Badger Mountain No Go

I'm out! Basta! Enough! Last week I came to the conclusion that I just was not up for doing the Badger Mountain Hundo, or any hundo. I know, I know, this may seem strange since I was doing so well with the 30/30/45 training schedule, and in fact was about to 'peak' at my last big week before gradually winding down the end of the month for the run. There's a few reasons why I decided not to go through with it, which I'll try to address:

First, running was just not fun any more. I found myself dreading my next long run, and even smaller runs. I felt almost like my body was taking over, tired being sore, and needing some healing. What's interesting is this is the exact excuse I, and others, gave when bailing out of the Burning River 100M. I think what is required of running one hundred miles is the drive to go 'beyond fun'. But if running wasn't fun anymore, now, I could only picture myself really hating life during the race, after I'd spent the time and money to get up there, and wasted my crew's time and energy too.

Second, I just wanted more time for other things in my life, which is a bit bizarre, I know, since my friend Mark's 30/30/45 schedule is designed to give runners plenty of free time, and I'm currently unemployed. But running 30 miles, for me, requires an all day commitment, so I found myself blocking off the whole week, not doing much of anything, and certainly nothing social, so as to give myself time to run and recover. I think ultra-running requires a commitment, a passion, for only running, which I totally respect, but I don't have. There are other activities, like writing and playing music (and, you know, looking for a new job) that I found myself missing, because even in 'off weeks' I still felt sore and slow moving, and just wanting to sleep 11 hours a night.

Third, I missed barefoot running. On all the long runs, I was going minimalist, in minimalist shoes, which worked well, and was the right decision, but on off weeks, I was still running every other day, and still trying to get up into trails, so, with the cold rainy Portland weather, that meant still doing the minimalist shoes. Now I find myself with no calluses at all, when really, with temps never getting below freezing around here, I should/could have been running barefoot every day. I believe this is tied in with the 'running isn't fun' aspect.

(Maybe) Fourth, after all that training, and feeling like I was pretty strong, I didn't feel like I'd improved that much. That is, for example, on the recent Hagg Lake 50K, although I did PR, I think it was more due to the easy course. I still bogged down a little at the end. I was happy with the PR, but I feel like running some 30/30/45 weeks should have made me a much stronger runner than I felt. Instead, I felt like I've felt for any other marathons and 50Ks. I'm not sure what my point is, but maybe I was feeling doubt about whether I could do Badger Mountain. I'm not sure.

So, although I felt a little bad about being a quitter, I also felt a huge relief when I finally decided to stop. Which is how I felt during Burning River. I went into a little funk though, and haven't run that much at all in the past week, although I think too I've just been recovering. Yesterday was the first day where I felt a little of the fun-ness come back. I only planned on a 25 minute run, but ended up staying out for an hour.

So, I think I'm going to be happy to (just) run marathons and 50Ks, to maintain myself on that edge where they're hard, but doable. And, I think I may still be up for 50 milers—I guess because they're still something I can do on my own, in daylight hours, and be able to drive home under my own power (I plan to run a 50 miler for my 50th birthday, but that's more than a few years away!).

So, I apologize if I've disappointed any readers (if there are any readers) but I hope the chronicling of what little I did will be helpful to anyone thinking about doing a hundo. It's a lot more than just being physically fit enough (though that's huge). I would love to help someone else run one, by being on a crew and/or pacing, but I also know I have to know when to bow out gracefully.

Cheers!

Badger Mountain Update

Yesterday I completed my latest 30/30/45 ultra-training week, with a long long 45 mile day. I was successful, and felt fairly strong. With about five weeks left until the Badger Mountain Challenge, this may have been my last 'big' week of running, before I need to start tapering off. I've been allowing myself two weeks to recover from these 30/30/45 weeks, so I'm not sure, but perhaps in two weeks I may do just a 30/30, or something like that. I'm looking forward to tapering though....

I do feel stronger, and I do feel, most importantly, that my recovery time is amazingly fast. For example, this morning I'm out and about, walking around, if a little slowly, especially when getting out of a chair. Yoga class (a 'yin' type one) this morning helped, and I'll do another this afternoon. I also made sure to do some stretching on my own last night, even though all I wanted to do was jump in a warm shower.

Actually, my first '30' this week was the Hagg Lake 50K, so a little more than 30. I rested two days, then did the second 30 on Tuesday, which really left me exhausted. Like, I slept 11 hours that night. I think the 50K was a lot more of a physical exertion that I would've given myself on my own. Meaning, that's a good thing. Having other people around to inspire me makes me run faster and stronger. I only wish a 50 Miler were available around here at this time of year. But I think any kind of race is good training, and makes us better runners.

The only major 'thing of note' from yesterday was mental: Not for the first time, I doubted whether this was all 'worth it' or not. That is, the time factor. I just would not be able to do this with a full-time job. I just have other interests, like writing and playing music, and maybe having a girlfriend at some point. Plus too, I miss just running barefoot. My calluses have almost vanished because I've been running in my Merrell Trail Gloves (for warmth, traction, and gravel roads). I'm wondering if I'm more interested in running barefoot than running ultras.

That said, I'm also still curious about challenging myself, my body, to see where I can push it. So, I'm definitely going through with this, and I'll see how I feel afterwards. Right now I think I'm doubting and discouraging myself a bit too harshly, perhaps just out of fatigue. Who knows, when I finish Badger Mountain (and I will!) maybe it'll be like marathons were: I'll want to do another one (Which would be the Born To Run 100M in May).

In other news: I have my support team assembled. Two pacers, who will alternate running with me from Mile 50 on. What I told them is this: I need someone to help get me through the long dark hours. I think if I can get past Mile 80, and to daylight, that I'll be able to finish the rest on my own, if they can't make it all the way. I also have a 'designated driver' who will bump the car and pacers and hopefully be alive enough in the morning to at least get us to a hotel. Hopefully too, the crew can document the event with FB updates and pics! I'm hoping to have something going on my FB wall (or whatever it's called now) where people can check in, and write words of encouragement.

Hagg Lake Mud Run 50K

Despite being advertised as the Hagg Lake Mud Run, I don't think the trails are going to be too muddy today. The whole past week have been relatively sunny. Still, I'm wearing my Merrell Trail Glove minimalist shoes, for traction more than anything, and warmth, though really, I think the 'extreme' cold weather of the Willamette Valley area here in Oregon (such as it is) has passed, and I could be moving back to huaraches or, gasp, barefoot. Still, 50K. Do I want to risk having cold feet for six hours? So I'm playing it safe. I'm having cold feet about having cold feet, I think. Excuses, I know. A manly barefoot runner would tough it out. Sigh....

But, anyway, looks to be a great day out here at Hagg 'Lake' (it's a reservoir). Still a bit foggy, but I'm thinking it will lift later. I could've almost slipped in for the early start at 7:00, but I think I'm going to be ok. That is, all this training I've been doing for the Badger Mountain Hundo must be worth something at this point!

There are, I think, 300, people signed up for today's 50K, and I think it's the first time the race has actually sold out the 50K. There is also a 25K tomorrow, with twice as many people, and it's sold out. There is also the option to do a 'double' and do both, which I opted not to do, though maybe I should have. My thinking is, actually, that I don't want to waste my time with a measly 25K. On Tuesday I plan to run 30 miles, and then Thursday 45, as my 30/30/45 hundo training week. Oh well.

We are gathered under a picnic pavilion near the reservoir shore, where there are portable outside heaters we're all standing under. The air is not actually super cold, but still, I've only got two shirts on, and some light wool gloves, but I'm already impressed with the organization of this race: heaters are a nice touch, and I see they have a kitchen being set up for the end—we're going to get more than doughnuts! All of the volunteers seem to know each other and many of the runners. Must be some kind of running group out this way.

And lo, who should appear but a guy in huaraches! I'm not sure what kind they are, they've got a funky strap. Might be home made. Interesting, for me, to not be the odd man out. In my Merrell shoes, no one can tell that I'm actually a freak. In fact, I feel guilty now. I should've 'huarache'd up' like a real man. But, now I can see how other shod runners react to him, staring at his feet when they think he'd not looking and shaking their heads sadly. Like, what an idiot, huh? Everyone knows you need supertank shoes to run a 50K.

And hark, the babe of the day just appeared, and she walks over and stands next to me. She's the only one here with maybe frizzier hair than me. Being the manly man I am, I smoothly strike up a conversation by asking, “Have you run this race before?” I've got all kinds of pick up lines like that.

But, we talk. This is her first time here, but sounds like she's an accomplished long distance runner. She's actually doing the 'double.' She's from Walla Walla, and knows about the Badger Mountain Hundo, and may be doing the 50K section. Anyways, sounds like she's a wee bit faster than me, so I probably won't see her again. We exchange 'good luck's' as we line up for everyone else.

The course is going to be a short out and back up a dirt road, than back here to the picnic area and around the reservoir twice. Again, I like the planning here. I mean, maybe they need to add on a few kilometers to make the double loop a full 50K, but what will happen is, after runners have warmed up, they'll be zipping right back here and can drop off any extra layers now that they're warmed up. I myself am just going with what I have, hell or high water, but many people have brought out whole bags and boxes with clothes and multiple pairs of shoes! Yes, and some people are running with small backpacks on, which I think are Camelbacks, but they also seems stuffed with stuff, I'm not sure what. That just seems like overdoing it, since we have three stations total, with water and food. That's the bonus of doing races like this—they supply the supplies!

Doesn't quite seem like 300 folks, but I'm never sure on that. And no gun or cannon or anything, just suddenly we're off! And uphill immediately! Woo hoo! And up a gnarly gravel road. Gnarly meaning big stones of gravel, that are uncomfortable even in my Merrells. I can't imagine what the guy with VFFs I pass if feeling. So yeah, maybe barefoot wouldn't be so cool here. But, hey, you could run this out in back in something thick and then ditch the footwear on the way back!

With an out and back, we get to see the front-runners, and they're young dudes with no body fat just barreling down the road. In fact, curiously, when I get up to the turnaround point, I too barrel down and it seems, just seems, that there seem to be two kinds of runners: those who barrel down hills, and those who don't. And those who do are all in front. I'm like the last person barreling, midway in the pack. Again, this might be my imagination, but I wonder if there's a way to test this?

But yeah, those gravel stones kinda hurt when barreling.

On my way back into the parking lot and the picnic area, a bystander (or bysitter), a guy, yells out, to me, “Hey, how come you're wearing shoes?”

I'm startled. “How'd you know?”

“Oh, I've seen you around.”

How odd. I don't recognize him at all. And we're like an hour from Portland. I guess I'm a Known Figure. As an extreme introvert, this freaks me out. But I guess it's a compliment. But I think it's another sign from the Universe that I should have huarache'd up, at least.

The START/picnic area is almost at the 'top' of the reservoir, where whatever river is being dammed up comes into the valley. Is it the Tualatin River? Not sure. Anyways, we're soon on the other side of the reservoir, and can in fact see the START area and parking lot. In fact, I can still see them further on, when I can also see the dam coming up. That's weird. I'd think the dam would be the farthest point out? But doesn't feel like we've gone but a few miles. Ah ha, but here's the deal, the trail on the other 'side' of the reservoir is a lot more 'wind-y' (as in, it winds) with a lot more coves that dip in and out.

But first, at the end of the dam is our first aid station, and man, these people know what they're doing! It's well stocked with all kinds of drinks and munchables. I eat an orange slice and a banana section, and yes! Fig Newtons! I don't think I'm going to be needing the two Clif Bars in my pocketses, which is good because I'm about sick of Clif Bars at this point. In fact, all they're doing now is taking up space and weight in my shorts. My Amphipod water bottle is handy though.

And yeah, this trail, especially over here, where it's a little bit more muddy (though just a little) is totally barefoot-able. Not sure about six hours of cold mud, but might conceivably be doable.

The pack is well spaced out by now. I chose my starting position well: Mid pack. There hasn't been a lot of passing or being passed since the out and back road (another good reason for that!). And the trail is easy to follow. It basically stays between the water and the road that goes around the dam. No getting lost today! But a pleasant run in the trees.

Something odd: the route does bump out onto a parking lot. The area is still technically closed, but this lot has some vehicles, and some activity going on. Cement is being made and shoveled out and who, what the hell are those things??? It looks like a modern art sculpture. Those cement bricks have been turned sideways, holes facing up, and cement is being poured into the holes. Then three-foot rubber tubes and inserted into the west cement, hanging out like multiple antennae.

If the people doing the activity were like a bunch of artsy looking people with lots of tattoos, I would say it was art. But it's a bunch of small town good 'ole folks. Kids and elderly people. I'm racking my brain long after I pass them and head back into the woods and then suddenly my time working for the Forest Service back in Arizona comes back: Those things are for fish. Either habitat and/or food source. Once the cement dries, the block will be dropped to the bottom of the reservoir (which, remember, isn't a real lake, so doesn't have stuff like plants) where, I think, the tubes will act like plants and accumulate plankton (or whatever, smaller plant bits) which the fish (which, remember, are stocked and not native) can nibble on, and maybe swim around in. Shoot, I still kind of prefer them as modern art.

Onward!

Some mud appears, enough to get the shoes muddy, but not too bad. I'm ok with this not being a total mud fest, which sounds like it normally is. Some people I've talked to say that even the flat straightaways are like running on oil. So far I haven't slipped at all!

Second aid station is just as well-stocked, and with friendly volunteers. And more Fig Newtons! And we cross a river. Hm, maybe this is in fact the 'top' of the reservoir. Not sure. The whole day has been quiet so far, just birds and moving water. So nice.

Finally, the parking lot, which means the picnic area is not far now. One last little section of trail, and pop!, here I am. Time? Hm, 2:50. That bodes ill for finishing in six hours, since I'm sure I'll run the second loop slower. But, that also includes the out and back, so this is in fact more than half way. I don't dawdle though, just grab some grub and go. I'm so into the food that I forget to drink some water at the station, though I at least refilled the Amphipod, which should be enough to get me to the first aid station.

And around we go. I'm playing tag with these two guys, one of whom seems to be having some leg cramp issues. I'll pass them while he's kneading his thigh, then they run by me chatting away. The only other person around is a woman wearing what I call 'booty shorts' over her running tights. I've occasionally seen women running races in just these booty shorts, which are black and super short, though I'm not sure if they're actually sold as running shorts. They're awfully (or, that is, wonderfully) skimpy, but I'm not sure what wearing them over running tights is getting her, though she has a juicy booty anyways—if she were just in shorts she'd be hanging out all over the place. I know, I know, just focus on running. Still....yowza.....but no, I must remain loyal to my Babe of the Day.

The fog has lifted, the sun is out and wow, coming out on the dam, what should there be but a rainbow! Much rejoicing. The sunshine just give a little boost, not sure if it's psychological, or if I'm getting a shot of Vitamin D or what. And at the first aid station there are more orange slices and bananas and Fig Newtons! And here comes Babe of the Day. I thought she was ahead of me. We say hello and I'm off. I'm sure she'll catch me. I'm not going to be running any faster at this point, but I do feel strong, like I could potentially not bog out. I don't even know have far I've come, there are no mile markers. There signs at the aid stations, but they're meaningless to me, since I think they're in the metric system.

On my way back into the trees, a guy comes up behind me and says, “Well, are we having fun yet?”

And I say, “Yeah, actually, I am.”

We start talking and turns out he's and ultra runner too. Not like one of the gods, but just someone like me, or a little bit more advance than me, with a couple hundos under his belt. When I tell him about my DNF at Burning River, he says he went through the same thing on his first hundo, and gives me words of encouragement about my second one coming up. I go over my training plan with him, and he gives me some basic tips, like to walk all hills, even at the early stages, and to in fact go slow right form the beginning. His second halves of his hundos are faster than his first halves, which kind of boggles my mind, but ok! And in fact, looks like his second half of this race is going to be faster, since he soon pulls away.

Soon after, I'm caught up by the guy in the huaraches. As he passes, I ask, “Hey, what kind of huaraches are those?”

And he says what I think is, “They're 'Tired of Shoes huaraches. I make them myself.”

Turns out he's got his own little huarache-making operation called Tire Dove Shoes. He's out of Monroe, and I think he says he's started selling them at a farmers market in Bend, but he's soon moving up to Portland. I like his idea for laces, using flat nylon parachute cord (I think?) with a special lock kind of deal that keeps the lace firm, even when putting the sandals off and on, so no having to readjust every time. Plus, he's working with using actual tires for the tread for at least one 'line' of sandals, which I think is brilliant. Seems like some people would really like the recycled option. Anyways, he's going faster than me, but I get his email: Ave McCombs, tiredoveshoes@yahoo.com.

At the second aid station I fill up and ask, half-jokingly, “How much farther do I have to go?”

A woman says, “Four and a half miles.”

Finally, miles! “Oh, I can do that!”

She smiles. “Of course!”

The trail does get muddier in here, now that it's been pounded by 250+ pairs of feet. A little slippery, and at time sticky. I'm going a little slower, my second split won't be as fast as my first, but I'm not bogged down either. Still, I'm a little worried, looking ahead to Badge Mountain, and if I'm feeling tired at this point, I'm not sure what will happen.

And in the mud who should pass me but Babe of the Day, looking strong and steady. Maybe I should work more on being stronger for my second split, I seem to be getting passed more now.

And, as if for some kind of closure, I even get passed by Booty Shorts. And well, I hate to see her leave, but love to watch her go.

Concentrate John! Going slow. Am I even going to have energy for my 'balls out' at the end? Not sure. But here's the parking lot, which means it's not far now, so I make an effort to pick up the pace. And since the trail becomes a lot more downhill-ish here, I'm helped by gravity, and in fact, once I start barreling down again, something kicks in and I'm actually sprinting! I even catch a guy I'd seen farther ahead, he's dragging, and I can hear the people at the finish line.

And I pop out of the trees and whoah, they've moved the course so that the finish line is only like twenty feet away. I kind of catch people by surprise and actually have to put on the breaks in order not to run past the finishers tent, where a woman offers up my medal (which is actually a bottle opener, I guess for all those old school type bottles of beer popular out here). Time? 5:48! A PR, by at least twelve minutes. So yay!

I wobble down to the reservoir and take off my shoes, washing off the mud as best I can, then standing in the water for some coldness on the muscles, and my, the water is brisk! Babe of the Day is there with a posse of friends. Ah well.

Best of all, under the picnic pavilion, the kitchen is in full swing, with hot dogs (even veggie dogs!), grilled cheeses, and two kinds of hot soup. Plus brownies. And mounted screens set up so you can see your time, and computer screens on table to look up your stats. Man, there are just a ton of guys my age doing these races. I'm going to have to wait 20 years for all their knees to give out before I start winning for my age category. The overall winner came in at something like 3:26. Impressive.

I run into both Ave of Tire Dove Shoes, who gives me his card, and Babe of the Day. Turns out she PR'd too. I think this was a good fast course, with great weather.

Now to hobble back to my car for the drive back to Portland.

More Badger Mountain Madness Stuff

Yesterday, Thursday, I completed my second '30/30/45 week' with a full day of running 45 miles. This time I felt stronger and more confident than the first time, though of course it wasn't easy. Still, knowing that I'd done it before helped mentally, and helps me mentally when I think of Badger Mountain: I've run 105 miles in five days. I feel MUCH stronger already going into this Hundo than my last.

Most interesting this time around was my recovery, the amount, and the time. The day after the first 30 miler, thanks to a couple of nice yoga classes (one more about stretching and strength, and one more of a 'yin' recovery class) I felt wonderful, so that on the second 30 miler, I felt at full strength. The day after that though, was a little rougher, and I went into the 45 milers already feeling a bit sore and slow.

Still, I finished all three 30 mile sections scarily within a couple minutes of each other, all around 7:20. It's good to know that even feeling sore and slow, I can maintain a good strong pace.

As before, I ended yesterday's 30 miles section back at my apartment, where I did not let myself sit down at all, but had a filling meal, and changed my shirts. Then I headed out for a 15 miles loop. I actually ran into one of my yoga instructors right then, and she said I looked relaxed and confident, and I have to say I felt it. I knew it would be hard, but I also knew, “I can do this.”

For the 30 mile section I again wore my Merrell Trail Gloves. For the 15 miler, I switched to barefoot for the first 4 or five miles, then slipped on my Xero huaraches for the rest. This time I was not at all lonely. I guess the last time I ran 45 miles, it was new year's day, so everyone was inside. This time there were a plethora of bike commuters on the trail coming back north, plus plenty of runners when I got back into Portland proper. In fact, I think there was a running group meet-up happening.

When I got back, I made a point of stretching for about a half hour before anything else. I've just seen how much yoga classes help my recovery, so I know I know enough to run through some sort of routine at home, and I think it really helped. That said, I was still sore and still. I walked down to the store to buy some blue corn chips as my treat to myself, and I think walking a bit helped to. The worst seem to be to just collapse and not move, especially sitting down in a car or something. I know the temptation is to just collapse after a long run, but I think some soft stretching and use of the muscles really does help recovery for the next day.

Today, the day after, I am still moving a little slow, but I feel pretty good, considering. The main sore areas, during the run, and now, are the groin area and the back left thigh. The groin is a new soreness for me and, sorry to get too detailed, at times during the run I felt like someone was tugging on my left testicle. So yeah, not too pleasant, but it never went quite up into agonizing pain.

I'm not sure if I'll be able to get two more 30/30/45 sessions in or not before Badger Mountain. At least one. I have signed up for on more 50K, Hagg Lake, in mid-February. I'm not sure how much, or when, I need to taper before the Hundo at the end of March. I'll be consulting with my trainer/friend Mark about this. But again, I already feel stronger than the last time I tried a Hundo. At the very least, if I just maintain this level, I'll feel good, but I'm thinking even doing one more 30/30/45 will boost me some more.

As always, I welcome any comments, questions, and especially any advice from Those Who Have Gone Before in ultra-running.

The Road to Badger Mountain update

I've now begun another week of 30/30/45. Today I did the first 30 Miler of the week, in 7:20, which I think is a little quicker than last time, but who knows? So many factors. The weather has been warmer, and therefore Wildwood Trail was a mud pit. I will take tomorrow off, then on Tuesday do it all over again, with the 45 Miler on Thursday. I hope the weather holds. A downpour on Thursday would throw things off, though I suppose I could do it on Friday without too much trouble.

In the past two weeks I've gone back to my more 'normal' schedule, of running every day. In addition, I've done two FAT ASS 50Ks the last to Saturdays, which are great training (see my blog for the write-ups). Having a group of folks running with me helps me boost my pace. My main worry for Badger Mountain at this point is how slow I am: Will I even make the cut off time? I'd rather just come in under 24 hours, but I just don't know how it will go.

Actually, I have plenty of worries. Despite feelings fairly strong on the 50Ks, and despite feeling more in shape than when I attempted Burning River two years ago (almost), I somehow feel doubt that I'm ready for a Hundo. I suppose when I get through this next 45 Miler I'll feel better, but Badger Mountain is now about two months away. I guess that means at least two more 30/30/45s, and I'm signed up for the Hagg Lake 50K in February, so I guess that's a lot! I'd feel better with a 50 Mile race (or two) under my belt, but I searched: in the winter months they're scarce.

Still, good news: I have another team member. Or, I think I've talked him into it, either perhaps pacing me some, or at least being the car driver.

Other worries are unemployment running out (maybe, maybe not), and no good job prospects, that I can find. I know there are ways to train for a Hundo with a full-time job, and if it comes to it, I will. Still, I'm hoping to take advantage of my joblessness by doing Badger Mountain. After that, then I can begin to stress in earnest. Of course, then there's the Born To Run Hundo in May....the madness never ends.

If anyone has any tips or thoughts or suggestions for me at this point, or for race day, they are much appreciated. I'm in unknown territory, which is a good thing, but tips from Those Who Have Gone Before would be nice.

Capitol Peak FAT ASS 34M

Ugh. Getting up at four in the morning is brutal. More so when you have a head cold. But, it was necessary to get up here to Capitol Peak National Forest just outside of Olympia, Washington. I'm actually early. Like, way early, arriving with all the Search and Rescue folks who are putting on this FAT ASS 17/34 Miler, as a fundraiser for their group, Friends of Capitol Peak. Being Search and Rescue dudes (and they're mostly dudes) they've all got their personal vehicles tricked out with extra lights and winches and tires. But heck, I'm glad they're out here. If I get lost, they'll be right here to find me.

They seem to be running this FAT ASS run as some kind of training day—a good idea I think, meaning that there will be smaller groups of them spread out along the course, with radios and water and First Aid kits. This is going to be WAY more organized than the FAT ASS I did last week. I feel in capable hands.

I check in at the main tent, and they even have bib numbers for us. Classy! The main organzier dude asks me if I want to do the early start at 7. I think about it, tempted, but then realize I can't, I didn't bring my headlamp. It's 6:30, and still dark, because 1. Dense fog, and 2. Dense fog in a dense forest. Instead, I head back to my rental car and crank up the classic rock station and watch more cars come in. At seven, a group of early starters start, maybe about ten of them, with headlamps and looks like backpacks, or maybe Camelpacks, though they look big. I just haven't ever gotten into lugging a bunch of stuff on long runs, IF I know there will be water stations, and actually, here, on a mountain, there maybe be some lovely mountain streams to drink from.

Finally 8 o'clock rolls around, and light is filtering through the trees and fog, though the fog doesn't look like it's going to lift anytime soon. Still, enough light to run by. Temperature is maybe just above freezing. I'm wearing my Merrill Trail Gloves—the best tool for this job, mainly to keep the feets warm. I do see some other minimalist shoes here and there, and actually saw a bunch last week too, so, at least for trail running, minimalist shoes are becoming almost normal. Maybe. There's also one crazy guy in some kind of huaraches I've never seen before, and he's also just wearing short shorts and a 'barely there' sleeveless shirt. He looks like a cross country star somehow. I bet he's fast, but brr, looking at him makes me colder.

The Organizer Dude gathers us all up at the Start line to go over directions, though many people don't seem to be paying attention, more concerned with saying hello to old friends. After last week's fiasco, I want to hear everything, so I get right in front of him. And yes, he is way more dialed in. He shows us a bit of orang and red flagging that they've used out there, and says they've also marked all turns with orange spray paint. The 17 Miles is an out and back, from the first aid station, which, do I hear this correctly?, will also be a Tequila Station? Wtf?

As for the 34 Milers, we will run up a mountain, run around the top of it, and back down. No problem. There was some worry about snow, but he says it's packed down and not that bad. Sounds cold, but ok.

And, with the typical FAT ASS 'not much ado', he says go, and we go!

I'd say there's maybe 50 of us? Or maybe up to 75? I'm terrible with judging numbers (and mileage)(and time), but anyways, I let the faster folks go on ahead. We get a little dirt road to filter us out, but then we're all on trails, going uphill switchbacks like the 75 Dwarves. Many people seem to know each other, or else it's my luck (such as it is) to be around them. I can tell I'm tired, because I'm grumpy, and annoyed already that a woman right behind me is yelling back her end of a conversation with someone else five places back. Call me crazy, but in the situation, I'd just drop back five spots to talk to the person. But ok, breathe John, breathe. Relax. This is a wonderful day, the sunlight filtering through the icy trees and fog. And you're running! And the cold isn't really that back. I feel a little congested, but I'm not draining, or sneezing, or coughing. I just feel like, with a cold, I feel better when I get out and stay busy, rather than moping back in my apartment, so this is gonna be pretty active. We'll see. I could very well overdo things and send myself into pneumonia by the end of this! Ha! But no, I have faith in running! Running makes us feel good. Running heals. That plus a tequila shot or two.

But there are occasional bumpings out onto dirt roads and wider trails, so people can pass as is their wont. And I wont. I'm barreling down the downhill sections—Part of my new running style, trying to run a little faster. When I get in long-distance mode, I tend to lock into one rate for up and downhills, so I'm trying to use the downhills more, to use gravity, to speed me up. So right now I'm zipping along, passing lots o' folks, but I may regret it later, since, despite trying to use gravity while maintaining a light 'lifting the feet' mode, versus a 'slamming the feet down' mode, my quads do still seem to take a beating.

In overhearing more (sometimes loud) convos, most people seem to be doing the 17 Miler, and in fact, the fast ones (including crazy half-naked dude in huaraches) now are heading back on the same (sometimes narrow) trail. The thought strikes me that maybe the 34 Milers should all have started an hour earlier? Just to clear us out, and to get us all back sooner, so everyone can head home sooner? Might make for a lonelier run though. Having all these people around makes this seem like a 'real' race, meaning that our competitive natures kick in and we all are running faster than if we just went for a run on our own. That's one of the reasons I decided to do this race, as part of my training for the upcoming Badger Mountain 100 Miler Challenge.

I get to the first aid-station/turn around and yep, some guys have set up a tent, with some tables, and some bottle of tequila, along with some Mexican decorations. Wow. And yet, I know I'm going to have to take a shot on my way back. Just because. But I have many miles to go before I drink.

I continue on and up. And yes, without the 17 Milers, the pack was been widdled (? whittled?) down significantly. I'm now alone. How sad. But, I break out into a old clear cut area and voilà, the sun! The fog has lifted! No, actually, once I get way out into the clearing I see that in fact, I've just gained enough elevation to be above the fog, because now I can see out for miles and miles, all the way out to Mt. Rainier! And below, just a white fluffy sea of cloud/fog. The whole valley is socked in, but up here, glorious sunshine. In fact, it's now warmer, and with snow on the ground, brighter.

The snow is either fairly packed down, or melted off, so that running isn't bad. But, the trail is now a bunch of switchbacks going up another clearcut. So, not running anymore. This has become a hike. I see some radio towers way up on the top of a mountain and wonder, Hm, Am I going all the way up there?

The trails have been well-marked, no doubt I'm on the correct route. Still, nice to see some other runners out here, even if it's two guys passing me. I could probably be hiking faster, but I keep getting distracted by the view: The higher I get, the more I can see of this huge fog-sea, with occasional hilltops peaking out, looking like islands. What a beautiful day. Minus one little thing: someone has come out to the State Park to shoot their guns. Damn. Doesn't seem fair that one or two people can disrupt the serenity of a whole valley of people. But, who knows, they probably feel the same way about a bunch of crazy runners hogging the trails. Hopefully though they're get tired of shooting their guns. I mean, how much fan can it be?

Onward. Upward. The water from the aid station is nasty, so I opt for something much better: Creek water. Snowmelt from right off the mountain. Nothing better. And plentiful along this route.

Organizer Dudes instructions come back to me when I get to a fork on a high dirt road, with orange paint arrows pointing both ways. This is where we'll basically run around the top of the mountain and come back. The snow up here is thicker, though still packed down, at least on this logging road. I feel a little like Legolas from The Fellowship of the Ring, running over the top of snow. It's the kind of snow that, if just a little better warmer, I might crash through up to my knee or thigh and really tweak something badly, so I'm trying to be careful, and with the icy crust I'm still slipping a lot. I pass one woman who has stopped to adjust her Camelpack or something. I figure she'll catch me soon, but I don't see her again. Still, again, good to see another runner. I just don't want to be last, to have everyone waiting for me back at Base Camp.

The route goes in a large circle around the top of the mountain, and on the backside I come on some Search & Rescue guys at their truck. There's also a woman, who's asking where the bag drop is, and they're trying to explain that is was back at the first aid station, at the Tequila Station, but she seems kind of out of it. Man, she's like eleven or twelve miles off. I wonder if she's going to just quit. Something doesn't seem right about how she's acting, though maybe it's just frustration/anger at not knowing where the bagdrop was. Yikes. Still, I do maybe see her point: why have the bag drop 8.5 miles in, and not further up, more at the halfway point?

I don't know. I keep going. More up, on an old old steep steep road/path. Just hiking best I can, slipping on the ice and snow. But this road takes me up to the very top of Capitol Peak, and man, the view is just....amazing. Mt. Rainier on one side, and Mt. St. Helens on the other. Surrounded by the sea of fog below, in all directions. This may get my vote for most scenic race/run I've ever down. Makes me really appreciate having moved out here to the Pacific Northwest.

In fact, I have a new worry: with all the snow, and sun, I may be in danger of getting sunburned! Who'd've thunk?

I bail down the other side, almost falling on my ass a few times, on this ice-covered dirt road. In fact, there's a State vehicle off to the side: Looks like it actually slid off and almost turned over. I check inside. No one there. Must have happened earlier. I guess they're just going to leave it until the snow melts down. Seems like the Search & Rescue guys could winch it out, though maybe even they can't get their trucks up in this snow.

Back to that original fork. Ok, I've looped around the mountain. I'm now over half-way. And: it's all downhill (mostly) from here! Man, if I could slam down those switchbacks I could really make up for time. Check my watch: 4:20. Hm. Not sure if that's good. With that massive hill, I think so. My average time for a 50K is six hours, but this is a little more. I think I may be out here for more than six hours. Ok, well, I hope I'm not last.

I'm now running again, though as I feared, I'm tired, and my quads are stiff, so although I'm getting a little boost from gravity, I'm not zooming down. Still, a great day to be out running, and I'm not super exhausted. I'm not sure I'd be up for running a full Hundo, which gets me mildly worried about Badger Mountain: I have two months to be ready for it, and I don't think I'm ready for it. But oh well, stay in the moment John. Enjoy this.

On the way down, there are more Search & Rescue teams at the road crossings. Part of their training day more than anything, doing a little traffic control, which isn't really necessary. But still good to see them, and they assure me that I'm not last. Ok. Whew. I don't see anybody coming up though: Everyone must at least be running around the top of the mountain by now, which gives me a little boost to maintain speed. Would be a little disheartening to be passed by someone now. But I don't see any runners at all.

There's still guys shooting guns though. In fact, I end up getting a wee bit misplaced, going down a main dirt road that doesn't look familiar, but which takes me right to the shooter dudes, who, to give them credit, are friendly, and confirm that they haven't seen any other runners come by. Oops. So I turn around and run back up the road, and yep, I ran right by some big orange paint arrows. Not paying attention. Zoned out and tired. This is my big fear about a Hundo: getting majorly lost due to my own delirium. This is why I need pacers.

But yeah, having guys shooting right by me is a little unnerving. And, they were firing pistols as paper targets twenty feet off the road. And they've been doing that for hours. That just doesn't seem fun. I guess they want to get as much practice in as they can before Obama takes away their guns. And, ha, now there seems to be some other groups of target practicers, one of them with what sounds like an automatic rifle. “The hills are alive / with the sound of gunfire....”

I am tired. The cold isn't helping. I fear I'm on the edge of getting chilled. I just feel congested, like my ears have been popped. Plus my stomach is rumbling, alien chest-burster style. But lo! Looks like a Tequila Station!

It is. There's a bunch of what looks like mountain biker dudes, and one dudette, huddled around a fire, with the table full of tequila bottles. Wow. But strangely, the thought of tequila doesn't make me want to vomit. In fact, in some way, I feel like it might feel good. I'm not a big drinker at all, but I feel like my sinuses might get cleaned out. And/or maybe it'll kill the alien in my stomach. So ok, I order one up.

The guy behind the table pours me a shot, along with one for him and a friend who comes over. I ask, “How many shots have you had today?”

He smiles. “Oh, only one for every runner that's come by.”

That can't be possible. He wouldn't be standing. But anyways, it's good to actually talk to this folks, to see people in general, and they seem genuinely enthused to see me. They confirm again that I'm not last. Whew.

Onward. The tequila feels ok actually. I feared suddenly having to vomit, but it, plus the lime (nice touch!) take actually good. Again, who'd've thunk?

Ok, well, 8.5 miles to go. Or, maybe a little less, since they said something about the route back being slightly shorter (I'm still not clear why). I'm at 6:20. Wow. Ok, well, I wanted a long run, and I'm getting it. I feel super slow though.

I'm off the mountain though. The route is back to short ups and downs. Still no one. I'm on my own. Ugh. Slog mode. Mentally tough more than anything: I feel the twinges of “I just want this to be over.” Yeah, if I'm feeling this, then the Hundo is gonna be tough.

The route IS slight different, rerouted. Maybe not a full 8.5, and most glorious is seeing a State Park sign with the name of the campground where I started on it, and a big '.5' next to it. Almost there!

Without a lot of fanfare, I come into the Finish, almost taking the volunteers by surprise, but they give me a cheer, which is nice. Time: 8 hours almost on the dot. Wow. Whew. Man. I'm sixth from last, with only 30 people signed up for the 34 Miler, though that doesn't take into account the early starters, so I'm actually more in the middle of the pack, which makes me feel a bit more respectable.

I thank the Organizer Dude for a good race, and head to the food. I'm going to go into hypothermia soon now that I've stopped, but wee bit o' hot soup helps, along with some salty potato chips, and why not, a bite-size Snickers bar. Or two.

One other runner is there, a woman who came in like fifteen minutes before me, though she's one of the late-starters (time 8:30ish). We chat for a while. She seems as eager as I to actually finally talk to someone. We also chat with an older gentleman ladling out the soup, who is friendly up until I let slip a comment about all the people out shooting guns. He immediately makes a face and walks away. Wow. People must really like their guns out here.

But yes, body cooling down fast. Must. Change. Clothes. To talk at. Normal. Speed. I thank all the crew once again and head to my car, so I can sit down for the two hour drive back home, and my legs can tighten up nicely. Tonight, a big bowl of guacamole and chips and a hot bath, and tomorrow a nice yoga class! Wonderful run. Wonderful day.

Results: 18th out of 25 finishers. Not last!
http://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=18069

MAC ASS 50K Fiasco

I had wondered if the ‘FAT ASS’ type of race existed out here on the west coast, and voilà, now I have two in a row here in January. For those who aren’t familiar with them, they’re basically free races, or very cheap, put on by kind souls who like distance running and are willing to put something together for the benefit of the local running community. I’m here at the MAC ASS 50K (and 10K and 25K), in McMinnville, about an hour southwest of Portland. The race is being put on by a local high school cross-country team, as a fundraiser. Free to sign up, but they’re asking for donations. So, I’ve put in forty bucks in the coffee can at the check-in desk.

It’s cold. Just below freezing, with frost on the ground. Fortunately, in this little park picnic area, the organizers have two separate fires going, along with a big outside space heater. The 50K is starting at 8, with the 10K and 25K starting at 9. I’d say there’s about 40 people here now. The other Oregon barefoot runners are all doing the shorter distances, so I don’t think I’m going to know anybody, but no, there’s Janson, down from Washington of all places. He’s doing the 25K but got here early, so has come looking for me. Janson will be one of my pacers for the Badger Mountain 100M challenge. In fact, he’s the one who told me about it. We talk about tentative plans for that race, and I’m surprised to learn that he’s fully expecting to be up all night. I’d been planning to get him pacing me early so he could get back to his family, but now we’re thinking, if and when I get some more pacers, that maybe he can trade off with someone. Anyway, we’ll figure it out.

This race does fall nicely into my training though. Two weeks ago I did my first ‘30/30/45’ and this past week I’ve been doing more ‘normal’ runs. But I do still need one long run a week, and this is it, along with a little practice in getting ready for a race, and with the added bonus of some minor competition in order to get me to run faster. Next week I’ll probably be doing another FAT ASS up near Olympia, with ‘normal’ running in between, and then I’ll do another 30/30/45 week.

The organizer dude calls everyone to the Start line to explain the route. No one wants to be in the front of the pack, so he has a hard time getting everyone to gather up. So he just talks to those of us nearby, explaining that the course if flagged in pink, along with some directional signs, and that we “shouldn’t think too hard” about directions, and not to every backtrack if we see a sign not directly in front of, concluding with, “Don’t worry, you can’t get lost.” Uh oh. Whenever a race director says that, many people get lost.

No official start, really. He just says go. I go slow, letting people pass, not in any hurry, especially since we almost immediately go uphill, up this dirt road, past a huge clearcut. Apparently there is logging allowed in State Parks? Or we’re not in Metsker State Park at this point? Not sure. I am concerned by how slowly I seem to be going, worrying that I might in fact end up last in the pack. I could run faster at this point, but I’m pacing myself.

And we basically go up to a certain point, manned by two volunteer dudes who are drinking beer at 8:30 in the morning (wow) and turn back around. At this point I’m running with this woman, and come to find out she thinks she’s running the 10K! She’s shocked to learn that we’re all 50Kers here. “I was wondering why he didn’t give directions for the 10K course!” So yeah, maybe the organizer dude might have clarified that in his speech.

At least on the way back I get to see that there are in fact people behind me. I’m not last! Yes! We return right back to the park picnic area and Organizer Dude is there at the dirt road that goes back up to the Start. He points in that general direction and says, “Left at the green sign!”

I am by myself at this point, and hesitate, because there’s a fork in the road, with some green flagging off on the right fork. That can’t be right. I stop and hold out my hands. He yells after me, “To the left! To the green sign!”

I look back where he’s pointing, then up the right fork in the road I see a light green sign up in some trees. Oh. Ok. Wow, that bodes ill.

We’re on a trail that circles around the picnic area, and the pond it’s next to. When back within sight of the picnic area, there’s a woman taking photos, and she points me left again and up a small trail. It tops off onto another logging road, and here I kind of get into a group of folks. We follow some pink flagging to the right, back down into some woods, and soon come to a flagged off trail to the left, though the signs are not facing us. The woman in front of me goes, “What should be do?”

I say, “Well, remember, he said not to think about it too much, and not to backtrack. But I’d understand if you didn’t follow me.” She and I continue on the main trail, though the people behind us seem to have taken the left.

We bail down onto another logging road, with no apparent flagging either direction. No, there’s a faint pink flag off to the left. Still, seems not quite right. But we go on, until the woman goes, “Uh oh, there’s my son. And he’s supposed to be at the beginning of the pack.”

Her son and his two freinds say this road leads out to a paved road, which can’t be right. So we all backtrack up to that place where the flagging went to the left, though the youngsters soon lose us. How embarrassing, to run a race with your mom!

This newer trail takes us up into an old clearcut area, where there’s lots of ‘reprod’—younger trees. And here is where chaos ensues: There’s a fork, with either a trail, or a smaller logging road, and there are groups of people coming and going both directions on both forks. I’m starting to feel like I’m in the movie The Poseidon Adventure, with my group unsure of where to go, but asking other groups, who seem equally unsure. This can’t be right. There’s a green sign that says 50K and points up the logging road, so we decide to try that.

Which takes us onto some other trail through the woods, flagged though, and not unpleasant, though we’re still seeing people going both directions, though nobody can confirm this is some kidn of ‘out-and-back’ or not. And then we get dumped right back at that trail/road fork. Well shoot. What’s going on here? We turn around, and meet another group coming the way we just came, who say this is their first time through.

We continue, going out and about, and getting dumped out right back at the same trail/road fork. Und scheisse. Was machen wir? Que diablos hacemos?

We finally meet at guy on the trail who turns us around yet again, claiming he’s just done what we’ve done, twice. He takes us back to the fork, where one of the organizer dudes is now standing, directing people. He points us back up the trail. I ask about the 50K sign, and he goes, “Remember, only follow a sign if it’s facing you.” Yeah, well dude, this trail sign says ‘50K’.

I’m getting annoyed and even angry, but then I think, you know what? This is an opportunity. I’m training for a Hundo, and this is an opportunity to run even more than 50K today. Still though, to put people out here running around lost, in really cold weather, feels a little irresponsible.

And

I lose the woman I was running with, but gain a couple other folks for a while, and not that we’re lined our properly, though we end up at the fork yet again! This time the two young beerdrinkers are there instead of the other guy, and they point us up the logging road. I say, “Are you sure? This will be the second time I’ve gone this way.”

They’re suddenly not so sure. “Yeah, we heard something went wrong.”

Great. But this time that first guy is farthur up, and he points me up the road, instead (!) or following the flagging. “Just head straight up until this road hits another logging road, and turn right. Don’t follow any flagging, follow the green signs from now on.”

Ok....And of course this logging road turns into a trail. Did I just get lost again? Goddammit. And there’s still people coming down in the other direction. But I find a green 50K sign, and see that this there’s another sign facing the other direction, meaning this is a place with traffic in both directions, and by now, the 10 and 25Kers are out on the course as well. Ok....

But I do in fact bump out onto a larger dirt road, with flagging to the right. Ok....

More people running the other way, but also a couple of folks running my way too. I ask them, “So do you have confidence in where you’re going?”

They both give a fairly confident affirmative, though then I find out that they’re running the 25K. So yes, now I’m being lapped by people who started an hour later than I. Great.

On a side note: the guy I’m running with points out a young man coming towards us as the worlds champion trail runner, though I don’t catch his name.

But, finally, we get to a water station. I’ve been running 2.5 hours now, my water bottle long empty. That can’t be right. But the two good ole boys running the station can’t confirm any directions about the course, except to point me up this STEEP side road a little ways back. As I turn back towards it, one yells out, “It’s just a .4 mile out-and-back.”

I almost stop. .4??? At this point, that’s almost insulting. I’ve been running around in circles and you want me to run uphill, on a super rocky road, and then back? Grrr...

But I do it. I guess I see why it’s on the course, because it takes runners up to the highest point in the area, with a view of the two large valleys on either side. Ok fine.

Back down, heading back to the station for a top off. The good ole boy tells me, “Back down the road. Look for the green signs.”

The good news is that there’s still people coming the other direction, so I’m not last. Though, actually, they could all be 25Kers by now. Argh. But there is indeed a green sign, pointing down and to the left, onto a kind of...trail. More like a trailblazing route through the trees. This isn’t an official trail, though it’s becoming one with how many people are running over it. I wonder if the State Park officials know about this?

Basically I’m sidehilling along under that road I just ran along, but then the trail bails downhill. At least I’m pretty sure that the route is all downhill from here, so I’m having fun just running fast, making up for lost time, even finally passing some people.

Not too much later, I get to the second water station. Ok, that’s weird, but I top off. The guy there points me back up hill for a four mile loop. At this point, I’m walking the uphills, to this is kind of a long walk. But that’s fine. I use it to down a Clif Bar. And then, I reach the peak of the trail and barrel back down, ending up right back at that water station. More water, then he points be to a hidden downhill trail. Unflagged. Good thing someone was here to show me.

Down down down. Then an evening out, and some slight up uphill as I follow a trail paralleling a river. I suspect that this is the river that goes up to the picnic area. Wierd to have those two water stations crammed together right at the end. And my confirmation is correct: I come out into the open, a little downhill from the Start.

Still plenty of people under the rotundra, and now there’s food! I cram in some chips and hummus, a deviled egg, and some tangerine juice. Most 50Kers I’d talked to along the way said they were just going to bail when they got back. Me, I’d really like to run a 50K. I mean, I need/want a long run. Yet, I check my watch: Oy. It took me 4 hours and twenty minutes to run this first loop! That’s crazy!

I check in with Organizer Dude, going over with him the route, and the flagging and signs. A young woman volunteer says/claims that there was some mischief, that some “mountain bikers” has switched signs around. I’m not so sure. Feels like incompetence to me, but maybe they’re right. Organizer Dude tells another guy that they’ll be out here until dark. Well, ok, if someone’s going to be here, I guess I’ll try a second loop. Especially if others are going to be out there.

I head out after that one guy. Thankfully we don’t have to run that first out-and-back up the logging road, just arond the pond and up. And man, this time the route is clearer, and I see that I got lost way way early. This time I end up at the trail/road fork way faster, and know which way to go. I pass that one guy somewhere in there, but he catches up to me just as I’m about to do the long uphill that’s the end of this little maze area. He stops though, asking, “Should we follow the flagging?”

I explain that at this point we just follow the green signs, and that I’ve been through this whole area like three times. He kind of doubts me, which is totally understandable, but follows me up, and when we bail out onto the top dirt road, he says, “Wow. Thanks for lining me out back there. I would’ve been lost forever.”

“Believe me, I know how you feel!”

We run together down the road, and turns out this guy has run Western States! I don’t get what he’s doing so far back in the pack (if there is indeed a pack at this point—I’m starting to feel like we’re the only two people out on the course). But I get to pick his brain a little about running a Hundo.

I’m checking my watch though, and even though we got through that maze part with no problem, and much much faster than I did the first time, it’s now six hours in: which is my usual finishing time for a 50K! And at the first water station, the good ole boys are gone, though they left a gallon of water behind.

We top off, and I make my decision: I’m not going to do that .4 out-and-back. This is just taking too long.

The other guy is going to do it though. So we part ways. I say he’ll probably catch me, and the shakes his head. “I doubt it.”

So, interesting. But, onward. And now it’s all mostly downhill. At the second water station, there is nobody. No water. Check my bottle: almost empty. Ok, screw this. I’m not going to run around without water. So, I skip that extra four mile loop. I’m just heading for the Finish.

This second time through has gone MUCH faster. I feel like I could’ve PRed if I hadn’t got lost. And man did I get lost! I think I lost an hour or an hour and a half!

And soon I’m back at the Finish. And yeah, everything is packed up. The volunteer guys clap when they see me. I tell them that there’s still another guy, maybe an hour behind me (because I suspect he’ll run that four mile loop too). They’re surprised. Organizer Dude checks the list. They thought I was the only person out there. In fact, my name got checked off already. They think I’m him! Good thing I said something.

At this point, they organize and send guys out on motor bikes to find him and get him back, because they all want to leave.

Me? I head to the little food still left out and chow down on more chips and hummus and juice. Organizer Dude give me my 50K finisher hat: a camouflage hunting cap that I’m never going to wear, yet which I feel I’ve earned still.

Like I said, I normally run a 50K in six hours. My watch says 7:20. Crazy. Thinking about it now, if I had been Organizer Dude, I would have shut the race down and prevented me and that other guy from heading out for a second loop. I’m not sure he even realizes how badly many of us got lost. Oh well.

Despite my earlier annoyance and anger, I feel good. I got a good long run in, and adapted and overcame. It’s actually been a wonderful day! And now to do the worst thing possible: sit down in a car for an hour and a half and have my muscles all freeze up. Woo hoo!