Running Raw

Tim VanOrden’s Running Raw Times – March 5th, 2010

A Huge hello to all my friends and supporters of the Running Raw Project.

In This Issue:
• The Year in Review
• 2010 To Do List
• The Race Report
• Running Raw Apparel & Lecture DVDs
• The Running Raw Buzz
• The Training Log
• Upcoming Events
• Your Support
• In Conclusion

The Year in Review?
Many people think that I live a charmed life. I get to run, hike, race, travel, talk to people and basically do whatever I want. What could be better? In many regards this is true. I have chosen to pursue something that I believe in strongly, something that I believe can make a difference. There is great freedom in that choice. But there is also great responsibility and sacrifice. Dedicating one’s life to a purpose, project or passion requires a new skill set, a new way of managing time, energy and resources. These are skills that as of yet, I do not possess. I want to say yes to it all. I want to be all that I can be… all the time. I want to test the limits of possibility. I want to help everyone. I want health and happiness to be the norm. Ironically, it is these very well intentioned desires that have always been my downfall. I am constantly creating new branches without checking to see if the trunk can bear their collective weight. Some skills take longer to develop than others.

“You can be anything you want to be. You just can’t be everything you want to be all at once. That is what a lifetime is for.” – Randy Dean

When I first started this project over four years ago, my intention was to ask questions, test limits and create a positive example. Some time ago, I dropped the veil of eternal positivity and replaced it with transparency. I believe that you can learn as much from my failures as you can from my successes. In order to be a true and valid example, one must reveal all of their light and dark. Perhaps the real value of Running Raw has nothing to do with an athlete eating an uncooked, plant based diet, but rather with the trials of someone who goes to bed every night wanting to quit, and who wakes up every morning recommitting to something he does not think he can accomplish. Whatever the case may be, you can count on me telling it like it is… Even when I look the fool.

Hardy seeds were planted in 2009, now the time has come to tend the garden.

2010 To Do List:
• Find a manager to book and organize speaking events.
• Complete a book on diet and fitness.
• Complete a recipe book.
• Get the Running Raw Team off the ground
• Begin training for the mile.

The Race Report – The Chill of Victory and the Agony of the Feet:
“By the end of roughly an hour of stumbling and gasping my way through three miles of torture, I had learned what snowshoeing is really like – melting cold snow all over your body and the hardest work you’ll ever do to “run” at a 20 min/mile pace. But it’s also a heck of a lot of fun, which is why I’m looking forward my 5th season of snowshoe racing.” – Jamie Howard, WMAC participant

The new year started off with a bang as I entered my 3rd season of competing in the WMAC/Dion Snowshoe Race Series. With 51 total races, 18 of which are points races, this snowshoe series is now the largest in the world. To my advantage, the vast majority of the points races are within an hour of my house in Southern Vermont. In fact the first race of this year’s competition took place in the mountains behind my house in Woodford, VT. An exceptionally deep field of athletes from all over New England came out to start off this series with a bang. An all out sprint to the finish with overall series champion Jim Johnson of Salem, NH, earned me a close 2nd. Time and again this season, I have proven the power of a raw vegan diet by winning two series races and earning four more 2nd place finishes. With three more points races to go, I stand in 2nd place overall behind Jim Johnson, and have the Master’s (40 plus) title locked up with eight victories.

• Crave the Blizzard Snowshoe Race
Less than 24 hours after having returned home from the Greylock Glen Snowshoe race, I found myself back on the road to compete in the 4th WMAC/Dion Snowhoes series race – Brave The Blizzard in Guilderland, NY. Upon transitioning from the winter wonderland of Vermont into New York’s more temperate Hudson Valley, a color flashed into my mind – Brown. Brown as in dead grass, leafless trees and leaf covered forest floors. Brown as in no snow. The only white to be seen were the sparsely placed, white washed colonial farm houses that decorated my morning’s drive… Read The Full Post

• Empire State Character Building
If I were to choose one sport to define myself as an athlete, it would be stair climbing. As much as I love the challenge and scenery of mountain running and snowshoe racing, neither has impacted me as profoundly as running up the dim, dusty, and denatured stairwells of America. Ironically, it is the sport that I like the least. In fact, I dread it. My relationship with stair climb races could be summed up with the following statement – It is better to have climbed than to climb… Read The Full Post

• US National Snowshoe Championships
Tomorrow, the nation’s top snowshoe racers will converge on Syracuse, NY to compete in the 10th annual US Snowshoe Championships. Snowshoe racing has become one of America’s fastest growing sports, with new series popping up all over the country. Elite athletes from many different sporting disciplines have strapped on shoes to improve their Winter fitness. This year’s championships will be the most competitive in the event’s ten year history. With such a deep field of talent, I’m hoping that my preparation is enough to earn me a spot in the top 15 overall, and top 3 in the Master’s category (40+). Anything can happen over 6.2 miles of steep, hilly shoeing in deep white fluff.

Check out the course profile HERE – Insanely Hilly!

Running Raw  Apparel Sale!!
In order to raise funds for my trip to run the Big Climb in Seattle on March 21st, I’m lowering the price of Running Raw tees to $15 + shipping until March 15th. Now you can be green, save green and help me raise green by representing the Running Raw movement with a super comfortable, super sustainable, super cool Running Raw tee. Men’s and women’s styles are available. Due to pre-shrinkage, men please order one size larger, and women order two sizes larger than you would normally wear. You can check them out here – http://runningraw.com/store.html

New Lecture DVD Available:
As per your requests, I have created a DVD of my November 2009 talk entitled “Raw Myths, Magic and Misconceptions“.

What does “raw” really mean? Why are there so many differing and conflicting views of raw? How can one be confident that they have made the right choice? This lecture covers the latest scientific research and how it applies to raw diets of all types. Many of the myths and misconceptions of a raw diet will be busted in this talk.

The price of this DVD is $10 + shipping. To purchase this or any other DVD, click this link – http://runningraw.com/store.html

The Running Raw Buzz:
• Turn back the clock. My very first Running Raw interview, reposted on GLiving – http://gliving.com/tim-vanorden-explains-the-running-raw-project/ – SOOOO much has changed since then. I actually find this interview to be quite embarrassing, but it’s always good to go back and see where I came from.
• Vegan athletes profiled – http://www.chicagonow.com/blogs/chicago-eats-allergy-free/2010/01/to-be-vegan-or-not-and-some-athletes-who-are.html
• One of the contributors of Runner’s World magazine decided to drive up from NYC and enter last week’s WMAC/Dion Snowshoe race at Moody Springs. It was the toughest race I’ve done and my hardest fought victory – http://rwdaily.runnersworld.com/2010/03/karma-is-a-cruel-mistress.html#more-2222

The Training Log:
With the arrival of Winter comes the possibility of numerous cross-training activities. Instead of the constant pounding of running on roads, a new world of soft white bliss opens itself up to those willing to take on its challenges. Although my mileage has still remained on average under 30 miles a week, the time that I’ve been putting in has increased. Instead of speedy runs on the road, I choose to put on my big Winter boots or snowshoes and slog through the abundant ‘fluffo blanco’. This type of training may not increase leg turnover, but it supplies a massive boost to strength, endurance, and core durability.

Late December saw the beginning of the WMAC/Dion Snowshoe Race Series which gave me the opportunity to get extreme, weekly workouts on snowshoes. These races have helped me to race my way into phenomenal shape in a short period of time. If you want to build mental and physical endurance for running, as well as have a great time in an inspiring landscape, strap on a pair of snowshoes and up the ante.

In the last newsletter I mentioned the inclusion of a new training regimen called Tabata. I’m happy to announce that I have maintained this difficult exercise protocol and have seen rapid and consistent improvement each week. My strength has more than tripled since beginning this program in late September. Now only two months shy of my 42nd birthday, I am having my best results yet. The future of Running Raw is looking bright.

Here is an example of what a Tabata set looks like – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GWXsrQZ_ak

Upcoming Events:
• March 6th – National Snowshoe Championships – Syracuse, NY
• March 18th – Presentation in Seattle, WA – Diet & Peak Performance
• March 21st - Big Climb Seattle – The largest stair climb race in the world.
*** Please help me raise money for the Big Climb HERE
• March 21st – Presentation in Bellingham, WA – Diet & Peak Performance

**Possible March presentation dates in Vancouver, BC and Victoria, BC – Please check http://runningraw.com for details

Paying it Back and Forward:
Please support my sponsors Larabar, Nutiva, Blendtec, Dion Snowshoes, Garmin, Excalibur, and West Coast Labels.

Your Support:
Your donations help 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 hopefully touch lives in the process. 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:
If you’re excited about Running Raw and would like to be a part of the team, please get in touch. I’m always looking for new contributors, technical help, 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.

Thank you for your continued support.
With Love and gratitude

Tim VanOrden

Breakfast 7:00am – 3 hours before race start – 2 bananas

Less than 24 hours after having returned home from the Greylock Glen Snowshoe race, I found myself back on the road to compete in the 4th WMAC/Dion Snowhoes series race – Brave The Blizzard in Guilderland, NY

Upon transitioning from the winter wonderland of Vermont into New York’s more temperate Hudson Valley, a color flashed into my mind – Brown. Brown as in dead grass, leafless trees and leaf covered forest floors. Brown as in no snow. The only white to be seen were the sparsely placed, white washed colonial farm houses that decorated my morning’s drive.

I was considering turning around. My legs were pretty tired from the hills the day before, and I didn’t want to be running a trail race on frozen, uneven ground (a sure fire recipe for injury). Race Director, John Kinnicut assured me on the phone that there was sufficient snow to hold a snowshoe race. So I half heartedly forged on towards Albany. As I neared the race site, there was not a patch of white to be seen anywhere. I made a right hand turn into the elementary school parking lot and suddenly I was faced with a snow covered field. I sat in amazement for a second in my car before continuing on to the back of the school for parking. Lo and behold, there was plenty of snow behind the school as well, where the race would start and finish.

My CMS teammates Dave Dunham and Jim Johnson were just finishing their warmup as I walked towards registration. Dave told me that it was going to be a track meet out there. Super fast, hard packed conditions. Jim won this race in 2009, where he outclassed a very strong field by nearly two minutes. His streak of victories still unbroken this year, he hoped for another solid win on this flatter, faster  course.

I did a brief warmup and spotted Justin Bishop doing some strides in the field. He looked fast. Justin is one of the top runners in New York State and a 12 time gold medalist at the Empire State Games in snowshoeing. He also holds the American record in the Snowshoe 400 meter dash – 66 seconds! If anyone was going to threaten Jim’s winning streak, it was Justin. I was disappointed that I would not be able to witness the epic battle that would take place between these two snowshoeing greats.

Brave the Blizzard is one of the largest snowshoe races in the country, so I was sure that there were a lot of other top athletes in the mix today. The Albany Running Exchange, which puts on the event, boasts over 800 members, many of whom are active in the racing scene.

Jim, Dave and I did a few strides in the field as we waited for the start. I informed them of Justin’s presence and gave them a quick rundown of his resume. Jim became a little anxious.

We were lined up in the field and John Kinnicut gave us some last minute instructions. He informed us that there were a few “bare” patches out on the course and that we would be bushwhacking upon leaving the field at the start and on the return to the finish.

Ready, set, BANG! We were off. Justin shot out like a rocket propelled grenade. I was an immediately distant second. Above the loud cluster-crunching sound of hundreds of snowshoes kicking snow into the air I could hear Jim Johnson’s voice. “This is the worst race start I’ve ever had!” Then like a rabbit he shot by me in hot pursuit of Justin. Jim had no intention of staining his winning streak with a loss at this race.

When I was a kid in the early 70’s, my parents would take us to the beach on Cape Cod in Massachusetts. On one such trip, they took their eyes off of me for a moment and then looked up to discover that I had walked straight into the ocean and was about to go in over my head. I was two. Not much has changed in the nearly 40 years since that incident. I’m still getting in over my head on a regular basis. Perhaps I’m just not that bright. Whatever the case may be, I found myself sprinting to catch up to Justin and Jim.

As we left the field I had closed the gap and was right on Jim’s heels, who was right on Justin’s heels. The trail ended abruptly and we burst into the woods. Red ribbons tied to branches led us on a circuitous route up a very steep climb. We jumped over downed logs, danced around exposed rocks, straddled saplings and got whipped in the face, arms, neck and shoulders by the recoil of branches bent in front of us. I put my arms up to protect my face, like a boxer. After a few hundred feet of literally ‘breaking trail’ we were dumped out onto a more traveled route. The snow had been chopped up by walkers and skiers some time earlier and had frozen into a very solid, uneven mine field of ankle twisting possibilities. Justin did not slow down. He is a large man with broad muscular shoulders and he looked like a steam engine, confidently and effortlessly demonstrating power, speed and efficiency. Had their been anyone behind me, their view would not have been as striking. The breakneck pace was taking it’s toll on me.

The trail came to a T. A strategically placed snowman blocked the branch to the left, forcing us to make a sharp right. Brown flashed into my mind again. The path ahead was barren of snow and presented us with a mix of frozen sand and ice. The cleats of our snowshoes could not penetrate this tawny concrete, so they delivered their force upwards into the balls of our feet. Justin slowed. I moved back into contact. The sound of metal cleats bouncing off of the unforgiving trail surface rattled in my ears. The hard ground rattled my bones. In the distance, a blanket of white comfort lay in wait. We surged towards it, eager for this cacophony to end.

For the next mile, the scene remained the same. Justin commanding the lead, Jim on his heels and me holding on for dear life. Ahead of us a set of wooden stairs interrupted the smoothness of the snowy trail. Justin and Jim powered up like antelope. I lumbered up like a bison. I had bitten off more than I could chew and now it was time to digest the consequences of my earlier choices. I could only hope that I had enough in reserve to stay in 3rd as I drifted back and away from the leaders.

Letting them go took the pressure off. I relaxed a bit and began to run my own race. Who was I kidding anyways, these two men were in another league. It was time to accept the facts and settle into my rightful place. I was feeling more comfortable now and was confident that I could maintain this slower pace and hold on to my position. Fifty meters ahead of me Justin and Jim were blazing away. Forty-five meters. Forty meters. Thirty-five meters. Wait a minute… was I catching back up to them? I checked my breathing, moved it into my diaphragm, relaxed and lengthened my stride, smiled and set out to reinstate my place in the lead pack. Within minutes I was only 5 seconds back. Jim heard me coming and turned around. He didn’t like what he saw. I heard him say something to Justin and then turn around again. I was now only 4 seconds back and gaining fast.  Moments later I was on Jim’s heels.

We were coming close to the finish and Jim didn’t want another repeat sprint to the line like we had in Woodford a few weeks earlier. So he took off around Justin and made a break. Justin couldn’t keep up. For a moment, I thought about chasing after Jim but I was hurting again. The extra effort to bridge the gap had taken it’s toll, but now the seemingly indestructible Mr. Bishop was hurting as well. We hurtled through the woods with Jim quickly pulling away. Pressure was building in my stomach. My legs were teetering on the brink of failure. I was redlining.

Suddenly we were back on the bushwhack. The field and finish were in view. Jim had just cleared the woods and had entered the field. Justin picked up the pace as we headed down the steep grade through the trees. I got whipped hard in the face with a branch as I tried to keep up. I made a quick survey of the ground and then closed my eyes, lowered my head and charged forward.

As we entered the field, Justin was one step ahead. Jim was about 10 seconds up on us now and sprinting for the line. Justin opened up his gear box and pulled out his tremendous sprinting speed. I watched in awe, agony and defeat as he easily pulled away from the fastest gut bursting sprint I could muster. Seconds later we would be keeled over, breathlessly congratulating each other and sharing embraces. Jim had won by nine seconds in a time of 24:44. Justin took second in 24:53 and I posted a close third in 24:57. CMS teammate Dave Dunham would finish fourth, in 26:58.

All too often we predetermine our position in life and then act accordingly. Or we simply let others determine it for us and then do our best to meet their expectations, whether high or low. We set arbitrary limitations for ourselves and then view them as law. As fact. Any sensible person would tell you that a 41 year old Tim VanOrden, running 25 to 30 miles a week cannot compete with a 32 year old Jim Johnson running 80 miles a week… Or a 28 year old Justin Bishop, training hours a day for the World Double Decathlon Championships. Thankfully, I am not a sensible person. I have never accepted my place or rank as assigned. I always aspire to more. Nine times out of ten, I fail miserably. But it is that one time, when I rise to the occasion and beat the odds that makes it all worthwhile… and it reminds me that on any given day we are all capable of greatness – if we allow ourselves to leave our sensibility behind and risk it all for something we believe in.

Dare mighty things.

“Argue for your limitations, and sure enough they’re yours.” – Richard Bach

Breakfast: 6am (4 hours till the start) – 24oz Green Smoothie; Kale, Banana, Blueberry, Dulse, Raw Honey and well water.

With the Empire State Building Run Up (the unofficial world championships of stair climbing) only 2 weeks away, my training has been fast and furious. Normally, I would take it easy leading up to a weekend with back to back snowshoe races, but with the ESB looming large I’ve had to push myself to the limit and beyond.

Needless to say, my legs were spent before I even toed the line in Adams, MA at the Greylock Glen snowshoe race on Saturday. Based on my performance on the steep climbs at the Turner Trail snowshoe race last weekend, I was not expecting a great result. The steep, mile long climb at Greylock Glen would be a quad buster and my quads were already busted.

This race was sure to attract a top field of athletes from around New England being the 3rd race in the highly competitive WMAC/Dion Snowshoe series. An ever increasing number of standout road and track runners have been showing up at these events looking to test their mettle in a new ‘running’ discipline. Shortly before the start, I spotted my CMS teammates,  Jim “undefeated” Johnson warming up with top master Dave Dunham and trail powerhouse Tim Mahoney. Further surveillance detected 2009 Wildman Biathlon winner Ross Krause doing sprints on the road, clad in biking attire. Out of the corner of my eye I spied a pair of lean, efficient ‘gazelles’ swiftly approaching on their warmup. As they moved closer I recognized one of them as top trail runner and track standout Greg Hammett. They stopped, we shared hellos and Greg said “do you know Mark?”. I shook Mark’s hand and then it quickly dawned on me – This was Mark Miller. The same Mark Miller that won the New England trail running championships in 2008 and 2009 and has clocked 4:02 in the mile and 14:18 for 5k. My mind started to do quick calculations and concluded that I’d be lucky to crack the top 8 in this race.

As we lined up at the start, WMAC’s Ed Alibozek gave us the pre-race details – Follow the red tape, follow the yellow arrows, do not cross the yellow tape, and watch out for the bridge crossing – there are planks missing and you could fall through. Ready. Set. Go!

Race favorite, Jim Johnson burst into the lead with Mark Miller hot on his trail. Greg Hammett tucked in behind them and I moved into 4th. The pace was very fast. The bridge crossing proved to be quite  treacherous as we danced on our snowshoes trying to miss the gaps and avoid certain injury, but yet maintain pace. Jim and Mark gradually pulled ahead. I could see them trade off the lead a good 20 seconds in front of me. Greg was falling off the pace, but was still 12 seconds ahead. Then we hit the climb.

The trail was steep. So steep that Jim and Mark were within shot put distance in front of me. Greg split the difference. Jim’s legs were working away at the mountain like two pistons firing. Mark was trying to hang on but could not keep up the run and started power walking. Greg saw this and started walking himself. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My legs were on fire, but I picked up the pace, not about to miss this opportunity. I knew the hill would be done in about 6 minutes, which is not much longer than the torturous 5 minute Tabata sets I’ve been doing in training. So I bore down, gritted my teeth and ran. I quickly caught up to Greg and passed him. He offered a breathy “Go Tivo!”. Mark was now in my sights. I was closing the gap quickly. As the trail snaked around a switchback, I glanced back and saw that Dave (King of the climbs) Dunham was making ground on me and closing the gap. I pushed harder. The trail got steeper… and steeper. My legs screamed. My stomach was doing all that it could to hold my green smoothie breakfast down. Then we burst out of the single track and onto a snowmobile trail – heading down. Mark was only 5 seconds in front of me and he was laboring.

Filled with a sense of excitement, I charged after Mark with all the speed my wet noodle legs could muster. Never had I imagined that I’d be sprinting after a legend like Mark in a race. One might imagine that running downhill is easier than running uphill. From a metabolic (energy required) perspective this is quite true, but from a muscular perspective it’s the exact opposite. The force of impact on the quad muscles while running downhill is SEVERAL TIMES the force experienced while running uphill. Downhills tear the quads to shreds as the muscles instinctively try to put on the brakes. In other words, there is no recovery for the legs. Mark kept his distance on me, but was not pulling away. Suddenly the trail pitched down at a slope of 35 percent or more. I launched myself down the hill with reckless abandon hoping to gain a few seconds on Mark who was far more cautious. When I reached the bottom of the steep pitch and the course leveled out, I did not. The intense gravitational forces of my blitz had compressed my legs and nearly drove me into a squatting position. I could not stand upright. My legs were done. I shuffled for a bit and gradually got my legs to straighten, but their strength was gone. I could hear the chatter of snowshoes behind me and then like the sound of a train going by Greg Hammett flew past. The race was nearly over, but I was really struggling. There would be no end of race kick. My wobbly legs barely got me across the bridge crossing as we headed back up to the finish line.

Jim Johnson crushed the field. Mark was nearly a minute behind him in second. Greg was third 24 seconds behind Mark and I was another 17 seconds back in 4th place. Despite a wrong turn, Dave Dunham posted a solid 5th. I was very excited to have hung on to these amazing athletes as long as I did. A 4th place finish in this field was a huge accomplishment. But the weekend was not over and come Sunday morning I’d be back on the shoes again to face off against an amazing crew of New York athletes at the Brave The Blizzard snowshoe race.

Post race: 4 bananas, 1 orange.

Results can be seen here: http://www.coolrunning.com/results/10/ma/Jan16_Greylo_set1.shtml

GPS course profile here: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/22480885 – Click the “Elevation” tab at the bottom to see the vertical profile of the course.

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.

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.

Click HERE to see a video of the course.

Click HERE to see the video.

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.