Running Raw

Prologue:

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.

Although I’ve had many great results in stair climbs across the country, one cannot truly claim success in this sport without popping one at the Empire State Building Run Up. Now in it’s thirty third running, this “by invitation only” race is the oldest stair climb in the country. An exceptional field of athletes from around the world clamor for the opportunity to take on America’s most iconic skyscraper. Nineteen U.S. states and seventeen countries were represented at this year’s test of the world’s best. Germany’s Thomas Dold was the race favorite and had his sights set on a 5th straight win in this 1,250 foot tall megalith.

As if running up 1,576 stairs, and 86 storeys were not intense enough, event organizers at New York Road Runners choose to begin this race with a much talked about, often criticized and universally feared mass start. Imagine 160 of the world’s fittest athletes sprinting in a frenzied tangle across polished stone floors towards a narrow doorway only twenty feet away. If there were a picture next to the word ‘mayhem’ in the dictionary, it would be a freeze frame from the start of this race. In other tower races around the world, athletes are sent off individually at intervals of five to thirty seconds, providing a more relaxed takeoff and an uncrowded stairwell. These races are a test of man vs. building rather than man vs. man. The ESB race brings men elbow to elbow, foot to chest, and fist to face in an all out battle of man vs. man vs. building. Those quick enough to get through the stairwell door first have a significant advantage. A good start doesn’t necessarily make your race (you still have the building to contend with), but a bad start can definitely break your race. World Mountain Running Champion Marco DiGasperi from Italy discovered this the hard way in 2008. He was the race favorite until he was knocked down and trampled at the start.

To do well in this race, one must have an empire state of mind. One must acknowledge and embrace an ugly truth – Life is a mass start. It’s neither fair nor equitable. We are thrown together as children to create our identities, strengths, weaknesses, and social standing on the battlefield of the playground. There are no rules. There is pushing, shoving, stealing, cheating, beating, biting, crying, teasing… and lots of unabashed fun. For the most part, stair climbers (myself included) block this necessary stage of development from memory. We consider it barbaric and uncivilized all while virtuously sweeping our true competitive nature under the rug. We play a gentlemen’s game within the safety and comfort of an individual start and the personal space it allows. But real life seldom affords us that luxury or waits until we are ready before it takes a swing at us. Every year on the first Tuesday of February at the intersection of 5th Avenue and 33rd Street, we get yet another chance to remake ourselves in the same fires that forged us as children. As Frank Sinatra crooned “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere. It’s up to you. New York New York“. Which is why I keep coming back to this god awful race.

Act I:

At my first ESB attempt in 2007, I opted for what I thought would be a sensible start – I started last. By avoiding the melee in the front, I would sidestep injury, excess adrenaline, and run my own race. What I hadn’t foreseen was the entire field trying to fit through the door at the same time. A collective “intelligence” taking over, causing competitors to behave as stampeding cattle rather than individuated, rational beings. For nearly a minute, I stood calmly behind the log jam waiting to enter the stairwell, while the leaders were already approaching the 10th floor.

My second effort in 2008 found me standing right behind the seeded front line. I imagined myself bursting forth quickly and avoiding the bottleneck. This lasted for a fraction of a second as the flood gates opened and I found myself involuntarily body surfing face first into the wall next the stairwell door. The kicks, elbows and shoves, sent me into the flight side of fight or flight and spiked my adrenaline far past the red line. My heart rate never recovered.

A great season at the end of 2008 earned me an 8th place seed on the front line of the 2009 race. I would finally be in the perfect position. Unfortunately on race day, I was struck down with a very bad head cold and decided to pull out of race. As it turns out, 2009 was just not my year to climb stairs. High levels of life stress coupled with low levels of training stress caused me to opt out of all the major climbs. The stage was set for a comeback.

Act II:

As I stood in line for registration, I was hoping that my previous results would again earn me a coveted place on the front line. “Last name please.” shouted a woman at the number pickup table. “Van Orden” I said with an articulate, slow delivery. She fumbled around in the stack of numbers for a minute and then said “How do you spell it?”. “V A N  O R D E N” I offered slowly. “Nope, I don’t see your name.” I reached into my bag and furnished her with my confirmation email. She studied it for a moment and then moved to a different pile of numbers with yellow rather than blue ink. “Here you are, 246″. I took the number into my hand and then stood for a minute speechless. “Is there anything else?” she replied. “Um… what does the yellow mean?” I asked, already knowing the answer, but not wanting to accept it. “The yellow numbers are for the second heat, the blue numbers are for the elite race.” she offered. “But I’m supposed to be in the elite race.” I quipped. “I’m sorry” she said, “You’ve been seeded 46th in the slower heat.” Suddenly my heart dropped. Images of the past five months of brutally intense Tabata training flooded into my mind. My brain made a quick assessment of my training and preparation and concluded that I was in the best shape of my life. Didn’t they realize that this was my day to shine? Couldn’t they see how important this was to me? Pre-race excitement and anger swirled around in my head like pure white cream and jet black coffee meeting each other at first pour. Cool, sweet light clashing with scalding, bitter dark. Each taking and giving until an equilibrium of muddy brown has been reached. If defeat were a color, it would be muddy brown.

The popularity of my stair climbing videos usually leads to a deluge of introductions, dietary questions, testimonials and confessions at these races. It is these moments that I look forward to the most. The opportunity to share with people, to plant seeds, to offer encouragement and support, to make friends. This is why I race. This is why I am running raw. But today was different. I knew that if I started talking to people my forced smile and lack of enthusiasm would have a negative impact on them. So I kept to myself and warmed up in an isolated hallway on the 2nd floor.

As the elite heat assembled in the corral area, I walked over to wish my friends and fellow West Coast Labels teammates good luck. Javier Santiago from Mexico City, Jesse Berg from Chicago, and David Tromp from Albany, NY, were seeded 7th, 8th and 9th respectively. These amazing athletes have become close friends of mine through the many races that we have shared. The bonds formed between stair climbers are unique and special. In no other sport have I seen people so willing to embrace their competitors as friends… as brothers. My friend PJ Glassey, a top stair climber from Seattle has given us the moniker “Step-Brothers” in honor of the thousands of concrete steps that cement our bonds. When you collapse in a heap of pain and exhaustion at the finish, you are not alone. You are surrounded by men and women who have pushed themselves to within an inch of their lives and who have endured some of the most extreme pain imaginable – By choice. Again and again. Their creed, political slant, race, occupation, wealth, physical appearance and status are irrelevant and inconsequential. All that matters is the size of their heart and the depth of their courage. We have been through hell together and lived to laugh about it. We have been baptized by fire.

I slowly walked back to assume my place in the second heat, which would start five minutes behind the elite racers. The intense excitement, fear and anxiety that I normally feel before a tower race were absent. They were replaced with an apathetic resignation. I stood with my head down, like a tightly packed sardine in the corral area waiting for the inevitable. By habit, I studied the shoes of the racers nearby. A pair of solidly built bare feet caught my attention. I knew these feet. They belonged to Henry Wigglesworth. In stairwells across America, Henry Wigglesworth is a legend.

“Henry, what are you doing back here?” I shouted above the crowd. He turned in my direction. A puzzled look appeared on his face. “What are YOU doing back here?” he countered. I shrugged my shoulders. Standing next to Henry was Duncan Lonsdale. In the 2007 ESB Run Up Duncan nipped me at the line and in 2008 I narrowly edged in front of him. These men are two of the best forty plus stair climbers in the world and on any given day could place in the top ten overall in this race. Was there a conspiracy afoot? Henry surmised that we were considered too old for the elite heat. As it turns out, he was correct. No one over the age of 39 was seeded in the first heat. I find it quite ironic that in America’s oldest stair climb, in the world’s oldest mega-skyscraper, we were the victims of ageism.

After a few minutes we were herded through a maze corridors, and onto a narrow escalator heading down to the first floor. The race had not yet begun and people were pushing and shoving to get a good position on the escalator. As we approached the starting area, we could see the elite men lined up and ready to go. “HAWNNNUHHH!!!” sounded the starting horn. Cameras flashed like lightning and stampeding feet clapped like thunder as they hammered for the stairwell door. Moments later we were faced with an image reminiscent of the final scene of “Alien: Resurrection” where the alien is very painfully sucked through a small hole in the hull of the ship into outer space. A brief period of intense drama, pain and adrenaline quickly followed by an empty hole, an empty doorway… no evidence of the horrific spectacle remaining.

We were ushered up to the start with numbers 200 through 210 lined up in front, the teens behind them and then the rest of us. Duncan wore the lucky 200 and Henry was sporting a yellow 201. Despite being demoded into the second heat, they were still considered the best of the rest. I had no such distinction, and dishearteningly squeezed myself into position some four rows and forty people back. At this stage I would normally focus on getting myself into a place of calm aggression, if such a contradiction can exist. But today, I simply stood impatiently in line like an unfortunate sperm ’seeded’ in the rear with no hope of reaching the egg first. A short-lived and futile existence. A necessary casualty of Darwinian evolution.

Act III:

Ready! Set! “HAWNNNUHHH!!!”. A torrent of bodies burst forth, arms flailing and words flying… “Relax! Relax!” I yelled to the mob that was mashing me through the doorway and pushing me into the railing ahead. The first 20 floors would be slow going and congested and there was no need to get anxious about it. “Stay calm” I said to myself and then suddenly dropped like a rock as someone stepped on the back of my scantily clad foot and pushed me forward. I grabbed awkwardly onto someone’s calf before nearly “curbing” my teeth on the stairs. Struggling back to my feet against the tide, I apologized to the man in front of me and backed off the pace. A few men pushed by. “Don’t panic.” I reminded myself. The next 10 floors found me passing a dozen or more men… all on the outside. It’s very difficult to pass someone who is on the shorter inside rail. You must exceed their pace by a considerable amount to get by them. At one point I was stuck for several floors behind a very large, muscular Frenchman who was grabbing both railings and refusing to yield. Eventually, I saw an opening and stuck my head through the gap between his arm and body and wedged through with a quick burst of speed. He uttered something that I could not understand. Another 10 floors done, another dozen men passed. At the 20th floor we entered a hallway leading to a different stairwell. As I sprinted past a few men who were walking the corridor, I noticed something strange – I was not experiencing any fatigue or pain.

Rather than the, tight, clockwise ’spiral’ of the first staircase, each floor in this new set (which would take us to the 70th floor) consisted of a very long flight of stairs, followed by a 20 foot landing. This configuration is unique to the Empire State Building and stood out in my memory of this event. In my two earlier climbs I had noticed myself and others hammering the stairs and then jogging the landings. Considering that these are stair races and not landing races this makes perfect sense, but to someone who has any basic knowledge of math or physics, this is absolute stupidity! If you were to multiply the 50 of these landings by their 20 foot length, you would get a result of 1,000 feet. A mere 50 feet less than the 1,050 vertical feet that must be covered in this race. When you factor in the shorter landings of the other stairwells, this number jumps to over 1,200 feet. In other words, more of this race is run on a flat surface than on stairs. A new strategy occurred to me – Sprint the landings, whip myself around the rail up four steps, and then back off on the stairs… rinse and repeat. The bulk of my effort would be focused on flat ground, sparing my quads for the final ten floor kick to the finish.

One by one I sprinted my way past the thinning stream of runners in front of me until it was just a trickle. My heart rate was starting to rise. The discordant racket of multiple footfalls and heavy breathing was for a brief moment replaced by silence. Until the distinct sound of bare feet slapping on concrete caught my attention. Two more landing sprints and I was running on Henry’s heels. He asked me if I wanted to go by. “I’m comfortable” I said, and remained behind him. I’m comfortable? It’s the middle of a stairclimb and I’m comfortable? Something was amiss. For another eight floors, I remained on Henry’s tail. He asked me again if I wanted to go by. I hesitated. “Tim, you should be winning this heat!” he belts out, and then steps aside. I shot by quickly and then sprinted the flat, opening up a gap. My thoughts were stirring now. Here I was upset for not getting seeded in the elite race and I’m not even winning the second heat. Was I intentionally blowing this race? Had I been subconsciously validating NYRR’s choice to put me in the second heat?

The race was half done, but I was not. There was still plenty of time that could be made up and I was not that tired. I turned it up a notch. The pace began to spark a fire in my quads. That’s the way a stair climb is supposed to feel, I thought to myself. Above me, I could hear the footfalls of a lone runner. I surged again. Moments later I was staring at the back of Duncan Lonsdale. I pushed past him quickly hoping to discourage any attempt to stay with me. My quads were hurting more. A back injury the week before the race forced me to rely more on my legs than usual as I could only pull with minimal force on the rails. Nonetheless, I was opening up a gap on Duncan. A familiar burning sensation in my throat told me that the pace was sufficient. The dry, dusty, uncirculated air of the stairwell acting like hot, jalapeno encrusted sandpaper on the soft tissues of my windpipe. To push beyond this point would be to risk significant swelling and near closure of my trachea.

As I powered towards the 65th floor, my solitary ascent was interrupted by the tail end of the “elite” heat. Despite their five minute head start, I was reeling them in. As each flight passed, more and more elite racers clogged my path. At the 76th floor, I began to catch the stragglers of the women’s heat which had started ten minutes earlier. They walked the landings side by side and jammed the stairs two abreast. Fatigue reducing their mental acuity and response time. My ten floor sprint to the finish was reduced to a hurry up and wait, bob and weave dance around these human obstacles. Loud footsteps were moving up on me from below. I turned to see Duncan and Henry working together to part the seas of the walking dead. They were gaining fast. Fear coursed through my veins. My seldom seen aggressive side took over and I pushed through those blocking my path without apology. Exploding out of the stairwell onto the 86th floor I sprinted the final hundred feet around the outside of the observation deck. Duncan and Henry sprinted behind me but couldn’t close the gap. I had won the forty plus title. There was no collapsing, there was no admiring the view of New York, there was no hugging… I just simply walked away. My time and overall place were not important.

As it turns out, when the times of the two heats were added together my effort had earned me 11th place overall, only 25 seconds out of 5th. Duncan placed 13th and Henry 14th. Had we earned the right to run in the elite heat next year? Only time will tell.

Epilogue:

I had achieved my best placement and fastest time in this race and yet I was left with a feeling of disappointment. Not because I didn’t place higher, but because I didn’t think and act higher. I defeated myself before the race had started. It wasn’t my competition or the building… it was me. Maturity, insight and wisdom are muscles. They need to be challenged and trained on a regular basis in order for them to grow or even to stay at the same level. Without effort and intention, these traits atrophy and wither. Life rarely gives us what we want, but it always gives us something. The key to great results and a great life is making use of that something. It has been said that success is getting what you want, but happiness is wanting what you get.

It looks like I need to be hitting the weights at the gym of the higher mind.

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.

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)

For the first time since the early 1970’s, the stairs of the historic Bennington Battle Monument in Bennington, VT will be open to the public in the first annual Bennington Monument Stair Climb. This event will also be the first time that a stair climb race has taken place inside of an historic monument in the United States. Don’t miss this opportunity to climb through history as you scale the 438 steps up the 118 year old monument – The tallest structure in northern New England.

Click HERE to register.

Click HERE to watch my YouTube video of the event.

Click HERE to read and listen to my interview on Vermont Public Radio.

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.

You have probably all heard the old saying “Luck is where opportunity meets hard work.” Late this afternoon in a spartan stairwell in downtown Los Angeles, a combination of luck, opportunity and hard work came together in brilliant fashion. At approximately 6:24 PM, I burst into the golden light of sunset over the San Gabriel Mountains and the glittering skyline of L.A. I stood for a brief moment atop the US Bank Tower, 1,018 feet above the street from which I had come minutes earlier. Seventy-Five storeys, 1,500 steps = 1,500 stories. Fifteen hundred opportunities to see what I am made of.

At 6:24 PM I was made of Jello. My legs quickly buckled and I hit the cement hard. Every cell in my body screamed in agony, but at the same time I was filled with a sense of profound elation. I had given it my all on each step. I chose victory in each stride. I had done my best. The voices of “quit”, “defeat” and “I can’t take any more” were strangely absent in the tower. The voices were replaced by choices – Make every step count – a victory here could impact the lives of many people – This race was bigger than me.

In every tower race prior to this one, I had run from a place of fear. I ran like an injured animal being chased by a predator and fearing for it’s life. I was afraid of these races, I was afraid of the extreme pain. I ran to prove a point, I ran to please you, I ran to make you proud. On this day, I simply ran. The knowledge that #2 in the US, Tommy Coleman was starting directly in front of me and #1 in the US (NEVER beaten in the US from 1996 – 2008) Terry Purcell was starting right behind me, was of no impact. I ran my own race and at my own pace.

At 6:29 PM I rolled over and tried to get up. A few EMT’s helped me to my feet after several failed attempts to have my own legs do the work for me. That’s when I noticed the camera in my face. I had forgotten that the Food Network was filming this epic battle. I had forgotten that the wireless mic taped to my hip was picking up every peep and grunt I made in the tower. I was grateful for that lapse in memory.

The orangey golden light that bathed us was surreal. I sat down on a steel girder between Terry and Tommy. We shared embraces and congratulated each other on making it to the top. Other racers kept streaming through the door and onto the roof. I observed their legs buckling, listened to their closed off airways rasping and took in the grimaces on their faces. They were all heros.

Someone asked me what my time was. I hadn’t looked yet. Last year I narrowly won this race in a time of 10:01. I had secretly hoped that my new level of fitness would give me a shot of breaking the course record of 9:46. The glass plate on my watch glowed orange in the light as I peered through the reflection to see my time. For a moment, the world stopped turning. My watch read 9:32. I asked Tommy what his time was, he said “9:40″. Something began to bubble in me, but I hesitated in asking Terry what he had clocked. Finally I got up the courage and asked. “It looks like you won” he said, “I did 9:35″. The bubbling feeling quickly vanished and a sense of bewilderment took it’s place. I didn’t quite know what to do with the information I had just been given. Did a raw vegan at the age of 40 just best the two most dominant stair climb racers in the history of the sport and break the course record in the process? Did I just finish ahead of the man who’s never been beaten? Did this really just happen? Was all of this just captured on national TV???? All three of our times were below the course record. What an honor to compete with these men at the top of their game and come out on top. Does this make me the best stair climber in the country? No. That’s an honor that I will have to work long and hard to achieve, but this is a great step in that direction. I have the greatest respect for Terry and Tommy and have watched their performances with awe for the past several years. These men are still tops in the sport, and they are still the men to beat in any race they enter.

But at 6:24 PM on September 26, 2008 it was my moment to shine… It was our moment to shine. To see what’s possible, to be what’s possible. The seeds of change have been planted.

7:15 PM “I think I’m going to have to go raw.”
- Terry Purcell

With one of the biggest races in Running Raw history only three days away (US Bank Tower Stair Climb in Los Angeles on September 26th), I thought I’d keep you posted on my preparation for this monumental event – 76 storeys, 1,500 steps.

The US Bank Tower Stair Climb is one of the top three tower races in the country, and always attracts an incredible elite field. Last year I narrowly defeated Jesse Berg (Sears Tower winner) by 3 seconds to claim victory in the tallest building west of Chicago.

I was informed that this year’s climb had attracted several stair climbing superstars including Terry Purcell and Tommy Coleman. Terry is one of the top three stair climbers in the world, and the top stair climber in America. Not only does Terry own course records in many of the tallest buildings in the United States and Australia (the Sears Tower for one), but he’s NEVER been beaten in the US by another American in his 12 year stair climbing career. Terry Purcell is the Michael Jordan of Stair Climbing. Tommy Coleman could easily be considered the second best stair climber in the US. He’s won numerous elite tower races around the country (including the US Bank Tower in 2006) and placed as the 2nd American finisher at the unofficial world championships at the Empire State Building (6th overall). I have trailed Tommy in every race that I have competed against him thus far. This was going to be one hell of a climb.

To add to the pressure of this event, The Food Network had decided to come out and film the race. After a disappointing performance at Mount Washington, they felt it was in the show’s best interest to showcase me in my strongest sport – stair climbing. They were expecting me to defend my title and win.

Knowing full well the new level of fitness that I must achieve to retain my title in this year’s event, I have undertaken a most rigorous training regimen. The high mileage that helped me on the roads and mountains this summer has been replaced by weeks of 45 to 60 miles with 3 hard days per week. These hard efforts include races, leg strength at the gym, running up stone steps on the Appalachian Trail to failure, 10 minute all-out bursts on the elliptical machine and stepmill, an intensive core regimen, and 10 minute “sprints” on a rowing machine to build rail pulling strength and endurance. My hard days include a hard morning and hard afternoon workout, and occasionally a hard late evening workout. I have never felt or looked stronger in my life. I have improved significantly in ALL my fitness tests.

The most important of these tests is a section of the Appalachian Trail in Woodford, VT that climbs Harmon Hill. We locals call this ascent “Thousand Steps”. This part of the trail is considered to be one of the toughest sections of the entire 2,174 miles of the AT. Climbing 900 feet in 4/10ths of a mile, this trail consists of hundreds of uneven stone steps, some as high as 18 inches. It’s the hardest quad workout that I’ve ever done, and there is no railing to pull on to take the strain off of the legs as you would have in a stair climb race.

In November 2006, when I was back in Vermont preparing for the Sears Tower Stair Climb (103 storeys), I took on the Thousand Steps to test my fitness. I ran 2/3rds of the way to the top before my legs failed and finished in a time of 10:40. One week later I finished 5th at the Sears Tower. The following October of 2007, I again tested my strength and endurance on this course and managed to run all the way to the top in a time of 9:37. My placement at the Sears Tower weeks later was 3rd. My best friend Dave then informed me that he used to train on this course when he was an Olympian (’92 and ‘94) competing in the sport of biathlon. This was his test of fitness as well, as he could find no better terrain to see what one was made of. At the peak of his fitness Dave clocked an 8:32.

Four days ago I put the hammer down and charged up this course with wild abandon. But at the same time I repeated two words in my head the entire ascent – “joy” and “ease”. I relaxed into the pain and repeated the words over and over again. The harder it got the louder I said them… until they became real for me… until I felt joy and ease in the midst of the intense pain… until I chose the pain instead of fighting the voices that told me to quit. I crossed the finish point and my legs promptly gave way. Sitting in the mud and leaves I was afraid to look at my watch. Afraid that I was not as fast as last year. I was now 40 after all. It wasn’t until I had walked all the way back down the mountain that I finally had the courage to see my time. It was 8:27.

US Bank Tower here I come!!