Get lost.
Get lost in the effort. Three hours of runwalk before the workday begins. And 200 early-morning push-ups. And slow-motion pull-ups. And the bent-over breathlessness of all-out fast runs. And dragging yourself out of bed in the dark. And putting yourself to bed when normal people are just cranking up their evenings in the front of the TV.
Get lost in the joy. Experiencing the scenery and the rawness and the expansiveness of a solo run through the nearby forest. And the tick-tick-tick of your shoes brushing over the rocks as you climb and climb and climb your favorite single-track. And the breath-taking crash of the far-off waterfall that you know you'll be standing beside and feeling its mist on your face within the hour.
Get lost in your senses. Revel in watching your frigid early-morning winter breath rise up through your head lamp. And the sun peeking out. And the glorious full moon casting its knowing visage on all the world. Drink in the sounds of the birds awakening. And the rhythm of your gentle cadence as you shuffle down a crooked country road.
Get lost in your mind. Enter that second -- and third and sometimes even eighth or 14th -- hour of steady motion, that exquisite time when you peel back the veil, release your inner philosopher and become immersed in a magical place that is solely yours.
Get lost.
The most pure way I know of to really, truly get found.
May 21, 2014
April 30, 2014
Dream Chasing
Why?
Reasonable question.
Why?
The challenge. The opportunity to write a novel in 72 hours with your legs. And your drive. And with the will to keep going over and over and over.
Why?
The possibility that it will be fun the whole time. The hope that maybe just maybe I'll keep my goofy smile burning the whole time. And that perhaps I'll even be able to help some people reach out and touch their own dreams as I propel myself toward mine.
Why?
Because some weird stuff happens to you thanks to the fatigue that sets in when you are on the same loop for so long, riding the waves that come with feeling good and feeling bad. And hopefully good again.
Why?
For that sweet, sweet moment when you recognize that you're not really sure what day it is, yet you're completely sure that this pursuit is, for a time, the most important journey you can take.
Why?
That sensation somewhere during the evening of Day 2 — as your mind starts to drift away — that this is harder than you recall, and yet entwined in this realization is the assurance that the Fun Factor is about to take a significant, prolonged dip unless you shove some food in your mouth RIGHT NOW.
Why?
Because these people are your people. Your bonds are strong. They understand you in ways few others do. They have seen you staring at your demons, and they have held your hand anyway. They know when to cheer you up. They have seen you rubbed raw, and they still care about you. They remind you to eat. And re-apply sunscreen. And lie to you about how great you look.
Why?
Because these people are your people. They laugh at your stories. They make you the brunt of their jokes. They walk with you throughout the nights because they know that you can talk for hours about basketball refereeing or the book you're writing or how awesome your son is or what a fabulous college James Madison University is — all of which give them welcome breaks from their iPod play lists.
Why?
It's a great time to put Think Small to another test and then to see what comes of it. Will I really be able to chop this gargantuan task up into smaller segments and then fall into a rhythm of regular stop breaks? Will I really sleep only four hours a night for three consecutive nights? Will I keep up with calorie intake in such a way that my energy stays high enough to keep moving. And moving. And moving. Will I really be able to stay right here right now, especially when the going gets truly difficult?
Why?
Because this 1-mile, mostly asphalt stage speaks to me in a voice like no other, a persistent whisper that tells me that I have more in me than perhaps I realize.
Three Days at the Fair 72-Hour is May 15-18. This is my fifth go-round — having done the 48-hour the first year and then the 72-hour each of its three years.
Why?
Because I still feel the searing need to add another chapter to this ongoing saga.
And I want to see if, yet again, I still have what it takes to chase down another dream.
Reasonable question.
Why?
The challenge. The opportunity to write a novel in 72 hours with your legs. And your drive. And with the will to keep going over and over and over.
Why?
The possibility that it will be fun the whole time. The hope that maybe just maybe I'll keep my goofy smile burning the whole time. And that perhaps I'll even be able to help some people reach out and touch their own dreams as I propel myself toward mine.
Why?
Because some weird stuff happens to you thanks to the fatigue that sets in when you are on the same loop for so long, riding the waves that come with feeling good and feeling bad. And hopefully good again.
Why?
For that sweet, sweet moment when you recognize that you're not really sure what day it is, yet you're completely sure that this pursuit is, for a time, the most important journey you can take.
Why?
That sensation somewhere during the evening of Day 2 — as your mind starts to drift away — that this is harder than you recall, and yet entwined in this realization is the assurance that the Fun Factor is about to take a significant, prolonged dip unless you shove some food in your mouth RIGHT NOW.
Why?
Because these people are your people. Your bonds are strong. They understand you in ways few others do. They have seen you staring at your demons, and they have held your hand anyway. They know when to cheer you up. They have seen you rubbed raw, and they still care about you. They remind you to eat. And re-apply sunscreen. And lie to you about how great you look.
Why?
Because these people are your people. They laugh at your stories. They make you the brunt of their jokes. They walk with you throughout the nights because they know that you can talk for hours about basketball refereeing or the book you're writing or how awesome your son is or what a fabulous college James Madison University is — all of which give them welcome breaks from their iPod play lists.
Why?
It's a great time to put Think Small to another test and then to see what comes of it. Will I really be able to chop this gargantuan task up into smaller segments and then fall into a rhythm of regular stop breaks? Will I really sleep only four hours a night for three consecutive nights? Will I keep up with calorie intake in such a way that my energy stays high enough to keep moving. And moving. And moving. Will I really be able to stay right here right now, especially when the going gets truly difficult?
Why?
Because this 1-mile, mostly asphalt stage speaks to me in a voice like no other, a persistent whisper that tells me that I have more in me than perhaps I realize.
Three Days at the Fair 72-Hour is May 15-18. This is my fifth go-round — having done the 48-hour the first year and then the 72-hour each of its three years.
Why?
Because I still feel the searing need to add another chapter to this ongoing saga.
And I want to see if, yet again, I still have what it takes to chase down another dream.
April 21, 2014
The Feeling
You know the feeling.
Some people call it work. Others call it torture. Still others call it crazy.
You know better.
You know the feeling.
Sailing along a peaceful country road with only the sounds of your footfalls and a sweet, light springtime breeze.
Blasting around a compact oval in powerful mid-stride with the entire world reduced to the concentrated in and out of your diaphragm and your completely relaxed lower lip.
That resounding sense of worth from beating your 0345 alarm out of bed on a frost-covered December Tuesday workday morn because you promised yourself that you would.
The utter joy of tooling along at 4 or 5 mph and being completely awash in your own mind for hours and hours.
The unfailing beauty of the ever-changing pre-dawn light, especially when you're running along a mountain trail with the soft crunch of leaves underfoot.
The peaceful uneven softness of semi-packed ocean sand as the rising sun dots the skyline and early-morning waves give you relentless chase.
The purity that comes about from looking around and having it come home to roost that, yes, you are the only one up here on the top of this mountain. And that you got here by the power of your legs. And your will.
You know the feeling.
Freedom.
Some people call it work. Others call it torture. Still others call it crazy.
You know better.
You know the feeling.
Sailing along a peaceful country road with only the sounds of your footfalls and a sweet, light springtime breeze.
Blasting around a compact oval in powerful mid-stride with the entire world reduced to the concentrated in and out of your diaphragm and your completely relaxed lower lip.
That resounding sense of worth from beating your 0345 alarm out of bed on a frost-covered December Tuesday workday morn because you promised yourself that you would.
The utter joy of tooling along at 4 or 5 mph and being completely awash in your own mind for hours and hours.
The unfailing beauty of the ever-changing pre-dawn light, especially when you're running along a mountain trail with the soft crunch of leaves underfoot.
The peaceful uneven softness of semi-packed ocean sand as the rising sun dots the skyline and early-morning waves give you relentless chase.
The purity that comes about from looking around and having it come home to roost that, yes, you are the only one up here on the top of this mountain. And that you got here by the power of your legs. And your will.
You know the feeling.
Freedom.
April 15, 2014
Favorite Moments from U100 circa 2014
We did it.
My buddy Jack Broaddus and I kicked, clawed, scratched and meandered our way through Umstead 100-Miler April 5-6. It was 64-years-young Jack's first 100-mile finish. I have a bunch more, but this 28 hours, 25 minutes and 53 seconds belongs absolutely, completely to my dear friend Jack.
Some of my favorite moments from the 8-lap trek ...
• Me nearly halfway through Lap 7, so some ridiculous time early Sunday morning when a bit of hallucination action kicked in: "Oh wow. That just looked like a guillotine back there. Damn. I think I need some food. Bad."
• Getting trail time with friends old and new, a list that is so long that I have absolutely no shot at naming them all. Each of you know who you are, and I hope you also know what a true delight each of you is to my very soul (yes, even you Tom Green!!).
• All the kind, kind volunteers who pitched in and helped us out across the hours and days. Your smiles, your laughs and your occasional kicks in the behind kept us buoyed and happy and ever-mindful of the idea that one can stay focused on the ultimate goal and still have a helluva great time.
• Me dropping back and falling sound asleep later on Lap 7. While hiking. And eating a mouthful of animal crackers. Then me saying to Jack, "Dude, I just fell asleep hiking." And Jack coming back with, "Well, what in the hell did you do that for? Now, get back up here!"
• Every single step and all the laughs with the adorable Amy Surrette, who guided us around the course for the about 4 hours that were Lap 6. Amy is a dear friend, has one of the most shining personalities ever and is also among the toughest humans I have shared a race course with in all my days. So incredibly grateful for your help, Amy.
• Me and Jack trudging our way along on the final lap and just after passing the 11-mile mark on the 12.5-mile loop, we look up to see none other than our guardian angel Amy coming back out to meet us. She had gone home, grabbed a quick nap and daggone if she didn't come back out to check on us yet another time. Such joy in her smile that we were closing in on the final line that Jack and I even managed to break into a couple run segments as Amy joined in all the way home.
• Somewhere near the middle of Lap 8, Jack and I had the following exchange ...
Me: "Jack, you're leaning pretty far to right there, dude."
Jack (as he almost tumbles off the edge of the trail): "I am?"
• That blessed final section where you come back to the start-finish, me crowing to all who were within earshot at 10:25ish a.m. Sunday "This is Jack's first 100 finish!!" Him trying to get me to quiet down. Him realizing how remarkably pointless it was to protest.
• Jack breaking into a run as we made it halfway down that final downhill, and then holding it all the way up the final short uphill and across the finish line.
• The amazing sleepy, proud, radiant smile on Jack's face when RD Blake Norwood presented him with his finisher's belt buckle. Blake and I have been friends for 18 years now, and I'm not quite sure that I've ever seen Blake smile as widely as he did when he gave Jack that buckle.
This one was a good one. Really, really good. We went there with the goal that Jack was going to finish. Although it's so unlikely when this actually happens, I held out a glimmer of hope that we could do the whole enchilada together. Check. And check.
Moments that will last me a lifetime.
My buddy Jack Broaddus and I kicked, clawed, scratched and meandered our way through Umstead 100-Miler April 5-6. It was 64-years-young Jack's first 100-mile finish. I have a bunch more, but this 28 hours, 25 minutes and 53 seconds belongs absolutely, completely to my dear friend Jack.
Some of my favorite moments from the 8-lap trek ...
• Me nearly halfway through Lap 7, so some ridiculous time early Sunday morning when a bit of hallucination action kicked in: "Oh wow. That just looked like a guillotine back there. Damn. I think I need some food. Bad."
• Getting trail time with friends old and new, a list that is so long that I have absolutely no shot at naming them all. Each of you know who you are, and I hope you also know what a true delight each of you is to my very soul (yes, even you Tom Green!!).
• All the kind, kind volunteers who pitched in and helped us out across the hours and days. Your smiles, your laughs and your occasional kicks in the behind kept us buoyed and happy and ever-mindful of the idea that one can stay focused on the ultimate goal and still have a helluva great time.
• Me dropping back and falling sound asleep later on Lap 7. While hiking. And eating a mouthful of animal crackers. Then me saying to Jack, "Dude, I just fell asleep hiking." And Jack coming back with, "Well, what in the hell did you do that for? Now, get back up here!"
• Every single step and all the laughs with the adorable Amy Surrette, who guided us around the course for the about 4 hours that were Lap 6. Amy is a dear friend, has one of the most shining personalities ever and is also among the toughest humans I have shared a race course with in all my days. So incredibly grateful for your help, Amy.
• Me and Jack trudging our way along on the final lap and just after passing the 11-mile mark on the 12.5-mile loop, we look up to see none other than our guardian angel Amy coming back out to meet us. She had gone home, grabbed a quick nap and daggone if she didn't come back out to check on us yet another time. Such joy in her smile that we were closing in on the final line that Jack and I even managed to break into a couple run segments as Amy joined in all the way home.
• Somewhere near the middle of Lap 8, Jack and I had the following exchange ...
Me: "Jack, you're leaning pretty far to right there, dude."
Jack (as he almost tumbles off the edge of the trail): "I am?"
• That blessed final section where you come back to the start-finish, me crowing to all who were within earshot at 10:25ish a.m. Sunday "This is Jack's first 100 finish!!" Him trying to get me to quiet down. Him realizing how remarkably pointless it was to protest.
• Jack breaking into a run as we made it halfway down that final downhill, and then holding it all the way up the final short uphill and across the finish line.
• The amazing sleepy, proud, radiant smile on Jack's face when RD Blake Norwood presented him with his finisher's belt buckle. Blake and I have been friends for 18 years now, and I'm not quite sure that I've ever seen Blake smile as widely as he did when he gave Jack that buckle.
This one was a good one. Really, really good. We went there with the goal that Jack was going to finish. Although it's so unlikely when this actually happens, I held out a glimmer of hope that we could do the whole enchilada together. Check. And check.
Moments that will last me a lifetime.
April 3, 2014
'Twas two sleeps before Umstead ...
'Twas two sleeps before Umstead
and all through his brain
ponderous musings were flowing
like a runaway train.
Will he tackle success at Goal No. 1
Helping dear pal Jack make the grade?
or will they both be too pumped
rip away too fast and fade?
And what of his own ride to the stars,
where Finish No. 13 lingers and jeers,
will he manage his energy at all costs
beat sleep and hear blessed Sunday morn cheers?
Has he packed all his goods?
Does he have all he'll need?
When the going gets rugged
Which call will he heed?
He knows how to do this,
He's been here before,
And raced o'er these grounds
Through times rich and poor.
The path is a wide one
Well-marked and hard pack,
The party doesn't start
Till the light scales back.
A gentle early pace
Should help Jack steer clear
Of U100's challenging nature
Despite its sweet veneer.
Laughs will be had,
Stories will unfold,
Kudos will be earned,
As dreams foretold.
'Twas two sleeps before Umstead
and now through his eyes
rests the easy breezy feel
that Finish 13's his prize.
and all through his brain
ponderous musings were flowing
like a runaway train.
Will he tackle success at Goal No. 1
Helping dear pal Jack make the grade?
or will they both be too pumped
rip away too fast and fade?
And what of his own ride to the stars,
where Finish No. 13 lingers and jeers,
will he manage his energy at all costs
beat sleep and hear blessed Sunday morn cheers?
Has he packed all his goods?
Does he have all he'll need?
When the going gets rugged
Which call will he heed?
He knows how to do this,
He's been here before,
And raced o'er these grounds
Through times rich and poor.
The path is a wide one
Well-marked and hard pack,
The party doesn't start
Till the light scales back.
A gentle early pace
Should help Jack steer clear
Of U100's challenging nature
Despite its sweet veneer.
Laughs will be had,
Stories will unfold,
Kudos will be earned,
As dreams foretold.
'Twas two sleeps before Umstead
and now through his eyes
rests the easy breezy feel
that Finish 13's his prize.
February 10, 2014
Not Quite Two Loops, But Still ...
Although Saturday didn't go as I had planned that it would, I still managed to kill it out at The Wild Oak Trail.
Each 27-mile loop has about 8,000 feet of up and down. Translation: This one is hard. Real hard.
I was shooting for two loops this time.
Here's how it actually went down for me ...
One counter-clockwise loop with my dear pal/training buddy Jack Broaddus in 8:50, then off on my own for a second counter-clockwise loop with a promise to myself that if i didn't come across anybody going in my direction before I had to take on the really tricky snow-covered section on Big Bald solo in the dark, I'd bag it and run the road back. That's what I did. Final 9 miles on road with 3 outta every 4 iPod songs at marathon pace. 47 challenging miles total in 14:30:00.
Things I learned ...
• Ice isn't so scary bad if you have screws in your trail shoes.
• Ate a lot more than usual and drank a lot fewer calories than usual. Think I'm gonna continue that behavior if I'm going as slowly as we were (see Umstead 100, Three Days at the Fair 72-Hour, Hot TWOT).
• It's a lot easier on your legs if you stay mindful of how much you are running even on the seemingly "easy" trail sections of this loop. Nothing at all wrong with walking stuff that you would normally run if, say, you were only gonna do one loop. (Thank you, Jack, for taking the point for the final 2 hours of our shared loop and saving me from my sometimes greedy self.)
• Solved a bunch of problems throughout the day, and stayed positive and happy the whole time. A bonk-free 14h30m is something pretty sweet with all that 10,000-plus-feet of up and down.
• I know in my heart now that I have 4 continuous loops in me this October, and that it makes sense for me to line up pacers for Loops 2 and 4.
• It was pretty damn awesome to do 38 miles on those trails, then hammer the final 9 miles on the road. Very pleased with the training effect. (And when coupled with runwalks of 3 hours Tuesday, 3 hours Thursday and 2 hours Friday, this day pushed my weekly tally to 22h30m. Rough estimate of 85 miles. In only four days.)
• Saturday's 250-rep push-up review: 1x30 and 1x20 at the Big Bald lake. 1x50 at the fake Hankey summit. 1x30 and 1x20 at real Hankey summit. 1x50 at start of "new" Lookout Mountain trail. 1x50 on bridge crossing river before heading back to start/finish.
Overcame my fear of ice. Completely trashed my quads. Started in the dark. Finished in a different dark. Had a silly smile plastered across my face the whole time.
Loved. Every. Step.
Each 27-mile loop has about 8,000 feet of up and down. Translation: This one is hard. Real hard.
I was shooting for two loops this time.
Here's how it actually went down for me ...
One counter-clockwise loop with my dear pal/training buddy Jack Broaddus in 8:50, then off on my own for a second counter-clockwise loop with a promise to myself that if i didn't come across anybody going in my direction before I had to take on the really tricky snow-covered section on Big Bald solo in the dark, I'd bag it and run the road back. That's what I did. Final 9 miles on road with 3 outta every 4 iPod songs at marathon pace. 47 challenging miles total in 14:30:00.
Things I learned ...
• Ice isn't so scary bad if you have screws in your trail shoes.
• Ate a lot more than usual and drank a lot fewer calories than usual. Think I'm gonna continue that behavior if I'm going as slowly as we were (see Umstead 100, Three Days at the Fair 72-Hour, Hot TWOT).
• It's a lot easier on your legs if you stay mindful of how much you are running even on the seemingly "easy" trail sections of this loop. Nothing at all wrong with walking stuff that you would normally run if, say, you were only gonna do one loop. (Thank you, Jack, for taking the point for the final 2 hours of our shared loop and saving me from my sometimes greedy self.)
• Solved a bunch of problems throughout the day, and stayed positive and happy the whole time. A bonk-free 14h30m is something pretty sweet with all that 10,000-plus-feet of up and down.
• I know in my heart now that I have 4 continuous loops in me this October, and that it makes sense for me to line up pacers for Loops 2 and 4.
• It was pretty damn awesome to do 38 miles on those trails, then hammer the final 9 miles on the road. Very pleased with the training effect. (And when coupled with runwalks of 3 hours Tuesday, 3 hours Thursday and 2 hours Friday, this day pushed my weekly tally to 22h30m. Rough estimate of 85 miles. In only four days.)
• Saturday's 250-rep push-up review: 1x30 and 1x20 at the Big Bald lake. 1x50 at the fake Hankey summit. 1x30 and 1x20 at real Hankey summit. 1x50 at start of "new" Lookout Mountain trail. 1x50 on bridge crossing river before heading back to start/finish.
Overcame my fear of ice. Completely trashed my quads. Started in the dark. Finished in a different dark. Had a silly smile plastered across my face the whole time.
Loved. Every. Step.
January 31, 2014
Dear January
Dear January,
You have really been something. We’ve had quite the battle this year. You’ve bitten and kicked and wrangled with me almost every day. You’ve dragged me around and caused me to re-assess my running. And my supplemental exercise routine. And my diet. You’ve posed a lot of deep, piercing questions. Not sure I have all the answers, but I am working on that.
Now that you’re mere hours away from packing it in for another year, oh worthy opponent, how about we run a little scorecard and see where we stack up against one another?
Let us review these past 31 days, January …
• 60 hours of runwalk. That’s compared to 44 last year. (Score one for Me)
• 22 runs of at least 2 hours. That’s compared to 17 last year. (Me)
• Long-run breakdowns of a 6:09 (Red Eye 50K New Year’s Day), a 5:00, a 4:00, seven 3:00s and 12 2:00s (Seriously me)
• Living Room Yoga sessions: 3 (Draw)
• TRX training sessions: 7 (Me)
• Basketball ref action: 26 total games – 16 high school and 10 youth league (Draw)
• Days I did not run: 8 (January)
• Days I skipped running because the projected wind chill was more than -10F: 3 (Seriously January)
• Days I ran that were single-digit days: 4 (Me!!!)
• Days I ran less than 2 hours: 1. Although that day included a 20-minute tempo block at half-marathon pace … (still … January)
• Fast days: In addition to chunks of the Red Eye run and the aforementioned 20-minute tempo, I also churned out 5 times 7 minutes at 10K race pace, 10 times a 1-minute to 1-minute 45-second hill and another 20-minute tempo at HMP. (All me)
• Total number of push-ups this month: 6,200 (Draw, cuz I would have done fewer than this if the weather conditions hadn’t sucked so badly on several of your days).
So let’s see: Me 6. January 3. And 3 draws.
Truth: You kicked my ass, January. And even though I’m stronger and better and maybe even a little tougher now than I was before you showed up, I’m calling it even.
Thank you, January. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
You have really been something. We’ve had quite the battle this year. You’ve bitten and kicked and wrangled with me almost every day. You’ve dragged me around and caused me to re-assess my running. And my supplemental exercise routine. And my diet. You’ve posed a lot of deep, piercing questions. Not sure I have all the answers, but I am working on that.
Now that you’re mere hours away from packing it in for another year, oh worthy opponent, how about we run a little scorecard and see where we stack up against one another?
Let us review these past 31 days, January …
• 60 hours of runwalk. That’s compared to 44 last year. (Score one for Me)
• 22 runs of at least 2 hours. That’s compared to 17 last year. (Me)
• Long-run breakdowns of a 6:09 (Red Eye 50K New Year’s Day), a 5:00, a 4:00, seven 3:00s and 12 2:00s (Seriously me)
• Living Room Yoga sessions: 3 (Draw)
• TRX training sessions: 7 (Me)
• Basketball ref action: 26 total games – 16 high school and 10 youth league (Draw)
• Days I did not run: 8 (January)
• Days I skipped running because the projected wind chill was more than -10F: 3 (Seriously January)
• Days I ran that were single-digit days: 4 (Me!!!)
• Days I ran less than 2 hours: 1. Although that day included a 20-minute tempo block at half-marathon pace … (still … January)
• Fast days: In addition to chunks of the Red Eye run and the aforementioned 20-minute tempo, I also churned out 5 times 7 minutes at 10K race pace, 10 times a 1-minute to 1-minute 45-second hill and another 20-minute tempo at HMP. (All me)
• Total number of push-ups this month: 6,200 (Draw, cuz I would have done fewer than this if the weather conditions hadn’t sucked so badly on several of your days).
So let’s see: Me 6. January 3. And 3 draws.
Truth: You kicked my ass, January. And even though I’m stronger and better and maybe even a little tougher now than I was before you showed up, I’m calling it even.
Thank you, January. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
January 21, 2014
Learning
Happy
dog. New tricks.
I’ve
run somewhere in the neighborhood of 85,000 lifetime miles, yet I’m only now
just exploring rest days. Coming from the School of The Difference Between
Ordinary and Extraordinary is Just a Little Extra, non-run days haven’t been
regular for me since, um, 1979. Yeah. Starting with the last week of December,
I’ve plugged in one or two rest days a week.
I
am learning.
Non-run
days are giving me extra juice so that I’m putting in more time on my feet than
I was when I was hitting the roads every day. What? Yep. Bouncing between 12
and 14 runwalk hours each week. And I’m sleeping better.
I
am learning.
Yoga
can mean downloading a video and doing it for 30-45 minutes in my living room.
And yoga can also mean doing eight or 12 moves on those rare winter evenings
when I’m sitting around the house rather than out reffing high school
basketball.
I
am learning.
Push-ups
have changed my exercise world. After doing 100 a day for a 100-day stretch
that ended just before Christmas, I have bumped the daily tally to 200-plus. Running
is better.
I
am learning.
Merlot
is growing on me.
I
am learning.
Full-body
TRX routines -- even the truncated four-move ones – really do kick your ass.
I
am learning.
When
those close to me say, “Read this,” I am taking immediate action to make this
happen.
I
am learning.
After
consecutive years of 183 miles, 190 miles and 167 miles at Three Days at the
Fair 72-Hour, this year I’m throwing down and calling it out. This year, the final
total matters. This year, I’m laser-focused on cracking the 200-mile mark. And
this year, I’ll taper. And get off my feet every couple hours throughout the
event.
I
am learning.
This
year, I plan to reacquaint myself with The Wild Oak Trail that was my old
friend for my first decade of ultrarunning (more than a decade ago now). My
hope is two 27-mile loops in February. And two more than that in October.
Off
days. Hard work. Big plans. Hopes. Dreams.
Using
my head.
Listening
to my heart.
Day
by day, lesson by lesson – and sometimes, inch by inch – I am learning.
December 31, 2013
Laughingly Hopeful
More running.
More rest.
More than 200 miles at Three Days at the Fair 72-Hour.
More laughter.
More push-ups.
More pull-ups.
More clarity.
More living room yoga.
More great craft beer.
More embracing the fun on the way to what could be -- knock on wood -- my 13th Umstead 100-Miler finish line.
More good food.
More mountain sunrises.
More writing.
More pushing the pace.
More runs with buddies.
More reaching.
More laughing.
More Wild Oak Trail loops.
More trips up and down Reddish Knob on pavement.
More joy.
More rest.
More than 200 miles at Three Days at the Fair 72-Hour.
More laughter.
More push-ups.
More pull-ups.
More clarity.
More living room yoga.
More great craft beer.
More embracing the fun on the way to what could be -- knock on wood -- my 13th Umstead 100-Miler finish line.
More good food.
More mountain sunrises.
More writing.
More pushing the pace.
More runs with buddies.
More reaching.
More laughing.
More Wild Oak Trail loops.
More trips up and down Reddish Knob on pavement.
More joy.
November 18, 2013
Find the Fun
Well, lookit here. Crooked Road 24-Hour is this coming Saturday (and Sunday).
Let’s see: First year – 82 miles. Last year – 85 miles. Haven’t been very tough once the lights go out either year on this slightly-less-than-1-mile layout.
No clue what the final outcome will be this go-round, yet I’m optimistic.
This time around, I’m trying a different approach. Think Small.
Mostly my own aid.
No watch, which means running and walking as the terrain dictates. Walk the inclines, especially that fairly short but fairly steep hill that I think running up much of the day and night has contributed to my super pathetic nights the past two years.
Bringing the serious winter tights.
Enjoying little feet-up mini-breaks every 2 hours or so.
Think small. Handle what’s in front of you. Ignore the rest of it. And if things get bleak — as they inevitably do at times — fix what’s fixable and find the Fun in the grind.
Plan: Find joy, latch onto it and never, ever let it be wrestled from my paws.
More miles this time? Dunno about that, but what I do know is that there is much fun to be had this weekend, and I’m gonna do my best to make sure that I am present for every single moment of it.
Let’s see: First year – 82 miles. Last year – 85 miles. Haven’t been very tough once the lights go out either year on this slightly-less-than-1-mile layout.
No clue what the final outcome will be this go-round, yet I’m optimistic.
This time around, I’m trying a different approach. Think Small.
Mostly my own aid.
No watch, which means running and walking as the terrain dictates. Walk the inclines, especially that fairly short but fairly steep hill that I think running up much of the day and night has contributed to my super pathetic nights the past two years.
Bringing the serious winter tights.
Enjoying little feet-up mini-breaks every 2 hours or so.
Think small. Handle what’s in front of you. Ignore the rest of it. And if things get bleak — as they inevitably do at times — fix what’s fixable and find the Fun in the grind.
Plan: Find joy, latch onto it and never, ever let it be wrestled from my paws.
More miles this time? Dunno about that, but what I do know is that there is much fun to be had this weekend, and I’m gonna do my best to make sure that I am present for every single moment of it.
October 11, 2013
A Metaphor for Life
Think small.
I think that may be the trick to this ultrarunning thing.
Control what you can control. Ignore the rest of it.
No need to count the miles left. Or hours left. Or distance to the next aid station. Not helpful.
Think small. Look inward and find the rhythm the same way you do when you start out on a normal morning run. Or when you begin to crank it up on a particular fast track interval. Find your breath. Relax your shoulders. Relax your face. Find the line through the rocky trail maze.
Think small. No value in "Holy cow, I can't do this for (fill in the blank with time or distance)." No point in "There's no way I can last another XX hours in this heat." And zero hope in "I cannot climb that climb one more time. No way." Yes, you can. Yes, you can. Yes, you can.
Think small. Find whatever scale you are comfy with and set about wrapping your head around that scale. For me at Hinson Lake 24-Hour several weeks ago, it was each of two or three run segments on the 1.52-mile loop. Not covering the entire loop in a set amount of time.
And it was also making sure that I drank some chocolate milk every hour. And that I plopped in my chair every two hours for a quick 2- to 3-minute break, making sure I propped my feet up on my cooler to take a bit of pressure off them.
Think small. Once it got dark at HL, I shifted focus to the promise to begin running again at the first wooden bridge after the left turn off the dam. Find the bridge. Start running. Find second gear. Keep running until crossing the 300-foot-long bridge, then walk the entirety of the kitty-litter-like footing and small hill comically dubbed Mount Hinson. (Thanks for that bit of magic, Charles West!!!)
Think small. Be mindful of whatever the task immediately at hand, be it finishing that Zip-Lock baggie of Frito's Corn Chips, polishing off the last of the green tea-Red Bull combo mix, finding just the right groove in the trail over there on the Hinson Front Nine's longish straightaway.
Think small. Know when to say "No" -- such as "The pizza is fresh. Who wants some pizza?! -- and then push your mind onward to the next order of business. Same goes, most of the time, for getting caught up in visiting with somebody out there on the course, especially if that somebody is going at a different speed than your speed.
Think small. No need to get greedy and change what's working just because the idea of, say, running for the next hour or even running the whole next climb happens to flash across your mind. Be patient. Remember your training. Trust your plan.
And if things happen to start to go a little sideways, then I know a really great strategy to bring things back to even ... think. small.
Think small. When negativity starts its inevitable ultrarun creep, intake some calories and beat the neg back with the happiest thought you can muster.
Fresh off a 5-mile PR for 24 hours and a 10-mile course best in my sixth try at that same place, I'm thinking I may have bumbled across the answer I've been chasing all of these 20-something ultrarunning years.
Think. small.
I think that may be the trick to this ultrarunning thing.
Control what you can control. Ignore the rest of it.
No need to count the miles left. Or hours left. Or distance to the next aid station. Not helpful.
Think small. Look inward and find the rhythm the same way you do when you start out on a normal morning run. Or when you begin to crank it up on a particular fast track interval. Find your breath. Relax your shoulders. Relax your face. Find the line through the rocky trail maze.
Think small. No value in "Holy cow, I can't do this for (fill in the blank with time or distance)." No point in "There's no way I can last another XX hours in this heat." And zero hope in "I cannot climb that climb one more time. No way." Yes, you can. Yes, you can. Yes, you can.
Think small. Find whatever scale you are comfy with and set about wrapping your head around that scale. For me at Hinson Lake 24-Hour several weeks ago, it was each of two or three run segments on the 1.52-mile loop. Not covering the entire loop in a set amount of time.
And it was also making sure that I drank some chocolate milk every hour. And that I plopped in my chair every two hours for a quick 2- to 3-minute break, making sure I propped my feet up on my cooler to take a bit of pressure off them.
Think small. Once it got dark at HL, I shifted focus to the promise to begin running again at the first wooden bridge after the left turn off the dam. Find the bridge. Start running. Find second gear. Keep running until crossing the 300-foot-long bridge, then walk the entirety of the kitty-litter-like footing and small hill comically dubbed Mount Hinson. (Thanks for that bit of magic, Charles West!!!)
Think small. Be mindful of whatever the task immediately at hand, be it finishing that Zip-Lock baggie of Frito's Corn Chips, polishing off the last of the green tea-Red Bull combo mix, finding just the right groove in the trail over there on the Hinson Front Nine's longish straightaway.
Think small. Know when to say "No" -- such as "The pizza is fresh. Who wants some pizza?! -- and then push your mind onward to the next order of business. Same goes, most of the time, for getting caught up in visiting with somebody out there on the course, especially if that somebody is going at a different speed than your speed.
Think small. No need to get greedy and change what's working just because the idea of, say, running for the next hour or even running the whole next climb happens to flash across your mind. Be patient. Remember your training. Trust your plan.
And if things happen to start to go a little sideways, then I know a really great strategy to bring things back to even ... think. small.
Think small. When negativity starts its inevitable ultrarun creep, intake some calories and beat the neg back with the happiest thought you can muster.
Fresh off a 5-mile PR for 24 hours and a 10-mile course best in my sixth try at that same place, I'm thinking I may have bumbled across the answer I've been chasing all of these 20-something ultrarunning years.
Think. small.
August 25, 2013
#visionquest
#hinsonlake24hourhereIcome #heckuvatrainingjuly
#dittoforaugust #four14hourrunwalkweeks
#two16hourrunwalkweeks #five5plushourrunwalks #5weeksoffive2hourplusrunwalks
#1weekof6 #20longonesinJuly #onschedulefor23inAugust #seefooddiet
#legsupwallposeismyfriend #3minuteplanksarenormalnow
#20:205Kaftera2hour45minutewarmup #100chinupsin21minutes
#mindblowinglybeautifulmountainruns #oftenawakeby330 #oftenasleepby9 #cominguponrunstreakday250 #TRX40-40challengeleavesmegasping #braintwistingtracklongruns
#momentsofiremarkableclarity #hoursandhoursofblessedcontentment
August 7, 2013
Finding my Peace
I am having such
a great time lately.
Training numbers
are up way up. I’ve been killing it volume-wise since licking my emotional
wounds from mid-May’s sub-standard, mind-bending Three Days at the Fair
showing. Dude, after skyward performances of 183 miles and 189 miles, this
year’s 167 miles was a serious lesson, a spectacular ass-kicking and a mighty
fine wake-up call all wrapped up in one compact package.
The message
screamed at me is pretty simple …
Slow down. Have
fun. Be at peace.
Leave the serious
number-chasing jazz to others. Splits and pacing schedules and charts and
graphs and training schedules and speed work and the like. Glad that works for
soooooo many runners. Absolutely glad for them. All that stuff is not for me.
Once was. Now, not so much.
So how have I
bounced back since 3 Days 72? Dramatically. June featured a steady diet of 19
long runwalks for a total of almost 41 hours. July saw me throw down with 20
long runwalks and a total of 57 hours. Rock solid for me. So far in August,
I’ve gone 2 hours five out of seven days. And there are a buncha weekly 5-hour
possibilities on the August and September horizons.
Seven weeks and
counting until Hinson Lake 24-Hour. I’ve kinda laid a whole basket of eggs
there across the past five years, always shooting for a number way over my head
and then coming away feeling empty. I’m betting this year, I come away full.
Keep reading.
This most recent
two-month block looks a lot like the one back in 2005 when I fired off a
super-duper-strong-for-me showing at The Fellowship of the Ring. Plus, I’m a
whale of a lot more physically fit these days than then. So, the table is being
set. The work is being done.
Such an
interesting turn of events this year.
Went into
Holiday Lake 50K with the primary goal of focusing on The Push and not giving a
rat’s ass about the final number. Results: 5:21 and a seriously giddy me.
Entered last
minute my beloved Shamrock Marathon – Shamrock No. 28 for me – with a focus on
doing a 9-minute run/1-minute walk routine through 24 miles, running in from
there and taking what the day had to give. Went through the half in 2:00:00 and
came back in a for-me-beastly 1:50:10 by focusing on Steady, Relaxed and Move
Up To That Next Group. Results: 3:50:10 and then 3x10 pull-ups on the 20-minute
jog back to my brother’s place.
Rolled up to
Three Days 72 all tapered and rested and loaded for bear … and locked down on
punching out 210 MILES OR BUST. I had my No. 2 pencil all sharpened up and I
was ready for 80 miles Day 1, 60 miles Day 2 and 70 miles Day 3 or else. Yeah.
Right. Problem with that set-up for me is that, well, I was kidding myself.
Why? Because deep down at the very core of my being, I don’t care about how
many miles I do. So that makes the whole charts and graphs and pacing plan and
all that pretty worthless for me. And remarkably counter-productive. It turns
those numbers into a tailor-made recipe for surrender for me. Yeah. Weird. And
really, really unusual. Yet, absolutely the way it has been for me for a lot of
years recently. Results: Day totals of 70, 45 and 52. See Bill overheat Day 1,
miss all opportunities to hit big number and then go ka-boom …
… and yet a really cool thing happened at the
end. I super-duper rallied for those final 10 hours and managed to crank out
the final 3 miles in 7:22, 7:03 and 6:49, respectively.
Why? Two
reasons. I always try to rip the final 3 miles in honor of my dear friend
Sabrina Little, who ran some fast laps with me two years ago and who also, by
the way, is the current American women’s record-holder for 24 hours with
152-plus miles. (Yay Sabrina! You are amazing!) And also because I got my head
screwed back on right for those final 10 hours. Because I woke up from a nice
long nap at 10:54 p.m. Saturday night and had found my peace. Renewed –
especially in that mostly empty cavern that exists between my ears – I smiled
and laughed and hiked and eventually blasted my way through that final 10
hours.
So, what’s my
goal for the 2013 Hinson?
Slow down. Have
fun. Be at peace.
May 9, 2013
Some Things I Know
Some things I know because I am an ultrarunner ...
• There is a
lifetime of difference between waking up for a weekday long run at 0300 and
0400. There are two lifetimes of difference same scenario but make the wake-up times
0300 and 0500.
• It doesn’t
always get worse.
• It’s easy to
remember each real solution to an everyday problem that you come up with when
you’re out for a long run. If it’s a real solution, you remember it. And if
it’s not, no sweat. And good riddance.
• Patience on a run is
oft-times hard-earned. For me, at least.
• Anyone who
says a 50K isn’t an ultra has never raced Promise Land 50K. Or Rattlesnake 50K.
Or Snowflake 50K on a bitter cold day. Or Catherine’s Big Butt on a late-July
scorcher.
• No matter what
the weather, cold post-run beer is really, really hard to beat.
• Some of life’s
best steps are those first tentative strides that you take once you beat back
the overwhelming desire to give up.
• Some friends
you make in ultras – if you are lucky – touch your heart forever.
• If you let it,
crossing a 100-miler finish line can make you awfully cocky.
• I may not be
able to run this next mile, but I can damn sure run to that next tree.
• Sometimes, the
way to the silver lining is the most direct path through the pain.
• A couple decent
72-hour race mileage totals change everything.
• The best
aspect about an outstanding performance is that you surprise yourself.
• For 23 years I’ve
been running ultras, and I still don’t know much about how to run ultras.
April 14, 2013
Some of the Why
Why do I run,
you ask?
Some reasons …
Because the
gentle movement of a long, long effort feeds my soul.
Because sleep is
a crutch.
Because of the
thunderous quietude.
Because of the
laughter of friends old and new.
Because if I go
long enough, my place in the world always seems satisfying.
Because I get to
take myself to places in my mind that I likely never would have gone otherwise.
Because I can.
Because I eat
and drink whatever I want, and I weigh just 2 pounds more than I did when I
graduated from college 30 years ago.
Because of the
special experience that is generated by the sounds of a waking day.
Because of that silky
sweet feeling at run’s end.
Because trail
miles make special people even more special.
Because some
days, moments on the run are the best ones of the day.
Because I've been doing this for 37 years, and it is still my favorite art form.
Because
sometimes – to steal a favorite line from my eloquent pal Fred Dummar – I love kicking my own ass.
And because
there have been times – a star-lit sky, a stunning sunrise, that moment just after I poke a hole in the attic of The Pain Cave – when I’m pretty sure that I see the
face of God.
April 8, 2013
Flacko and Spading
-->
So me and Jack
are nearing the end of our 2-hour runwalk Friday morning when – lo and behold –
I find a penny on the sidewalk. On heads. Jack always ALWAYS finds the money
first, so of course I squeal and give him the business over this. We have a
great laugh about it.
When I get into
the office, the first email I click on is “Fwd. Sad, sad news” and I learn that
Steve Flack and James Buracker were killed the night before in a car wreck.
Both of them
were many things, including basketball refs. Both of them started with our ref association on the
“two-man court” that I oversee at our summertime ref camp, which gives me an
extra special tie to each. Both were salt-of-the-earth guys. Both leave huge
voids.
So around 4 a.m.
Saturday before crossing the mountain on my way to a much-needed long run on
single-track trails, I go with a last-second switch and decide to stop for some
coffee. That stop and pursuant restart puts me in exactly the right spot to see
the most magnificent shooting star ever.
A penny on
heads. And a shooting star.
I hear you,
boys. I hear you.
Love,
Gentry
March 15, 2013
Morning Eyes
(From an observation during this morning's 2-hour runwalk. These come all the time during runs. And thanks to my buddy Rinn for suggesting that I post some of 'em here. :-)
Morning Eyes
Blue, white, orange, red, blue
Far as morning eyes can see
Blue Ridge Mountains March.
Morning Eyes
Blue, white, orange, red, blue
Far as morning eyes can see
Blue Ridge Mountains March.
December 20, 2012
Mid-November CR24 recap
Subtitle: OH YEAH!!!
90 laps. 85-plus miles. Zero nausea. One 20-minute nap at 0524. Four-plus more laps than last year. Three more miles than last year. A buncha new friends. A lotta great new stories. So, so many people to thank for their compassion, good cheer and encouragement. Wow. Just wow.
Case in point: The Amazing Scott Family. RD Ricky, wife Sharon and daughters Korre and Kara cheered for me, counted my laps, smiled their amazing smiles (!!!). Made this country boy feel like a complete rock star. No way to repay that. Ev. er. Y'all are beyond compare.
Chocolate milk only the first six hours. Dried fruit and salty chips until about dark. McDONALD'S HAMBURGER three times throughout the dark. Some other salty items on and off, too.
Spent much of the night going round and round with, at different times, new friend Rob Mitchell (100 miles!!!) and my former West Virginia Wesleyan College teammate Tom Elmore (93 miles in about his 8th or so ultra!!! How 'BOUT them Bobcats?!!!). Other folks throughout the night included Gene Meade, Mo Percy, Cyndy Barbour and my longtime running pal Bob Ring.
Oh oh, I almost forgot: Dear Lauren Wilkins, THANK YOU FOR SAVING MY RACE!!! Deets are fuzzy still but i think it was around 0100 and I was doing the weebles-wooble thing and had fairly strongly committed to finishing one more lap and then crawling in my sleeping bag for a break ... when ... I get back to the start/finish line and Lauren ... has ... McDONALD'S COFFEE!!! And she even put the cream and sugar in it for me after I whined about my hands being too frozen for my fingers to work properly. Walk, slurp, walk, slurp ... BACK IN THE GAME, DAWG!!! Thank you, Trail Angel Lauren. You can bet that I will be looking for a way to repay you somewhere down the road. :)
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I enjoyed myself all night. Really. And. Truly. Drank in the changing nighttime sky. Found comfort in the river. Even drew some power from the train that blasted past.
Slapped on the Patagonia puffy for every step of the nighttime portion, even though I ran a whole lot more than I expected to in the dark. Was having too much fun to walk the entire night. Kinda magical.
Happy. Happy. Happy!!!
5th place overall.
90 laps. 85-plus miles. Zero nausea. One 20-minute nap at 0524. Four-plus more laps than last year. Three more miles than last year. A buncha new friends. A lotta great new stories. So, so many people to thank for their compassion, good cheer and encouragement. Wow. Just wow.
Case in point: The Amazing Scott Family. RD Ricky, wife Sharon and daughters Korre and Kara cheered for me, counted my laps, smiled their amazing smiles (!!!). Made this country boy feel like a complete rock star. No way to repay that. Ev. er. Y'all are beyond compare.
Chocolate milk only the first six hours. Dried fruit and salty chips until about dark. McDONALD'S HAMBURGER three times throughout the dark. Some other salty items on and off, too.
Spent much of the night going round and round with, at different times, new friend Rob Mitchell (100 miles!!!) and my former West Virginia Wesleyan College teammate Tom Elmore (93 miles in about his 8th or so ultra!!! How 'BOUT them Bobcats?!!!). Other folks throughout the night included Gene Meade, Mo Percy, Cyndy Barbour and my longtime running pal Bob Ring.
Oh oh, I almost forgot: Dear Lauren Wilkins, THANK YOU FOR SAVING MY RACE!!! Deets are fuzzy still but i think it was around 0100 and I was doing the weebles-wooble thing and had fairly strongly committed to finishing one more lap and then crawling in my sleeping bag for a break ... when ... I get back to the start/finish line and Lauren ... has ... McDONALD'S COFFEE!!! And she even put the cream and sugar in it for me after I whined about my hands being too frozen for my fingers to work properly. Walk, slurp, walk, slurp ... BACK IN THE GAME, DAWG!!! Thank you, Trail Angel Lauren. You can bet that I will be looking for a way to repay you somewhere down the road. :)
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I enjoyed myself all night. Really. And. Truly. Drank in the changing nighttime sky. Found comfort in the river. Even drew some power from the train that blasted past.
Slapped on the Patagonia puffy for every step of the nighttime portion, even though I ran a whole lot more than I expected to in the dark. Was having too much fun to walk the entire night. Kinda magical.
Happy. Happy. Happy!!!
5th place overall.
November 14, 2012
Pre-CR24 Notes to Self
Be. patient.
Eat. real. food.
Be. patient.
Change. into. tights.
Be. patient.
Remember. chocolate. milk.
Be. patient.
Tell. funny. stories.
Be. patient.
Find. a. friend.
Be. patient.
Laugh. a. lot.
Be. patient.
Stay. out. there.
Surprise. yourself.
Eat. real. food.
Be. patient.
Change. into. tights.
Be. patient.
Remember. chocolate. milk.
Be. patient.
Tell. funny. stories.
Be. patient.
Find. a. friend.
Be. patient.
Laugh. a. lot.
Be. patient.
Stay. out. there.
Surprise. yourself.
November 9, 2012
CR24 Plan(s)
Crooked Run 24-Hour is almost here. And I have a couple plans.
Plan A
• Run 2 full laps to shed the nerves
• Run 10 mins. and walk 5 mins. until I get to 50 miles
• Hike all night
• Crush the final 2 hours
Plan B
• Run whenever I feel like it
• Walk whenever the mood strikes
• Be content to work through any bad patches by walking. And eating.
• Stay out there
My 24-Hour format PR is 90.0 miles. I did 82.5 at last year's inaugural Crooked Road, during which it got brutally cold and I took a 2-hour "nap."
This time? Eat. Drink. Run. Walk. Laugh. Repeat.
And be happy with whatever the day gives. Now that would be pretty darn cool.
Plan A
• Run 2 full laps to shed the nerves
• Run 10 mins. and walk 5 mins. until I get to 50 miles
• Hike all night
• Crush the final 2 hours
Plan B
• Run whenever I feel like it
• Walk whenever the mood strikes
• Be content to work through any bad patches by walking. And eating.
• Stay out there
My 24-Hour format PR is 90.0 miles. I did 82.5 at last year's inaugural Crooked Road, during which it got brutally cold and I took a 2-hour "nap."
This time? Eat. Drink. Run. Walk. Laugh. Repeat.
And be happy with whatever the day gives. Now that would be pretty darn cool.
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