Lost Runner

It was like a retirement party for my running shoes. Their last hurrah, so to speak, a way to go out in style. After 445 miles, taking me through a 10K PR, an encounter with a mountain lion and up Mount Diablo, these shoes have noticeably lost their cushioning and support. I figured a trail race in the Santa Cruz Mountains would be the perfect send-of into old-age (i.e.: only good for short recovery runs).

Of course, now they look like they should be taken out behind the barn and shot, like a lame horse.

(For those of you wondering, these shoes were sold to me in the color white)

What happened? Well, any trail run is going to leave a mark on your shoes. This one would be rougher because it had a river crossing in the middle. The river crossing is why I signed up, of course. These little gimmicks are all it takes to lure me in. River crossing -- cool, I'll do it! Like a co-worker who did a sprint triathlon called "See Jane Tri". Why did she do it? "I liked the name," she said.

The weather was cloudy and cool, perfect for running. Unfortunately, I sustained an injury within the first 200 yards of the event.

A bruised ego.

You see, I tripped over something (still don't know what) and fell flat on my face. And because it was so close to the start, there were plenty of people around to see it.

The course turned out to be fairly easy, mostly flat with only a few hills in the way. After about 5 clicks, we came to the crossing. Some people took off their shoes, but I just waded across. The water came up to my thighs and barely touched my running shorts. Actually a nice way to cool down. At the finish, one guy confessed to tripping and going for a swim!

Once on the other side, we had to climb a little (not too easy with waterlogged shoes), but by the time we were headed downhill again, my shoes were mostly dry. The course led us alongside a river to the only aid station on the course. After stocking up, everyone turned around. We 29K runners had a "lollipop" loop to run, which took us up another hill with an observation deck (nothing to see in the clouds) and right back to the aid station.

After stocking up again, we headed right back the way we came. The course became a little more crowded as many 21K runners were out and about. The second time I crossed the river, I collected enough stones in my shoes to start a rock garden. This go-around, almost everybody kept theirs on. Soon afterwards, we found our way back to the finish line.

One thing I like about trail running is that everyone has time for a chat. I spent time talking to two ultra-runners (they were doing the 50K) as well as another guy I had met at the start. It turned out he lived near where I work, and we chatted most of the return leg of the race. In retrospect, I wonder if I could have squeezed out another ounce or two of speed if I'd shut up, but I figure I'm "racing" for training, not for time. It was much more enjoyable that way anyhow.

After staying remarkably on-course for most of the race (I had my bacon saved by one guy early on!), I took the wrong turn trying to drive home, and lost time stuck in traffic when I doubled back. Lost Runner indeed -- I'm just the Lost Everything.

Posted by Michael at 2:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I deserve this beer.

One of the downsides of running six times a week is that there's no time for a good old-fashioned after-work drink anymore. I find alcohol can really affect my performance the next day. In the past, I used to just stay away from it the night before a run.

Nowadays, that's (almost) equivalent to the prohibition. Feel like a beer? Better not, I have a tempo run the next day. How about today? Well, tomorrow's only a short run but the day after I go long, so I better not. Sheesh!

Every once in a while, you've got to break the rules. This one's for me.

Posted by Michael at 8:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

68 miles in seven days. I boggle at this number. I try not to think about my mileage too much and just take my runs one day at a time, but it's hard to ignore when it is staring at you out of an Excel spreadsheet. To be fair, the number is inflated because those seven days encompass two long runs.

One of those long runs -- the Mount Diablo trail race -- hobbled me pretty badly. I woke up on the Sunday after the race, and before I even tried to move in bed, I knew: "there is no way in hell I am running today." It turns out I maybe shouldn't have run so fast down that hillside. My quads were killing me, and they actually felt worse on the following Monday morning.

At that point, there was no way around the 14-miler that was on my schedule. Due to an early morning appointment, I didn't hit the running path until around 8:30. To make up for the 4400 ft climb (and descent) two days before, I opted for a flat-as-a-pancake, straight-as-an-arrow run on the Iron Horse Trail. My quads were screaming at me at the start, and although the pain subsided a little, it never went away completely.

Now 14 miles is a long way to go without water. I would have been all right, I think, except for the late start time. Summer is here and I got zapped out there. I slowed to a virtual crawl on the way back and I might have been in some serious trouble were it not for the water fountain I found with around three miles to go. Phew! Still, it was one of the worst runs I've had in a long time.

As the week went on, my legs came around. By Friday, the pain in my quads went away completely -- just in time for my long run. So I capped my week with an 18-miler that was slow, but on which I actually got faster in the later miles.

My speed is giving me some concern. Besides that abysmal, dehydrated 14-miler, I've found I am averaging an about 10 seconds per mile slower pace than I usually do. I realize training gains aren't instantaneous, and I am "base building", but this is the first time I've found myself taking steps backwards instead of forwards.

The explanation might lie in the weight gain I've experienced -- I am about five pounds heavier than when I ran my marathon PR in December. I've read a runner loses about two seconds per mile per pound gained, so the math works out! I do think the weight gain is more muscle than fat (at least that's what I keep telling myself). I still have over three months to the Berlin Marathon, so I hope I can do something about the weight (and the speed) before then.

Posted by Michael at 1:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

On the drive back, I started thinking about the name of the race. Mount Diablo. Mount. Diablo. Two words that don't exactly conjure up happy thoughts in conjunction with running.

Certainly "Mount" is bad news -- I don't know if there's an official cutoff height for a hill to be designated a "Mount", but I do know I run hills all the time, and they can be bad enough. On the bright side, at least it wasn't high enough to be designated a Mountain. Is a Mount an adolescent Mountain? How does that work?

Then the word Diablo. Also not a happy thought. Why couldn't it have been "Mount Pleasant"? "Mount Angel"? The reference to the Devil reminds me of another formation, all the way across the country in Virginia, named The Devil's Marbleyard. I've hiked that, and it wasn't easy.

What was I thinking when I signed up? Mostly it's the fact that I can see Mount Diablo every time I walk out the door at work. There it is, beckoning. "Come on, run up me. I'm not very steep. It'll be fun! And the view is fantastic!" So I couldn't resist when I saw that my local trail run dealer, Pacific Coast Trail Runs, had a 25K race to the summit and back.

Did I say trail race? Well, that's how it started. Within about two miles, though, my calves were toasted and I went from trail racing, to trail running, to trail shuffling, to... hiking. I felt pretty pathetic, but most people around me spent a lot of time just walking, so I didn't feel too bad. The course was tough, as it was an almost uninterrupted uphill for the first half of the event. I forced myself to alternate 20 steps of running with 20 steps of walking to at least maintain an illusion of taking part in an athletic event.

We ended up at the very top of Mount Diablo, on the top level of the observation center. There was a spectacular view to the east and north (I swear I thought I could see Sacramento), but unfortunately the west was still shrouded in fog. I checked my watch. It had taken 1:40 to travel about 7.5 miles.

You'd think the way back would have been easier, but it was quite a pounding for the quads, as the course was almost continuously downhill. I decided to be a little careful (I almost fell twice even so) and didn't push the pace too much. About half the time we were running over the bare, brown California hills which afforded some nice views across the Bay Area.

I spent most of the last quarter of the race by myself, rolling down the hills and longing for the finish line. With about a mile to go, things finally flattened out and I tried to pick up the pace as well as I could. I picked off one guy, and caught up with a group of three just as we entered the finish area.

My time was about 2:50, and after eating some food, I made my way back to the car. I got a fright when I caught a look at myself in the mirror: My entire face was encrusted in salt, as it had been hot and I had been sweating buckets. I looked like a pretzel!

Pretzel or not, I'm happy I took on the Mount Diablo challenge -- but I am also happy to be sitting down right now.

Posted by Michael at 7:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)