Running Raw

The rains may have washed away the snow in the rest of New England, but up on Woodford Mountain, the snow was heavy and deep. Perfect conditions for the first of the 2010 Dion Snowshoes WMAC Snowshoe Series. Speaking of deep, the roster of athletes that showed up was like a who’s who list of Snowshoe and Mountain racing in New England.

Woodford defending champion and Former US Mountain Running Team member, Josh Ferenc, jumped out to an early lead in his usual fashion. Jim Johnson (NH Runner of the Year in 2009) was not going to let Josh have it that easy and jumped right on his heels. Although the pace was very fast and the snow was sticky and wet, I positioned myself right behind Jim to see how long I could hold on.

Within the first half mile, we met the longest, steepest hill in the race. This is where Josh usually breaks away from the pack and settles in to a comfortable lead. But Jim Johnson hung tight, and despite the pace, my legs were feeling very strong and I coasted behind Jim all the way up. When we made the turn into the woods and onto the single track at the top of the hill, the three of us had opened up a nice gap on 4th place.

We wound through the trees and over rocks on the sinuous, undulating single track. Josh surged a few times, but Jim and I held on tight. I was very surprised at how comfortable I was feeling. My heart rate was low and my breathing was not labored. In the back of my mind I was waiting for the anchor to drop, I mean how could I possibly be running with Josh Ferenc? My thoughts were violently interrupted by Jim Johnson screaming “Watch out!!”. My eyes darted around, and discovered a large, sharp stake coming out of the ground and pointing right at my face. I quickly dodged to the left, narrowly missing certain facial reconstruction. My heart raced and then settled… I smiled. This was snowshoe racing.

Suddenly Josh dropped like a rag doll in front of us and made a loud thump. He had tripped and come down hard on his chest and face on a large trailside boulder. Jim and I asked him if he was ok as we went by. He said something about his face. We kept turning back to check on him, he was not getting up. We charged on. Part of me felt guilty for not making certain of his well-being, but another part was in race mode and I was not letting go of this “hell of a race” I was having.

Another mile in and we came to another climb. Jim asked me if I wanted to go by. I said no. He said he was really dogging it and was out of shape. I countered with “You’re winning the race!”. I was feeling very comfortable, especially on the climbs. Apparently the crazy Tabata leg strength training I have been doing is really paying off. Part of me wanted to pass Jim and just go for it, but another part was thinking “when is this fairy tale going to end?”.

The curiosity that had marked my start to this race – Run out front with the big boys and see how long you can hang on – Had now turned into a fearful need for security. Now that I discovered that I could run with the big boys, I was afraid of blowing the chance at a victory if I did make a surge to take the lead. So I sat on Jim’s heels. Regardless of how many times he asked me to go by, I sat there, scared to make the move.

With 3/4 of a mile to go, Brian Rusiecki, one of the top trail runners in the East, was starting to close the gap on us. As we left the single track and entered the final 300 meters on the access road, Brian was only a few seconds behind us. I was not feeling tired, and thought that I could sprint to the finish now and come out ahead of Jim. Jim had the same idea. So we sprinted like mad men for the last few hundred meters of the race and Jim’s young legs proved a bit quicker than mine, as we finished less than a second apart. It was a very exciting finish.

I race because it’s an opportunity to see who I am… Not just how fit I am physically, but how well put together I am mentally. Obstacles show up in life all the time. Sometimes we have more than enough resources to deal with them, but choose not to use those resources when needed. Racing brings this to the surface every time. It shows you your weak points. It shows you your fears. If you look closely, it shows you opportunity.

Good things to come in 2010.

It’s time once again for the most challenging race in the New England Mountain Running Series – The Loon Mountain Race. This demanding 5.8 mile race climbs well over 3,000 vertical feet with sections reaching 45% in slope. The best of New England will be out in full force tomorrow morning to test themselves on the double black diamond ski trail aptly called “Upper Walking Boss”.

To see a video of the course click HERE

Somehow 2009 has managed to zoom to the halfway point in the calendar and I find myself firmly entrenched in my 41st year. The race that I’ve been training for since January is now finally staring me square in the face. The USA Mountain Running Championships and North American-Central American-Caribbean (NACAC) Mountain Running Championships are to take place tomorrow, June 28th at 9:00am at Mt. Cranmore in North Conway, NH. The best mountain runners in the Western Hemisphere will compete for top honors and national team status in this brutally relentless race.

Two years ago, while still living in Los Angeles, I flew back east to compete in this race for the first time. My training had been going very well in California and I thought I had a decent shot at the national team. Midway through the second lap of this three lap race I realized that I was in way over my head… WAY over my head! The grueling, steep uphills and the horrific downhills, took my quads on a one way trip to a land of pain and exhaustion that I had never before experienced. The final descent found me falling continuously as my legs would no longer support my weight. Beaten and bloody, I stumbled across the finish line in 29th place. I was humbled and defeated.

My goal of making the US Mountain Running Team has faded. The past eighteen months in Vermont have been very hard on me. It has been difficult to train and even more difficult to keep this project alive. Something, somewhere inside of me keeps it all moving somehow… albeit at a snail’s pace on many occasions. This past Winter and Spring would rate as the most difficult time I’ve experienced in my adult life… But a mountain in northern New Hampshire has been beckoning. The possibility of performing well and redeeming myself at Cranmore has kept me going.

The past six months have been a steady progression towards this race. Although my mileage has been the lowest that I’ve run since I began this project in 2006, the intensity has never been higher. Three times a week I’ve been pushing myself to the limit and beyond in hopes that I could do well in this race… Of course ‘doing well’ is a concept that has changed in recent years. I have never been more prepared for a mountain race and I’m hoping that this preparation will be enough to land me in the top 20 overall and top 5 masters. Considering what I have been through this past year, I would be very proud of either of those accomplishments.

Here is what one lap of the course looks like (we are doing two laps)

Elevation Profile (In Meters, not feet)

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.

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.

Click HERE to see the video.

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.

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 30% 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.