired when I flew around a hairpin turn with such speed that I flew off the side of the trail and nearly off the edge of a very steep precipice. The downhill section had begun and I was in full attack mode. I flew past an EMT on a particularly rocky and steep section who yelled out "be careful!". I was being careful, I was being mindful, I was running at the brink but in full control. The sinuous etchings of the trail carved into the mountain side began to materialize below me as I dropped down into the fog. The finish was close. I picked up the pace even more, moving my feet as fast as I possibly could. A pain began to manifest in my side. I breathed into it and repeated my mantra. In the distance I could hear Conrad the MC yapping away on the mic. I pulled out all the stops. My heart rate was 183 going downhill! Two more switchbacks and I was bursting through the finish shoot at full throttle. Conrad's voice shrieked into the microphone "1:09:32!, 1:09:32! So close to Sal Bautista's record! 1:09:32 at 40 years old!" I was stunned. I had run the race of my life.
It would be over two minutes before Jon Clark would come blazing in to finish second. Nearly seven minutes would transpire before Jonathan Toker would cross in third place.
The Running Raw Project has arrived. No one can question the power of a simple raw vegan diet anymore. The proof is in the pudding.
You have probably all heard the old saying "Luck is where opportunity meets hard work." Late this afternoon in a spartan stairwell in downtown Los Angeles, a combination of luck, opportunity and hard work came together in brilliant fashion. At approximately 6:24 PM, I burst into the golden light of sunset over the San Gabriel Mountains and the glittering skyline of L.A. I stood for a brief moment atop the US Bank Tower, 1,018 feet above the street from which I had come minutes earlier. Seventy-Five storeys, 1,500 steps = 1,500 stories. Fifteen hundred opportunities to see what I am made of.
At 6:24 PM I was made of Jello. My legs quickly buckled and I hit the cement hard. Every cell in my body screamed in agony, but at the same time I was filled with a sense of profound elation. I had given it my all on each step. I chose victory in each stride. I had done my best. The voices of "quit", "defeat" and "I can't take any more" were strangely absent in the tower. The voices were replaced by choices - Make every step count - a victory here could impact the lives of many people - This race was bigger than me.
In every tower race prior to this one, I had run from a place of fear. I ran like an injured animal being chased by a predator and fearing for it's life. I was afraid of these races, I was afraid of the extreme pain. I ran to prove a point, I ran to please you, I ran to make you proud. On this day, I simply ran. The knowledge that #2 in the US, Tommy Coleman was starting directly in front of me and #1 in the US (NEVER beaten in the US from 1996 - 2008) Terry Purcell was starting right behind me, was of no impact. I ran my own race and at my own pace.
At 6:29 PM I rolled over and tried to get up. A few EMT's helped me to my feet after several failed attempts to have my own legs do the work for me. That's when I noticed the camera in my face. I had forgotten that the Food Network was filming this epic battle. I had forgotten that the wireless mic taped to my hip was picking up every peep and grunt I made in the tower. I was grateful for that lapse in memory.
The orangey golden light that bathed us was surreal. I sat down on a steel girder between Terry and Tommy. We shared embraces and congratulated each other on making it to the top. Other racers kept streaming through the door and onto the roof. I observed their legs buckling, listened to their closed off airways rasping and took in the grimaces on their faces. They were all heros.
Someone asked me what my time was. I hadn't looked yet. Last year I narrowly won this race in a time of 10:01. I had secretly hoped that my new level of fitness would give me a shot of breaking the course record of 9:46. The glass plate on my watch glowed orange in the light as I peered through the reflection to see my time. For a moment, the world stopped turning. My watch read 9:32. I asked Tommy what his time was, he said "9:40". Something began to bubble in me, but I hesitated in asking Terry what he had clocked. Finally I got up the courage and asked. "It looks like you won" he said, "I did 9:35". The bubbling feeling quickly vanished and a sense of bewilderment took it's place. I didn't quite know what to do with the information I had just been given. Did a raw vegan at the age of 40 just best the two most dominant stair climb racers in the history of the sport and break the course record in the process? Did I just finish ahead of the man who's never been beaten? Did this really just happen? Was all of this just captured on national TV???? All three of our times were below the course record. What an honor to compete with these men at the top of their game and come out on top. Does this make me the best stair climber in the country? No. That's an honor that I will have to work long and hard to achieve, but this is a great step in that direction. I have the greatest respect for Terry and Tommy and have watched their performances with awe for the past several years. These men are still tops in the sport, and they are still the men to beat in any race they enter.
But at 6:24 PM on September 26, 2008 it was my moment to shine... It was our moment to shine. To see what's possible, to be what's possible. The seeds of change have been planted.
7:15 PM "I think I'm going to have to go raw."
- Terry Purcell
With one of the biggest races in Running Raw history only three days away (US Bank Tower Stair Climb in Los Angeles on September 26th), I thought I'd keep you posted on my preparation for this monumental event - 76 storeys, 1,500 steps.
The US Bank Tower Stair Climb is one of the top three tower races in the country, and always attracts an incredible elite field. Last year I narrowly defeated Jesse Berg (Sears Tower winner) by 3 seconds to claim victory in the tallest building west of Chicago.
I was informed that this year's climb had attracted several stair climbing superstars including Terry Purcell and Tommy Coleman. Terry is one of the top three stair climbers in the world, and the top stair climber in America. Not only does Terry own course records in many of the tallest buildings in the United States and Australia (the Sears Tower for one), but he's NEVER been beaten in the US by another American in his 12 year stair climbing career. Terry Purcell is the Michael Jordan of Stair Climbing. Tommy Coleman could easily be considered the second best stair climber in the US. He's won numerous elite tower races around the country (including the US Bank Tower in 2006) and placed as the 2nd American finisher at the unofficial world championships at the Empire State Building (6th overall). I have trailed Tommy in every race that I have competed against him thus far. This was going to be one hell of a climb.
To add to the pressure of this event, The Food Network had decided to come out and film the race. After a disappointing performance at Mount Washington, they felt it was in the show's best interest to showcase me in my strongest sport - stair climbing. They were expecting me to defend my title and win.
Knowing full well the new level of fitness that I must achieve to retain my title in this year's event, I have undertaken a most rigorous training regimen. The high mileage that helped me on the roads and mountains this summer has been replaced by weeks of 45 to 60 miles with 3 hard days per week. These hard efforts include races, leg strength at the gym, running up stone steps on the Appalachian Trail to failure, 10 minute all-out bursts on the elliptical machine and stepmill, an intensive core regimen, and 10 minute "sprints" on a rowing machine to build rail pulling strength and endurance. My hard days include a hard morning and hard afternoon workout, and occasionally a hard late evening workout. I have never felt or looked stronger in my life. I have improved significantly in ALL my fitness tests.
The most important of these tests is a section of the Appalachian Trail in Woodford, VT that climbs Harmon Hill. We locals call this ascent "Thousand Steps". This part of the trail is considered to be one of the toughest sections of the entire 2,174 miles of the AT. Climbing 900 feet in 4/10ths of a mile, this trail consists of hundreds of uneven stone steps, some as high as 18 inches. It's the hardest quad workout that I've ever done, and there is no railing to pull on to take the strain off of the legs as you would have in a stair climb race.
In November 2006, when I was back in Vermont preparing for the Sears Tower Stair Climb (103 storeys), I took on the Thousand Steps to test my fitness. I ran 2/3rds of the way to the top before my legs failed and finished in a time of 10:40. One week later I finished 5th at the Sears Tower. The following October of 2007, I again tested my strength and endurance on this course and managed to run all the way to the top in a time of 9:37. My placement at the Sears Tower weeks later was 3rd. My best friend Dave then informed me that he used to train on this course when he was an Olympian ('92 and '94) competing in the sport of biathlon. This was his test of fitness as well, as he could find no better terrain to see what one was made of. At the peak of his fitness Dave clocked an 8:32.
Four days ago I put the hammer down and charged up this course with wild abandon. But at the same time I repeated two words in my head the entire ascent - "joy" and "ease". I relaxed into the pain and repeated the words over and over again. The harder it got the louder I said them... until they became real for me... until I felt joy and ease in the midst of the intense pain... until I chose the pain instead of fighting the voices that told me to quit. I crossed the finish point and my legs promptly gave way. Sitting in the mud and leaves I was afraid to look at my watch. Afraid that I was not as fast as last year. I was now 40 after all. It wasn't until I had walked all the way back down the mountain that I finally had the courage to see my time. It was 8:27.
US Bank Tower here I come!!
The world is taking notice of Tim VanOrden, elite athlete and creator of the Running Raw Project. Tim is a raw vegan athlete who has an international reputation for excelling in some of the world's most grueling sports. He's recently been crowned the New England Master's Mountain Running Champion and his achievements in Stair climbing, or Tower Racing, have just been featured in GQ Magazine and the London Guardian.
On September 26th, Tim will be competing against the best stair climbers in the country at the US Bank Tower Stair Climb in Los Angeles. This race climbs the 1,500 steps of the 76 storey US Bank Tower in downtown L.A., which is the tallest office building west of Chicago. Last year Tim won this race and put the world of stair climbing on notice, that Raw Food has arrived. The Food Network is sending a camera crew to film Tim in this epic race as part of a documentary style show on Tim and the Running Raw Project which will air later this fall.
Tim will be giving two dynamic presentations on "Thriving on Raw Foods" in the Los Angeles area while he is in town. In these lectures Tim puts forth a new definition of Health; beyond the absence of disease and into the realm of THRIVING. In this discussion he'll touch upon the power of a raw vegan diet and how transitioning to this lifestyle will open new possibilities for your life. Tim's talks have touched thousands of people throughout the country and we're thrilled to have the chance to offer you these presentations.
The first presentation takes place Thursday September 25th at 7PM at Leaf Cuisine (www.leafcuisine.com) 11938 West Washington Blvd., Culver City, CA. There is a fee of $10 payable at the door. All proceeds go to supporting the Running Raw project and enabling Tim, as a sponsored athlete to continue to get the message of Raw Foods out to the mainstream population. The presentation will begin at 7:00pm sharp, so come early if you'd like to purchase a fantastic raw meal in the restaurant. Please contact Leaf Cuisine at 310-390-6005 or email info@runningraw.com , if you have any questions.
The second presentation will be held on Saturday September 27th at 6PM in Altadena, CA. This event is part of Great LA Raw and Living Food Meetup group. This is a potluck, so please bring a raw vegan dish to share. This event will be held at a private home in Altadena, Ca. and the address will be sent out to registrants a few days before the event. There is a $12.00 cash fee at the door. To register for this event go to: http://rawfood.meetup.com/462/calendar/8708538/
We look forward to seeing you there.
To see what's possible. To be what's possible.
The Running Raw Team
A Huge hello to all my friends and supporters of the Running Raw Project.
In This Issue:
All's Quiet on the Eastern Front
Fort้ at Forty
Olympic Trials and Tribulations
Food Networking
The Running Raw Buzz
The Race Report
The Training Log
Upcoming Events
Running Raw Website Updates
All's Quiet on the Eastern Front:
A clean, simple, plant-based diet/lifestyle is only one piece in the puzzle of true health. A potentially larger and more important factor in truly thriving is emotional well-being. Over the last six months it has become increasingly clear to me that I have a great deal to learn about my emotions and how they impact my life and my health. I have been myopically focused on diet and exercise alone at the expense of my joy and happiness. I have been afraid to let you down. I've been afraid that if I didn't achieve my goals you would stop believing in the possibility of this lifestyle I put forth. I became anxious and overwhelmed, and forgot how to receive your support. I became isolated and quiet and yet at the same time I developed a codependent relationship with you, my supporters. I have been doing this for you and not for me. It has been you that has gotten me out of bed to train hard when I didn't want to. It has been my need to keep you inspired that has kept me going. It has been my need to be an example for all of you that has kept this project alive. All the while I was neglecting me, and falling apart. Sometimes it takes someone from the outside to show us what we cannot see on the inside. I have been blessed recently to have such a person come into my life and to wake me up to me and my truth and my fulfillment.
Standing in my own power and in my own desire, I recommit to this project and to it's brilliant success. For me... For you... For us.
Fort้ at Forty:
Like the summer in Vermont, my 40th birthday has come and gone. Time does not stand still, nor does it give value to the numbers that we hold so dear and fear. It cares not for our plans nor our dreams. It simply does a brilliant job of moving ever forward with open arms if we ever choose to accept it's course.
For almost three years now all of my plans and goals for this project revolved around my 40th year. It was to be the defining moment of Running Raw. My time to shine. Our time to shine. In the beginning it seemed like an eternity until that glorious day would arrive. I had all the time in the World. Time to fill with action. Time to fill with inaction. I did both.
That time has come and gone and the bulk of my goals were not achieved. They say that time heals all wounds... and perhaps that's true. I have now come to terms with the realization that the richness of life's moments almost never sync up with the grandeur of our dreams. But those moments are rich none the less. For in these moments lies truth and being and beauty and peace and contribution and love. I have no regrets. I continue forth as I am, starting where I am, with one goal in my heart and mind - To see what's possible... To be what's possible.
Olympic Trials and Tribulations:
Many of you have been emailing me about the Olympics in Bejing. The short answer is that I was not in attendance. I am not deterred, but even more determined. The Running Raw Project is refocusing, repackaging and recreating a brilliant future for everyone involved. Stay tuned.
Food Networking:
The story goes that an actor usually gets their big break when they decide to quit acting and leave town. That's when the phone rings. Well, two years after I quit acting and seven months after I left L.A., the phone finally rang. But it wasn't Speilberg, or Scorcese. This call was even more important. It was a producer for Al Roker Productions and The Food Network. They wanted to do a documentary style show about the Running Raw Project and air it this fall in a prime time slot - 8pm Saturday night.
I met the producers for dinner at Pure Food and Wine in lower Manhattan. Neither of them had ever tried "raw food" and they were quite skeptical. By the time the "thin mint sundae" had arrived for dessert their apprehension was replaced with curiosity and delight. They shared with me that up until this point, the Food Network would not touch raw food with a 10 foot pole. My approach to raw foods had a general appeal they told me, and they were willing to take a chance on me and this project. I am grateful.
We began filming in early June and will continue shooting through late September. I am so thankful for this incredible opportunity to get the word out to mainstream America. Although I will not be getting paid for my work on this show, I'm hoping that it opens doors which allow the Running Raw Project to grow to new levels and reach a larger audience.
When the show gets near to it's air date, I'll let you know.
The Running Raw Buzz:
XTERRA Trail Mix Newsletter - May 13th 2008 http://www.xterraplanet.com/trailmix/51308.html
London Guardian - June 3rd 2008 http://lifeandhealth.guardian.co.uk/health/story/0,,2283483,00.html
Bite Back Article - April 2008 http://www.biteback.be/news/detail.php?news_id=4303
Tony Fletcher's Blog: (scroll 2/3rds Down) http://www.ijamming.net/?cat=21
Gone Raw Forum - WOW!! http://goneraw.com/forums/8/topics/5765
Bennington Banner Youtube Interview - http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=6jjIfvLLeCM&feature=related
La Sportiva Northfield Mtn. Race Coverage - http://www.mountainrunning.com/item.php?id=76
The Race Report:
It was a very busy summer of racing for the Running Raw Project. I raced at least once a week, and at one point had raced 8 times in 15 days. Quite a few victory notches were added to the Running Raw belt, and several new course records now belong to the raw vegan movement. But more importantly, I had dozens of opportunities to plant the seed of health.
Highlights:
Climb California - Aon Center Stair Climb - 62 Storeys - Los Angeles, CA
With the top US stair climbers in attendance, I managed a 2nd place finish only two seconds behind one of the World's best - Tommy Coleman.
Kids for Kids 5k - Los Angeles, CA
After a slow start, and temps in the high 80's, I managed to best the field in this star studded L.A. event. For my efforts I garnered my first sub 16:00 performance of the year.
Whiteface Mountain Foot Race - Wilmington, NY
As a warm up for Mt. Washington, I took on some of the country's best athletes on this Olympic mountain. When the wind had died and the fog had cleared at the summit, I found myself in 3rd place.
The top two spots went to a two-time Olympian and a two time Olympic Trials Marathon qualifier.
High Chair Run Up - Palenville, NY
1,200 feet of climbing in only 2.25 miles. The rugged Catskill Mountains of upstate NY served as the proving ground for this challenging vertical trail race. We were warned of possible bear encounters at the start, but little did I know that I would be chasing a black bear to the finish, thinking it was a spectator dressed in black. Another victory and another course record for Running Raw.
New England Trail Running Championships at Northfield Mtn. - Northfield, MA
New England's top trail runners converged on Northfield Mtn. to compete in the trail running championships. After a grueling 6.5 mile race I was crowned the New England Masters Trail Running Champion, and broke the Masters course record by 57 seconds.
Whipple City 5k - Greenwich, NY
The dog days of summer couldn't stop the Running Raw Project from breaking the course record in this hilly and hot 5k.
US Mtn. Running Championships - Mt. Washington, NH
What do you get when you combine two days of intense travel, little sleep, extreme stress, undereating, and a camera in your face at all times? My worst race performance to date. After a promising start, I ran out of blood sugar halfway through the race and hit the proverbial wall at 60 mph. Had it not been for the microphone strapped to my chest, and the cameras filming my pathetic shuffle and stumble, I would have just passed out on the side of the road and called it quits long before I reached the finish. It was pride that kept my body moving forward for those last few brutal miles. There was no way in hell that I was going to give up on national television. When I crossed the line, I was immediately jumped by two EMT's who promptly injected me with a glucose solution. The camera kept rolling, as did my eyes... into the back of my head. They tell me it will make for great television and give my character a dramatic arc... There is nothing like being Reality TV fodder :)
Now it's time for the hero to rise up in act III.
Mt. Cranmore Hill Climb - North Conway, NH
I needed a strong performance at Mt. Cranmore to heal the wounds incurred on Mt. Washington. This race had broken me the year before and my confidence was now at an all-time low. I dug deep inside and pulled out a 5th place overall finish and took home the masters title.
Loon Mtn. Race - Lincoln, NH
With 4 of the 6 New England Mtn. Running Circuit races behind us, I was ranked 3rd overall and top master in the series. Loon Mtn. would be the ultimate test of my physical and mental endurance. With well over 3,000 feet of climbing at grades of up to 45%, this is one of the toughest races on the planet. I gutted out a 7th place overall finish, besting several of the top runners in the Mt. Washington Race. Mountain running legend Dave Dunham had a phenomenal race and placed 3rd. This allowed him to edge ahead of me in the Master's points race by 4/10ths of a point, and moved him into the 3rd place spot in the overall series.
Mt. Ascutney Run to the Summit - Brownsville, VT
The sixth and final race in the N.E. Mtn. Running Circuit was a relentless grind of a climb up Mt. Ascutney in South Eastern Vermont. After Dave Dunham's stellar race at Loon Mtn., I now trailed him by a just 10 seconds going into this race. The pressure was on. Apparently the producers from the Food Network could smell the heat, because they were there to film me as I dueled with Dave. A 2,200 foot climb over 3.8 miles of paved road would be the proving ground. Again, Dave showed his strength for long grinding climbs and easily eclipsed me for a 3rd place finish. I gave it my all to the line for a 10th place finish. The series ended with Dave taking the 3rd spot overall and 1st master. I completed the series 4th overall and 2nd master.
The Training Log - What goes up must keep going up:
The past two months have been focused on getting ready for the upcoming US Bank Tower Stair Climb in Los Angeles on September 26th. This is one of the top 3 stair climb races in the country, and always attracts an incredible elite field. Last year I narrowly defeated Jesse Berg (Sears Tower winner) by 3 seconds to claim victory in this 76 storey climb. I was informed that stair climbing superstar and Australian expatriat Terry Purcell will be on hand for this race. Terry holds the record at the Sears Tower and has never been beaten in the United States - he is one of the World's best.
Knowing full well the new level of fitness that I must achieve to retain my title in this year's event, I have undertaken a most rigorous training regimen. The high mileage that helped me on the roads and mountains this summer has been replaced by weeks of 45 to 60 miles with 3 hard days per week. These hard efforts include races, leg strength at the gym, running up stone steps on the Appalachian Trail to failure, 10 minute all-out bursts on the elliptical machine and stepmill, an intensive core regimen, and 10 minute "sprints" on a rowing machine to build rail pulling strength and endurance. My hard days include a hard morning and hard afternoon workout, and occasionally a hard late evening workout. I have never felt or looked stronger in my life. I have improved significantly in ALL my fitness tests.
During this intense training, I have had to increase my caloric and protein intake to keep up with the demands of my healing body... I'll have details soon.
Upcoming Events:
September 25th - Presentation - Thriving on Raw Foods - Leaf Cuisine, Culver City, CA
September 26th - US Bank Tower Stair Climb - Los Angeles, CA
September 27th - Presentation - Thriving on Raw Foods & Potluck - Altadena, CA
September 29th - XTERRA Pt. Mugu 20K Trail Race - Malibu, CA
October 12th - US Masters Cross Country Championships - Greensboro, NC
November 9th - Sears Tower - Go Vertical Chicago Stair Climb - Chicago, IL
A Brand New Website:
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In Conclusion:
The Running Raw Project is taking off like never before. The stories you share of how Running Raw has made a difference in your lives inspires me to continually expand this project. If you're excited about what we do and would like to be a part of the team, please get in touch with us. We're always looking for new contributors, sponsorship and enthusiastic athletes to help make this project all it can be.
Please pass this newsletter along to anyone that you think might be interested in this journey. If you have any suggestions on how to make runningraw.com better, please pass them along. If there is anything you'd like me to try or blog about, send it my way, it may become a part of this journey.
Thank you for your continued support.
With Love and gratitude
Tim VanOrden
Two years ago, I had my first taste of New England mountain running at the Loon Mtn. race. I had been running for only 6 months at that point, and had somehow managed to move into the front pack of California's mountain running scene. So naturally I thought I'd take a shot at making the US Mountain Running Team. I selected the Loon Mtn. Race because it was a qualifier for the US Team and I wouldn't have to contend with the altitude of the Colorado qualifiers. It was also not far from my family's home in Vermont. At first glance of the topo map, Loon appeared to be a rather small mountain compared to what I was used to running up in CA, so I thought I had this one in the bag. Well, the only bag that I had anything in was a barf bag. Loon crushed me with the weight of it's infamously steep, never-ending climbs, as did the field of elite New England mountain runners. That's when I realized two things - I was not nearly as fast as I had thought, AND New England has the toughest mountain runners in the United States. Two years after that brutal introduction, I was back to face the monster once again.
In the two years since, my running has improved by leaps and bounds. Going into this race, I was ranked 3rd overall in the USATF New England Mtn. Running Series, and ranked 1st in the Master's division. The legendary Dave Dunham was coming hard on my heels only a point and a half behind. I would need to be within 30 seconds of Dave at the finish in order to hold on to my lead. There was only one problem - Dave's specialty is LONG, GRUELING climbs that never seem to end.
I drove over to Lincoln, NH a day early to help the Race Director Paul Kirsch mark the course along with Dave D. The three of us had done an 8 mile run a few hours earlier and now had the task of hiking the 5.5 mile uphill course carrying flags. I was a little worried that I might be expending too much energy the day before the race, but Dave was the man to beat, and he was there with me step for step.
The course reminds me of the 'bait and switch' tactics of a sleazy electronics salesmen. It starts out with half a mile of relatively flat access road, which lures the faster and less experienced runners out to a fast start. The wiser competitors realize that the race is won on the last hill and not in the 1st half mile, so they ease into the pace. It's not long before you are ascending a 20% slope (most roads over mountain passes are usually between 7% to 9% slope). The second tease arrives in the form of a 200m downhill around mile 2. Once again, the less experienced racers see this as an opportunity to speed up and make some ground on the runners ahead of them... the wise old runners see this as an opportunity to catch their breath, because they know what comes after this short respite - a mile and a half of constant uphill at 17 to 25% grades. This is where the men are separated from the boys.
At long last you can hear the cheers of the crowd as you crest the hill and burst out on top of the mountain... but wait, you have to climb TWO mountains in this race!! Unlike Mt. Washington, there is more than one hill. After you splash yourself with water and run by the eventual finish line you plummet quite severely down a 25% grade, dropping 100 feet in a matter of seconds. The downhill then becomes a more gradual 10% and continues for nearly half a mile. Again, the new runners will try to make ground here, thinking the bulk of the race is over. The course makes a very sharp right hand turn, the downhill abruptly ends and you are faced with the one of the most frightening sights you will ever see - A black diamond ski trail called "Upper Walking Boss". This trail rises up like an impenetrable wall for half a mile in front of you. The average grade is 30%, but it reaches an impossibly steep slope of 45% in several sections. This is the point were all the hotshots in the beginning of the race end up as roadkill on the side of the trail (if that didn't already happen on the first mountain ascent). While I was walking up this section of the trail as we marked the course I said to Paul and Dave, "I don't think I can go up this hill any faster than I am right now". They laughed, but they knew I wasn't far from the truth.
When you do finally crest the top of the second peak on legs so wobbly that they can barely support your weight, you are greeted with half a mile of blisteringly steep downhill over grass, dirt, rocks, stream washes, and my favorite - water bars. Water bars help to divert rain water as it flows down the trail so as to prevent erosion. But when they are meeting your feet at 25 miles an hour they act like little bmx bike jumps, sending you flying into the air out of control hoping that you can land on your feet and avoid injury. That last downhill tears your quads to pieces, smashes your toes into the front of your shoes, blackens any remaining good toenails, and blisters the bottoms of your feet. But you are still not done. Remember that abrupt 100 foot drop after you crested the first peak? Well, it now stands between you and the finish line. Time to suck it up, pray that you can keep your breakfast down, and dig deep, deeper than you thought you could ever dig... the fans lining the course yell, "you're almost there!!!", and you wonder if the destination they are referring to is Hell. A few seconds later, you are done, literally done. But it won't be long before you are looking out over the spectacular view with friends and fellow comrades sharing war stories of the toughest race you've ever done.
The men's field looked like a who's who of New England mountain running legends. There was Eric Blake, two time National mountain running champion ('06, '08), and two time winner of the Mount Washington Road Race ('06, '08) - Eric Morse, who holds mountain running course records all over the US, and who has been in the top 5 on Mt. Washington 10 times - Craig Fram, who has won Mt. Washington and been in the top 3 another 4 times - Kevin Tilton a two time member of the US Mtn. running team - Justin Fyffe who won the Cranmore Hill Climb a week earlier and who leads the New England Mtn. Running Series - Todd Callaghan who's ranked 2nd in the N.E. Mtn. Series - Jim Johnson who finished a very close 3rd at Cranmore and who cranked a 1:10 in his first Mt. Washington appearance - David Herr, who finished 10th in the '07 US Mtn. Championships, and clinched the top Master's spot - and let's not forget 4 time Mt. Washington winner and 7 time US Mtn. Running Team member, Dave Dunham.
The torrential downpour at Cranmore the week before would have been a welcome addition at the start of the race, but instead we faced the blazing sun and 80 degree temps. A few of the wiser runners soaked themselves in the ice cold mountain waters of the Pemigewasset River before the start.
When the gun went off, so did the lead pack, and I wasn't in it. I knew the level of competition that was in the race and I was well aware that I was outclassed by many in attendance. My plan was to run my own race and start out conservatively... and I stuck to it. The first few miles were uneventful. I was feeling strong and in great position. Ahead in the distance I could see Eric Blake, Craig Fram, Eric Morse, and Justin Fyffe battling for the top spot. I was glad I was not in that fight. At mile 3 I began to tire on the first of the monster climbs, so I backed off the pace a bit. This gave Dave Dunham the opportunity he needed to reel me in... and that he did. He went by me quickly, putting as much time as he could on me and hoping to discourage an attempt to stay with him. It worked. My heart rate was high, and I knew that this climb went on for another mile without a break, so I kept my current pace and watched Dave slowly pull away. I reached the summit of South Loon Mtn. feeling strong and confident. Paul Kirsch informed me that Dave was only 30 seconds ahead of me, but with the worst climbing yet to come, there was little chance that I would catch him. This was Dave's kind of race. As we marked the course the day before, Dave had told me that he was going to run the last hill in it's entirety. I didn't think that was possible, but he informed me that he had done just that the year prior. The screaming 1/2 mile downhill from the top of South Loon to the base of "Upper Walking Boss" allowed me to make up some ground on Dave. As I turned the corner to face the beast, I could see the all the runners in front of me. With the exception of Eric Blake who put the hammer down and ran away from the field, everyone looked rather close. That's the trick of this last hill. Someone can be 100 feet in front of you, but that translates to 40 seconds of climbing time. A runner 100 meters in front of you is nearly two minutes ahead. I looked up to see Dave running well and making ground on much better runners (well, better on every course but this one). Most of the other racers were power walking, so I took this opportunity to make up some ground by running as much as I could. I made it a third of the way up the hill before my legs begged me to stop and start my hunched over wobbly legged version of a power walk. That was enough running for me to gain significant ground on a few of the runners in front of me. I got even lower and extended the length of each stride on my power walk. Half way up the hill I could see that Dave was no longer running, but he was moving steadily ahead of me. I shifted my focus to David Herr and Jim Johnson in front of me. In all of our meetings I have never beaten either of them, and I was very surprised when I passed both of them two-thirds of the way up. They had gone out too hard and were paying the price. Next in my line of sight was Kevin Tilton and Craig Fram. Again, both runners have easily defeated me in every race up until this point, but I was determined to tackle this hill as best I could and leave nothing left when it was done. Holding down the vomit in my throat as I crested the summit, I quickened the pace. Craig was only a few feet in front of me, and Kevin was no more than 20 meters. The brutally steep downhill that followed would be quite dangerous at full speed on exhausted legs, but I knew that's where I could make my move. So I did. I flew by Craig in mid air as I pressed off a water bar in the trail. In the next death defying 700 meters I would put a minute and 30 seconds on him. Kevin Tilton took the same reckless approach that I did and held me off to the finish. I had run one hell of a race. Finishing 7th, in a field of superstars was beyond my expectations. I knew that I had slipped from my top spot in the Master's division and moved into 4th overall behind Dave Dunham, but I didn't care. Dave had a phenomenal race, and totally outperformed me. He is truly a king of the mountains.
When it was all said and done, several of the toughest men ever to run up a mountain were laid to waste. Spirits and bodies were broken... and best efforts were just not good enough. A mountain like that changes you forever... it takes a part of you... it steals your courage and hides it somewhere on "upper walking boss" in a patch of wild strawberries and indian paint brushes... taunting you and waiting for you to come back and try to reclaim it next year.
But there are also those indomitable New England spirits that thrive on such an extreme challenge and only dig deeper when the mountain throws it's very best at them. They are heroes in my book. The same type of damn yankees that didn't back down from a fight when this country was born 232 years ago, even when the odds were stacked against them.
To see a Video of the race, Click HERE
To see a Video of the Course, Click HERE
"Everyone should have people that inspire them. For some people it's world leaders, for others it's baseball, basketball or football players. For me, it's elite mountain runners."
- Paul Kirsch (Race Director)
Last week's race at Mt. Washington left me reeling in more ways than one. Not only did it turn the tables on my pre-race eating strategy, but it shattered my confidence as a mountain runner - AND it was filmed on national television. The stress of everything coming to a head at once was more than I could handle. The Food Network show, the constant growth of Running Raw, the training, and the twice weekly races had taken their toll on me. Tuesday was hot, humid, rainy and gloomy. It was not a day for new beginnings, it was a day that left me with some very troubling questions - Should I quit? Should I terminate the Running Raw Project? Should I stop running? Should I run and hide? It's hard to have a healthy perspective when you feel like your world has been turned upside down. It was impossible for me to see that I had just finished shooting a prime-time (8pm Saturday night) national television show on a network that saw raw food as a four letter word and wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. It was impossible for me to see that I was still ranked as the number 1 master's mountain runner in the New England Mountain Running Series, and it was impossible to see that most people that follow this project don't care if I win, they are just amazed that I'm doing it at all. Two days before the Cranmore race my friends and family finally convinced me to give it one more try, to make some adjustments, to continue the experiment.
Pre-race nerves have always been a problem for me, and they begin the day before the race. It is very rare that I get a good night's sleep the night before an event. Knowing this, I have purposefully eaten a light meal early in the evening on race night. The following morning I would continue with light fare (fruit) and hope that I could avoid nausea in the race. My fueling strategy was based not on my knowledge of diet and performance, but on fear and nerves. This has been working great in my tower races and in 5k races where the events don't last long enough for one to run out of fuel, but for longer races and especially for mountain races where the physical stress endured per minute is far greater than running on flat ground, my fueling strategy was a recipe for disaster.
Saturday night I ate as much as I could till 10pm - fruit and sprouted whole grains. I awoke 6am Sunday morning and continued with fruit and sprouted whole grains - MUCH more than I have ever eaten before a race - perhaps 4 times as much. An hour before the event started, I still felt full, but this was all part of the experiment.
In 2007, mountain running legend Dave Dunham stated that the Cranmore Hill Climb was the toughest race he's ever done. That's no small statement considering that Dave has done nearly 100 mountain races around the world and been on the US Mtn. Running Team 7 times. The name of this race is somewhat of a misnomer, as it's hardly a "hill" climb. Running up 1,100 vertical feet in 1 3/4 miles on dirt access roads and black diamond ski slopes, then running at break-neck speed down the other side AND then repeating the course one more time on wobbly legs just doesn't invoke the image of a "hill" in my mind. A hill is something that you drive over on the way to Grandma's house. This is by all definitions, a mountain, and the only thing that was consistently climbing throughout the race was my heart rate. It climbed to new heights as I struggled to keep the pace up the 30% incline of the black diamond ski slope that loomed like an impenetrable wall for the last 1/4 mile of the ascent. It climbed still higher as I began the tortoruous descent on exhausted wet noodle legs. The fear of being completely out of control and moving at speeds in excess of 20 miles an hour through rocks, roots, wet grass and mud is intense. You are nothing more than a puppet to gravity's will. There is no choice but to surrender your body to the momentum of the mountain and hope that you don't fall.
In M. Night Shyamalan's film "Unbreakable", a diabolical character by the name of Mr. Glass engineers disasters on planes, trains and buildings, hoping that some one special person will rise unharmed from the ashes. A hero, or better yet, a super hero. After competing twice now at the Cranmore Hill Climb, I have to wonder if race director Paul Kirsch has a similar (but less evil) intent - to create "killer" courses, and to make legends of those that conquer them with ease.... to push people beyond their limits in hope that a hero will rise.
When the race was over, that hero would be Justin Fyffe from Dummerston, VT, who dismissed the beast 1:41 faster than runner up and hometown favorite Kevin Tilton, of North Conway, NH. Jim Johnson turned in another heroic performance, finishing in 3rd place only 4 seconds behind Kevin and after badly spraining his ankle at the top the of the last descent. After the race he offered this - "I ran in some pain, but I just had to suck it up". I too have come to admire and greatly respect elite mountain runners. They are a different breed. They don't shy away from an extreme challenge or from hardship, they run headfirst straight into it, fight their best fight and come out smiling on the other end. What would the world be like if everyone took this approach?
For me it was also a day to shine. My new fueling experiment had worked and I had plenty of gas in my tank to duke it out with top master's runner Dave Dunham to the finish. We drove each other hard on the monster climbs, with Dave leaving me beaten and drooling a few meters behind him on the second ascent. But I put it all on the table for the final descent and beat him to the finish line. Oddly enough it was a combination of the most pain and the most fun I've had in a race. As the New England Mountain Running Series comes down to it's final 2 races, Dave and I are neck and neck for the top master's spot, with me edging him by just a point and a half. In the overall series I've managed to move into the number 3 spot, with Dave again just a point and a half back in 4th. The last two races are going to be really exciting.
To see a Video of the race, Click HERE
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.
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.
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.
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 soli
