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Shelly Robillard and I are standing at a crossroads.
Again.
Is it just me or is this our third time through here? I swear up and down to Shelly that we’re not supposed to go straight. We’ve already been straight. But we’ve also been right… and that’s not the way either.
FML.
Unable to resist the lure of the flour arrow that was not meant for us, we drift to the right again. We end up back on the road leading to the finish line.
This is awesome, except we’re not sub-2-hour 50K finishers. Pretty close, but not yet. We must be missing something. We turn back.
I hear children in the bushes. I peek around the corner and I’m horrified to find the kids that we saw earlier by the rope swing, now appearing HERE out of nowhere, like crafty little troll spawns. Where did they come from??
“Is the rope swing around here?” I ask, as casually as possible.
Please God don’t let the rope swing be just around the corner.
“Um… yeah. It’s around that corner…” They start giving me directions to the rope swing.
But no, we don’t WANT to go to the rope swing, dummies. We’ve been there twice already.
“We’re not lost,” I lie to them. Then we start backtracking.
By our third loop around, we spot Jesse Haynes, currently in first place. Due to our fine elite bodies, Jesse does not flinch nor look the least bit surprised to see us. We are awesome and impressive in our strides.
Still, I feel compelled to let him know we won’t be beating him today, and I call out that we’re lost. Jesse stops dead in his tracks to give us directions.
“No, it’s ok! Keep going!” I am horrified he has stopped.
It really says something about ultra runners when the first place winner doesn’t think twice about delaying his finish to explain the concept of race markings to a couple of weirdos.
Jesse takes off and I realize there is nothing he can do for us. Besides, I have a suspicion that HE is the one who is lost, not us. We must be on the right track.
There’s nothing anybody can do for us now. Except maybe Pablo. Pablo always knows which color ribbon to follow.
I blame Shacky for this. At the race start, I wasn’t listening to Baz’s directions, and then Baz refused to repeat them in Spanish. After that I spent the entire first loop chatting away to Shelly instead of watching where I was going. All Shacky’s fault.
“Did Baz say to stay right or left?” I asked Shelly in the first couple of miles. I swear it was one of those…
Shelly and I decide that we should have been the ones in charge of the flour. One gazillion pounds of flour please! We’re drawing dotted flour lines through the entire course exactly two feet apart. Easy peasy.
Shelly and I have now been to the same crossroads three times. This time we try left, because I swear to God it’s not straight.
We come up on some new trails and are no less confused. I’m still trying to figure out how we can beat Jesse.
Three runners pass, but they are going in the opposite direction. Clearly we’re on the right track. I ask how far it is to the next aid station.
“One mile,” someone says.
A mile later, we ask another runner.
“One mile,” they say.
Crikey, this is going to be a long race.
The only really bad thing about getting lost is that there are no aid stations for you. Apparently, aid stations are only reserved for runners who are able to stay on course. Hardly fair.
When we finally do reach the aid station, it’s the water-only stop. D’oh. Thankfully, they do have some goodies that I munch on.
Shelly can’t have anything because of her dietary restrictions. I decide to give her my pack later so the next time I get her hopelessly lost in the wilderness, she can bring a sandwich.
A few miles back at the start line, we saw a couple of other runners who dropped after taking the same wrong turn we did. One of them had been right behind Jesse and had to give up second place. Totally know how that feels.
We stopped to chat with them for a while. Chatting is very important when you’re lost. It made me feel better that we weren’t the only ones who got turned around, and I secretly hoped that Shacky was also lost.
A few days earlier, Shacky had been studying the map. I made fun of him for being a nerd. Besides, the thing looked more like a map from The Lord of the Rings than a race course. Who the hell knows what all those little markings mean.
No comprendo.
Then Baz had to change the course at the last minute, so there was a brand new Lord of the Rings map on race day (read Baz’s awesome race report here). I chuckled at all the time Shacky had wasted on such a silly little thing like directions.
At the aid station, the volunteers nicely but strongly suggest that we turn back. Nobody trusts our asses on the trail anymore. Shelly and I discuss the option of dropping to our knees and begging to continue, but we opt for a hot meal from Hell’s Kitchen and a big hug from Baz instead.
I wasn’t smart enough to wear a watch of any kind on race day, so I had no idea what our final mileage was. Shelly was smart enough to wear one, but not smart enough to turn it on. Plus the time on it was wrong. Because we’re an awesome team.
Based on some simple math, our knowledge of time zones, and our best estimation from the placement of the sun and our shadows on the ground, we calculated that we had run 27 miles. We also decided that we beat Shacky. So whatever Shacky’s time would be, our time was a couple minutes before that. YAY us!
Sure enough, we had just crossed the finish line when we saw Shacky behind us. Sure, they forced us to turn back. Sure, we spent some time wandering aimlessly. Yet here we were now, ahead of Shacky. Just where the Universe wanted us to be.
Shacky was yelling at us as he ran in, demanding to know how we got ahead of him. He had spent the second half of his race looking over his shoulder, trying to stay in front of us, and he swore he never saw us pass.
Dude just can’t accept we’re a couple of stealthy trail ninjas. When we tell him about the crossroad, Shacky says we were supposed to go straight.
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Shacky and I are engaged in an interesting debate today that I’d love to hear your opinion. It was provoked by an article by Geoff Roes, posted this morning. You can see the full text here:
Read: 100 Mile Ingrigue: Embracing the Unknown
Roes’ argument is that there is not currently, and may never be, a training plan for 100-mile races. In his opinion, the 100 experience is so unique to the individual, that it’s almost impossible to be guided with a training plan of any sort. Basically: Just go out, get the miles in, and do it.
I liked his way of thinking and very much agreed. It also reminded me of this other great post I read this morning, essentially saying the same thing in relation to barefoot running.
Read: Barefoot Running: TMI Problem
In the comments section of the irunfar.com article, Roes was asked about the value of an ultra marathon running coach. His response was:
I don’t think anyone needs a coach to reach their potential for running 100 miles, and in many cases I think aspiring 100-mile runners are held back by having a coach.
That said, I do think there are several basic things one needs to learn before they have the tools to be able to find what works best for them. In most cases, having a coach will be extremely helpful in getting you more quickly to the point of being able to figure your own thing out, but once you’re to that point I think you’ll just be holding yourself back if you continue to rely too strictly on the guidance of someone else.
It is worth noting though that I don’t think these same thoughts apply to shorter distances, and there are very few runners out there who are focused solely on the 100+ mile distances.
For most ultrarunners, I think it makes perfect sense to have a coach, but to be very aware that what your coach is having you do probably applies a lot more to shorter ultras than it does to 100s.
I found this intriguing but also a little confusing. What makes the 100 so different compared to a 100K or 50 miler? I do understand the difference in logistics (ie. sleep, etc), but wouldn’t the same basic “tools” apply?
I’ve only completed one 100-miler and my expertise on this topic is so low, it’s laughable. But I do love the 100 distance and I’m insatiably curious about it. I’ve never had a running coach for any ultra, so I can’t speak to their value either way.
My gut instinct is to think that an ultra running coach has little to offer for ANY distance. I would think that all ultra experiences are unique and therefore difficult to coach?
If that’s not true—if there truly is value in coaching a shorter ultra distance, why not coach 100 miles?
In my limited experience, I consider it an all-or-nothing type of deal. Either coaches are useful for all ultras, or they aren’t. Am I wrong?
Have you ever had an ultra running coach? What sorts of benefits do these coaches offer?
Is a coach perhaps only useful for competitive ultra marathon runners, whereas people who want to “just finish” don’t need to invest in a coach?
Would Shacky and I benefit from a coach (not competitive, but want to race a lot more 100s)?
Is this like the barefoot running coach debate all over again?
Read: Barefoot Running Coach Certification: Why It’s a Bad Idea
What are your thoughts/experience?
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This ultra snuck up on us. Until a week ago, we had planned on running the inaugural Hollywood Half since we had free entries, then at the last minute I decided I’d rather PAY to run on a trail than to run a free road race.
I’m ruined for road races. I literally have zero interest in ever running another road. As far as I’m concerned, a road race weekend is a weekend I’m NOT spending on a mountain. And where’s the fun in that??
I try to not be a trail snob, but I’m picky with my races now. I want all my mileage to go towards training for Chimera 100 this year, probably the hardest 100-miler known to man, and certainly the toughest thing I’ve ever done. I’m not sure if I’ll finish, but I’m sure as hell going to try. That means spending my time running vertically as much as is humanly possible.
The Oriflamme race director, John Martinez, was so accommodating and got us into the race even though we had already told him we weren’t coming. It was such a wonderfully organized event full of great friends and familiar faces, I felt like an idiot for almost missing out. Hollywood red carpet VS dirty trail ultra? I know where I belong.
Photo: Thanks to Greg Hardesty
Shacky and I got up at 3:30 am on race day and drove to the start. We overestimated how long it would take us to get there, so we showed up in time for the “early start” at 6 am. Darcy was starting with the early wave, and we were tempted to take off with her as well. But it was still dark, we didn’t have headlamps, and we figured we’d have more company with the normal start. So I took a nap in the car.
Shacky assumes it only takes me 3 seconds to get ready, so he didn’t wake me up. When I opened my eyes it was only 10 minutes to start time and Shacky was in the bathroom line. I stumbled out to go pee, get dressed, fill my water, and get to the start line. As soon as we got there, the runners had just taken off.
Photo: Thanks to Theresa Wheeler
I fell into the single track line and there was some walking for the first few minutes until the crowd started thinning. I had no goals as far as time, and I didn’t know the course. I thought I would just treat this as a long training run and enjoy the day.
A few people passed me in the first couple of miles and I finally settled into a comfortable, slow pace. Before long, there was a wide gap between the person ahead of me and the person behind me. I happily trotted along by myself, enjoying the trail and the scenery.
The first aid station came up quick. I didn’t need to stop, but I slowed down to say hello and grab a cookie. From there, it was all downhill.
I had a blast flying down the hill and ended up passing a few people. My downhill running skills have dramatically improved since running down the Los Pinos hill last weekend with the Robillards. Pinos is the steepest downhill I’ve ever set foot on (and most brutal climb). It made this downhill seem like a piece of cake.
The best thing I can do while running downhill is to relax my legs, go with the momentum, and not be afraid. When I get scared, my legs tighten, I slow down, and I’m much more likely to slip and fall on my ass.
When the road flattened out, I fell into my normal slow pace again and one of the guys I had passed caught up to me. We were running on sand now, which was hard to do in shoes. We’ve done some decent sand training, but always barefoot. I couldn’t believe how much harder it was to slog through the sand wearing shoes. But it wasn’t far to the second aid station.
I saw Desi and other friends at the next station, filled up my hydration pack with ice water, and took off again. It was getting really hot.
On my way to the turnaround point, I saw several more of our friends and they were going strong. It was great to see them all running together. I still wasn’t near any other runners, and I wondered at what point I would see Shacky coming back.
When I saw the turn, I realized Shacky was waiting for me, so I checked in at the halfway point and turned right around. Shacky’s shoes (New Balance MT 110s) were giving him trouble—he was getting too much sand in them and had to stop every few minutes to empty them out. We made it back to Desi’s aid station, where Shacky again emptied his shoes and I grabbed some oranges.
We hung out here for a few minutes longer than we really needed to, and started walking the sandy section back. Shacky was having a hard time running and I was doing a slow jog to keep up with his walking pace. At the bottom of the hill, I decided to push myself.
Photo: Thanks to Greg Hardesty
I’ve been trying hard to improve my hill running in preparation for Chimera, and I thought this hill would be a good test for me. Shacky later said I flew the hill, but it certainly didn’t feel that way. I ran as much as I could, and focused on a power hike the rest of the time. I had to put my head down and really concentrate on moving my legs forward as quick as possible. Otherwise I’d probably still be out there.
My “ultra walk” is pitiful. I’m trying to work on it. I run as much as possible because I know my walking pace is about as fast as slug. Jason once wrote that we shouldn’t walk hills as though we’re perusing futons at Ikea. That’s totally what I do. So I tried to imagine myself NOT at Ikea.
I tried to tell myself:
- This isn’t a stroll. This is a race.
- At least this isn’t Los Pinos.
- The faster you can get up this thing, the sooner it will be over.
I passed a lot of people who had been ahead of me, and it was obvious the hill was taking everyone out. Some people were cuddled under thorny bushes, seeking any sort of shade. Others were low on water. It reminded me of the Pinos climb on Keira’s race, where I basically lay down on the trail and prayed for death. But I wouldn’t lie down today.
I conserved my water and made it to the top with adequate supplies. As soon as the road flattened out, I happily started running again. I looked behind me but Shacky was nowhere in sight. Would I actually beat him to the finish?
I’ve never yet been able to beat Shacky in a race, mostly because he hauls ass and never lets me. But I knew he was struggling on the hill and that was my chance to slip past. He’s better than me on downhills, but I’m better at uphills over time. I’m also better in the heat. So on this race, I had advantages I could play.
On the way up the hill, I saw some Search and Rescue trucks and I wondered in the back of my mind whether Shacky would drop out. If he did, I could make fun of him for days. If he didn’t, I could beat him to the finish. WIN WIN!
At the aid station on the top of the hill, I felt like I was on the home stretch. My spirits were lifted, and I stopped for some watermelon and oranges. I considered waiting for Shacky, but then Christine told me Shacky had dropped.
NOOOoooo!
It never occurred to me that he might be hurt or dehydrated. I know he’s a hardass, so I just assumed he was being a wuss. I figured he’d be at the finish line, so I decided to haul ass to the end where I could make fun of him.
I ran the second half of the race much stronger than the first half. Usually, I’m giving it all I’ve got in the second half, but today I felt as though I still had a lot left. It was a good day for me. Part of me wondered whether I should have started faster, but I had a blast and I was really proud of my performance on the hill.
The last few miles were extremely pleasant. I was all alone, and for the most part couldn’t see anyone ahead or behind me. Every once in a while, I would come across another runner, greet them, and pass. I wasn’t going fast, but I was running.
Photo: Thanks to Rachel Hassett
As soon as I saw the finish line, I started to sprint and crossed with a big smile. Then I hung out and spread rumors about Shacky dropping out. I figured whoever finishes first reserves the right to spread rumors about the person behind them.
Shacky wasn’t at the finish line yet, and after 20 minutes I started to get bored and wish he had given me the car keys so I could at least change. You know, now that I’m the faster runner I should be the one to carry the keys. Thirty minutes later I wondered if maybe had had been hurt after all. Nah… he’s a hardass.
Then Julius told me that he hadn’t dropped after all—he was still on the course. Nice! I was proud of him for finishing, but was pretty sure he was still being lazy and walking. I thought about running back to scold him for taking so long, but decided to eat cake instead (Happy Birthday Carlos!).
Photo: Thanks to Carlos Quinto
There was a great crowd at the finish, and I had fun chatting with everyone. Shacky finally finished an hour later, pacing a girl who was running her first ultra. So it was hard to scold him for taking so long. I decided to get him some chili and pop instead.
Photo: Thanks to Theresa Wheeler
The next day, we went for a run with the dog on Mount Woodson where both Shacky AND the dog kicked my ass on the uphills. Pretty sure I’m still better at burpees though.
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Over the past few days, the running community has been swarmed with news of Caballo Blanco’s death (Born to Run star aka Micah True).
I won’t repeat how tragic this is, or how deep of a loss the running community has suffered. But I can’t help wonder how, going forward, this event will make its mark in ultra running. What will change? And how will we move ahead?
I never had the privilege of meeting Caballo Blanco, although we chatted briefly via Facebook. I can’t claim he was a close friend, but he was someone I followed, drew inspiration from, and very much admired.
Much good has been said about Caballo, and I won’t repeat his exceptional qualities here. But in addition to those great things, I was also drawn to his quirkiness and his slightly fiercer side.
I enjoyed watching Caballo’s hardass demeanor and the way his personality would sometimes clash with others. Caballo didn’t give a shit about a lot of things, yet he cared deeply about others.
He was his own man. He could not be bought out, compromised, or predicted. Some even wondered if his disappearance had been intentional or planned. Surely he was capable of anything? Did any of us really know him?
Now that he’s gone, I wonder about the future of ultra running. Here are four categories that I think will be touched by Caballo’s death.
1. What will happen to… the Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon?
This race was Caballo’s baby. It was his dream. North American ultra elites race alongside Mexico’s best Tarahumaran runners. The vibe is carefree and generous. Entries are not charged, but donations are given freely to support the local community. Caballo made damn sure of this.
But over the years, this low-key race has caught the world’s attention. Some have tried to use it for profit, or to push a variety of interests and agendas.
Caballo was the one who kept the integrity of this race. He viciously fought for the Tarahumara’s best interest and showed no mercy to those who might harm the culture.
What will become of Copper Canyons now that Caballo is gone? Will it be the next large-scale event, sponsored by big names and priced with a hefty registration fee? Will it be made more accessible to boost attendance? Will the course be simplified so more people can finish? Will the lure and magic of the Tarahumaran presence disappear?
2. What will happen to… the Tarahumara?
Caballo was the loudest and fiercest defender of the Tarahumara. He sheltered them like family and was skeptical of those who wanted to get close. He trusted few.
What will happen to the Tarahumara now? Who will fight for them?
3. What will happen to… the Born to Run brand?
All who have not yet read Born to Run are picking up a copy. They want to know who Caballo was and what all the fuss is about.
What does this mean for the Born to Run brand? Higher book sales? More Luna Sandals sold? A renewed interest in barefoot running?
4. What will happen to… the spirit of ultra running?
Caballo had a spirit that could not be matched. He embraced running in its purest sense. He ran for the sheer joy of it. Not to compete in races. Not to log his runs. Not to improve his training. He ran because he loved it. Period.
As our race schedules fill up and we pursue PRs, will we still remember the joy of bounding over a mountain for no reason at all? Will we forget how to run as Caballo did, or will his death inspire us to represent his spirit even more?
I don’t have the answers, but I hope for the best. I personally fear for the future of Copper Canyons and the Tarahumara, but am determined to be a small voice on Caballo’s behalf. I hope that you will too.
A Call to Action
In Caballo’s honor this week, I encourage you to run once without logging it as a workout, or thinking of it as training. Don’t track your mileage and don’t time yourself.
Pay attention to your surroundings, have compassion for the life around you, and work to protect and preserve your trails as well as the people who run them.
The spirit of ultra running must always embrace selflessness, generosity, adventure, and strength. These are things that cannot die.
Here is a poem my friend Trisha wrote for Caballo:
Run close to the mountains
Stay a heartbeat away
Cover the low moon with your wings
And walk tomorrow’s miles today
Watch the sun race the sky
And know you’ll pass her once again
When time frees your soul and you find
the fabled trail that doesn’t end
Dust ascends on the horizon
A deep, rumbling thunder without rain
The sound of rampant hearts, a legion
Earthly, feral and unconstrained
The search will end as it began
A trail of footprints, a bird and a feather
When a white horse dies on a sandy road
All wild hearts mourn together
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An ultra can do a lot of things for a lot of people. But one thing it will always do is change your mind. It will focus your perspective and help you see things as they really are. Here are some lies that may be clouding your vision.
1. I can’t run an ultra yet—I’m not in my best shape.
I’ve seen some epic love handles and beer bellies cross the finish line at several ultras. And although not all runners are visibly out of shape, many do have a target area that is far from perfect—flabby bits or underdeveloped muscles. If you’re waiting to be in the best shape of your life, you will never run an ultra.
Running with extra weight is far from easy, whether it is bulky muscle weight or fat. But weight has almost no effect on your potential to cross the finish line. This finish line is about mental strength and raw determination. Don’t worry about achieving perfect fitness. The more you run ultras, the more your body will adapt to running ultras. Then before you know it, your body will be perfect for…running ultras.
2. My first ultra will be just like my training runs.
You haven’t the slightest clue what your first ultra will be like. Expect nothing. The veteran standing beside you doesn’t know what this race will be like either. Neither does the dude who has run this course ten times. He can tell you about his past experiences, but he can’t tell you what the run will be like today. That’s the beauty of ultra running: Anything can happen.
Simulate race day conditions during training, but never let it fool you into thinking that you now know exactly what’s coming. You have no idea. The weather could turn, your food could run out, or you could step on a rattlesnake. Who the hell knows.
Instead of stressing about it, take it as a relief. There’s no pressure to be completely prepared, because nobody is. The runners who thrive are the ones who can be flexible. Have a good base, don’t forget your nutrition, and know how to adapt. Be ready and willing to tweak your strategy at a moment’s notice, and never see a change as a failure.
3. I can’t run an ultra—I don’t have any support.
Support is a big deal among ultra runners (race crew, pacers, friends dragging your crap around), but it can’t be used as an excuse. Ultimately, only you are responsible for your failure or success. Yes, pacers and crews make things easier. They are convenient and invaluable. But you don’t need a small army to pull off a finish.
In fact, many newbies don’t have any support at all. It’s not until you start running several ultras and make friends in the ultra community that people become willing to hang out and support you.
Emotional and moral support are another issue. Never expect to go into your first ultra with the full support of all your non-running friend and family. Even your running friends may have a hard time believing in you. If you do have unlimited support, your friends are either great liars or you are a much better person than I.
Do you know when people start believing in you? When you prove yourself. When you finish. When you find success. So don’t sit around whining about how nobody supports you. Of course they don’t, and why should they? You haven’t done a damn thing. Your ultra is just crazy talk.
Know your potential and go after it with all your strength. When you believe in yourself and prove your ability to finish, others will start believing in you as well.
4. If I’m running in the back of the pack, I’m in the wrong training group.
Take it from this back of the packer—you’re in the perfect spot. When I first moved to San Diego, I was always in the back of the pack. As I slowly started becoming a mid-packer, I sought out stronger runners who would push me to the back again.
Many runners are embarrassed or ashamed to bring up the rear, to the point that they will switch training groups. But I’m not here to impress anyone—I’m here to get better, and I want to do it as fast as possible.
Struggling to keep up with a strong group is how I’ve grown. Fast. I’ve picked up tips and invaluable knowledge that might have taken me years to learn otherwise, and it also keeps me extremely humble.
Obviously there’s a limit—you don’t want people waiting forever for you to catch up. But your own common sense and/or pride will prevent you from hitting any extremes. I’m referring to runners who are only a few minutes behind the second-last person, assume the group is too fast for them, and leave.
I want people in front of me, driving me forward. I want to be friends with people who can kick my ass any day of the week, who are better trained, and have more experience. The rewards are far better in last place than in first. There is tremendous opportunity to advance. The day I’m the best runner is the day that I didn’t learn anything.
5. I’m too old to start running ultras.
At 29, I’m a newborn in this sport. I’m also one of the slowest, less experienced, and less accomplished. Ultra running is for an older crowd. The strongest runners tend to be in their 40s and 50s (women included), with a few in their 60s who can run circles around them. I’ve seen past-middle age men with abs more ripped than any teenager on the planet.
Age in ultra running means grace, wisdom, and respect. You are admired and consulted for advice. If you watch an older ultra runner, there is a calm and carefree aura around them. It’s like they know every step of every trails, what’s underneath every rock, and the location of every bug.
Their sense of direction is inhumanly sharp, and you get the feeling that if you were to ditch them in the middle of nowhere on the other side of the world, they would run back and ring your doorbell in about a week. Other sports cut you off after a certain age. In this sport, you become a legend.
6. After I finish an ultra, everyone will admire and praise me.
Ultra running is like a spiritual experience—you get the most out of it when you approach with a pure and humble heart. An ultra is something you can’t finish for anyone else. You have to do it for yourself.
The runners who give off a vibe of “Hey, look at me!” generally don’t stick with ultras. This is because if your goal is social acceptance and praise, there are much easier ways to get it.
When you run a marathon, all your non-running family and friends think you’re a superstar. They might meet you at the finish line, talk about you with pride, and tell you how awesome you are.
But when you run an ultra, you are out on those trails by yourself. You’re facing your demons alone on a terrain that is foreign. There are no motivational signs to lift your spirits. There are no cheering fans to scream your name. If you’re lucky, you may get some weak claps or cheers at the finish line.
But that finish is unlike anything else. It’s yours and yours alone. Nobody can know what it took for you to get there, and nobody can share in your glory. That finish line is where you first realize that you can do anything.
You’ll go into the world the next day to brag about your accomplishments, but instead of looking at you with admiration, people will look at you like you’re insane. Your non-running friends will not understand. Their first reaction will probably not be, “You’re awesome!”
If it’s a nod from society you’re looking for, run a marathon. But if it’s a life-changing experience of personal strength and perseverance that you want, finish an ultra.
7. It doesn’t appear that anyone else is struggling as much as I am. I must not belong.
There was a video I saw a few weeks back that completely changed my perspective on everything. I can’t remember where I saw it, much less the link. It was one of those things you watch casually, and don’t realize until weeks later that it was actually a turning point for you.
This video was an interview with a seasoned, elite ultra runner (don’t remember who) talking about a race. The distance was significant, I think it was 100 miles. He talked about finishing the first 26 miles, and feeling wiped. He casually mentioned being tired as if it was a normal thing, but I thought, “Wait a minute. He’s an ultra-elite. He gets tired after a marathon??”
When I get tired at 26 miles, I used to attribute it to the fact that I wasn’t conditioned. I was a newbie and probably out of shape. I was in over my head. But here was a veteran with solid races under his belt, still feeling tired at 26 miles. It forced me to change my perspective.
Around the same time, I read the book AWOL on the Appalachian Trail where David Miller recounts his experience hiking the entire Appalachian. He recalls a day when he was struggling up a hill, passed some other hikers, and was shocked to hear them admire his speed and agility. He felt like shit.
He writes:
Everyone sweats; everyone pants for breath. The person who is in better shape will usually push himself to hike more quickly and bump into the same limitations. But when a fit person is stressed, he is less likely to attribute the difficulty to his shortcomings… Obviously conditioning is advantageous, but the perception of disadvantage can be more debilitating than the actual disadvantage.
Ultras are hard for everyone. Ultras are just plain hard. Everyone struggles up that hill. Everyone has trouble breathing. Everyone feels the hot sun. Everyone is sweating. Everyone wants to sit down.
You—sitting at your computer and reading this—would not be any worse off than I am on a steep, rocky hill. Trails can’t tell whether you’re an elite or a newbie. They’ll kick your ass just the same. So you belong here just as much as I do. And I belong here just as much as the dude who wins first place.
The ultra distance is hard to get your mind around. That’s why people give ultra runners puzzled looks. But once you break down that wall, run your first ultra, run your second ultra, and then realize you’re hooked—all those lies you believed about yourself are exposed. And it’s easier to see yourself as you really are—strong, courageous, and able.
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Six months ago, our dog Ginger couldn’t play for more than five minutes without getting winded and lying down for the rest of the day. Today, Ginger glides through 20-mile trail runs without a sign of fatigue. We can’t keep up.
I’m not a dog trainer. I’m an ultra runner currently training for my first 100-miler with a dog that loves trails. After searching for information on how to train my dog to follow me on my ultra-long runs, I found nothing. So I decided to become my own expert.
I started training Ginger the same way I train myself: back-to-back long runs, night running, trail running, elevation training, and hills. Below are the 20 steps I followed to transform Ginger from a couch dog to an ultra dog.
1. Assess your dog’s physical features.
We don’t know what Ginger’s breed is, so the dog articles that discussed breeds were useless. Ginger was adopted when she was just days old. She’s a mutt. Some people say she looks part Dalmatian or part German Shorthaired Pointer. We just say she’s Mexican (she was abandoned in Tijuana), and have no interest in learning her breed.
Ginger is physically built like a running dog. Her dog-care experts say she has the traits of a hunter. She’s quick, long, lean, and sharp. She’s an amazing sprinter, and her hair is short so she doesn’t overheat easily. Her size and shape compliment distance running.
If Ginger were smaller, or if she had thick fur, she might not have been able to run as long. Keep that in mind when establishing the limits of your own dog.
Not all breeds are physically built for efficient long-distance trail running. But then again, not all humans are training for ultras. So chances are there’s a happy medium where you and your dog can run together.
2. Establish an interest.
It’s easy to project our own interests onto the things or people we love. I love trail running, so my dog must love it too, right? Not necessarily. It’s important to make sure this is something your dog enjoys.
Does your dog like to run? Does your dog love trails? Much like humans, you’re not likely to convince someone to train for an ultra if they hate running. Dogs are usually great at showing us what they enjoy. Get their paws on a trail and see how they react.
Sometimes when we drive Ginger home from a trail, she doesn’t want to get out of the car. She thinks the next stop might be another trail.
Trail love
3. Start slow.
It takes time to train a dog. It took us six months to get Ginger in ultra shape, but it may take much longer. On a positive note, it takes a long time to train a human as well. So patience is important for you both.
Do not ever rush the process. Dogs want so badly to please their owners, and that’s a strong motivation for them. Don’t make your dog “push” to please you, or make them feel that they’ve failed you by not running far enough.
Your dog doesn’t need to be mentally pushed the same way that you do. Dog-hearts in it 100 percent and they always give their best. They’re not stressing over speed or goals or race fears. So if your dog is showing signs of wanting to stop, take it seriously.
4. Build a base with play-training.
Ginger loves chasing her ball, but six months ago she would get winded after five minutes. I started playing with Ginger until she got tired, then I would let her recover before playing again.
At first, it took Ginger half a day to recover and we’d only get in two or three play sessions. As time passed, her recovery times got much shorter. We play-trained for 30 to 60 minutes, two days a week until Ginger was able to play for one hour without stopping. Only then did I start to run with her.
5. Watch for cues.
Dogs are less complicated than humans. If they’re tired, they flop on the ground. If they’re thirsty, they drink. If they want to stop running, they will show cues. They may dawdle or just walk. Being receptive to their cues is crucial. Your dog knows what it needs.
My friend Cynthia recently started running with her dog. She knows when her dog Penny is ready for a rest when she stops often to pee:
For the past month, we have gone out about three to five times a week on this little 2K stroll and we do running pickups. Sometimes we do 2.5K depending on how she feels. If I see she is stopping often to do her business, I know it’s not a good day so we take it easy.
6. Start with short, local loops.
I started Ginger with a single run around the block, letting her rest when she got tired. When she recovered, we’d go back out. As time passed, her distances got longer (more loops, less recovery).
When we got to the point where she could run steady for an hour or more without getting tired, we started taking her out to the trails.
7. Keep track.
As silly as it sounds, Ginger has a Dailymile account where I track her mileage. This helps tremendously as far as knowing what she’s capable of and how far she’s come. It helps me determine what types of distances and conditions she’s ready for, and I note her mood and energy as well.
Every once in a while, tracking her progress also helps me call out and celebrate her milestones. We celebrated her highest elevation run. Her roughest terrain. We even note which wildlife she sees and how she responds.
I record Ginger’s mileage in “Ginger-speak,” typing about the run through her eyes. Here are some examples of her entries:
“I SEEN THE DEER AND I HUNT HIM. IMA WOLF.”
“I RUNNED FAST AND THEN I STOP TO PEE.”
“I SEEN A CAT I TRY TO EAT IT.”
“TIME TO GET SERIOUS ABOUT MY TRAININ….. SQUIRREL!!!!!!”
Ginger has had “Friends” add her and encourage her on her journey. I translate their messages by patting her head. You can add Ginger as a friend here.
All the benefits you get from tracking your own workouts apply to your dog as well. I strongly suggest keeping a log.
8. Open a line of communication.
The dog-master relationship is precious and your dog will often be bonded to you more strongly than what you imagine. Communicate with them about running, and you’ll be surprised at how much they actually understand and can share in your passion.
Tell your dog they’re going for a run. They’ll probably know exactly what you mean. This is my friend Cynthia’s experience:
I tell Penny the night before that we are going for a run in the morning and she knows what it means. Since (my husband) wakes up before me, she knows she still has some sleeping time until I wake up and we go.
When I get out of the bedroom, I ask her: ‘Are you ready for your run?’ and she gets so excited! Funny thing is she actually stretches before we leave. She does Downward Dog.
The book How to Talk to Your Animals describes how one dog owner started speaking English to his dog, and was shocked to find that his dog understood what he was saying.
“He speaks English!” he exclaimed to his wife. She looked at him in disgust, “Of course he speaks English! What’s he going to speak, German?!”
The author goes on to describe how many words dogs have been known to retain, and tells stories of dogs in Mexico who understand Spanish. According to this book, it’s easier for dogs to understand our language than for us to understand theirs.
Talk to your dog about running. This can keep you accountable as well. If you promised your dog a morning run the night before, you have to get up and do it.
9. Introduce trail running.
We started with a group trail run of 6 miles, then slowly incorporated other mid-week runs when we could no longer tire her out. Trail running adds a different dynamic to your dog’s experience, so it’s important to monitor this transition.
For Ginger, running in a group was a huge distraction. She hated to be in last place, and would often lunge forward to cut people off. It took some time for her to understand this was not acceptable.
There are also cyclists and wildlife to deal with. There’s a lot of stimulation for a dog. Take your time on this transition until your dog is comfortable with trails.
I found it helped Ginger to have some time off-leash (where possible) to sniff her new surroundings and explore a little. This prevented her from stopping dead in the middle of a single track trail to sniff some poop while tripping the person behind her.
We are still trying to perfect Ginger’s trail manners, especially when it comes to running with strangers and spotting other animals. She recently tried to take down an entire herd of deer by herself. Hunter, much? It’s an on-going process with her.
Some basic obedience training could go a long way here as far as following basic commands. Ginger is learning:
- “Slow down”
- “Stop”
- “Walking”
- “Come on”
- “Let’s go”
- “This way”
Ginger and I on the trails
10. Pick a side on pooping.
Ultra trail runners are well known for pooping on the side of the trail. In fact, I’ve heard people say that you’re not a true trail runner until you’ve pooped in the woods. I know that not all runners do this, but when you’re training to run 100 miles, any bush looks like a toilet.
The doggie bags I carry for Ginger are attached to her leash. On one trail run, it dawned on me: Why the hell and I shitting in the woods yet carefully carrying my dog’s poop around?? I picked a side: the Non-Doggie Bag Side.
Depending on your distance and your trails, you may pick the Doggie Bag Side. Maybe wood-pooping isn’t something you or your dog want to get into right now. It’s your call.
I always make sure Ginger goes off-trail and if she doesn’t, I’ll move it somewhere I’d poop myself, or slide it over the side of a cliff. She usually tries to bury it herself.
11. Train for danger.
Trail dangers include things like wildlife and rattlesnakes. We put Ginger through a rattlesnake avoidance training class once a year. It costs $70 and lasts under ten minutes. She learns to recognize and avoid snakes, and it gives us tremendous peace of mind when she’s out on the trails.
HERE is the training resource that we use, and below is a video of Ginger’s last training session. She’s great at avoiding snakes, but sometimes has trouble spotting them.
It’s best to do this at the beginning of the year, to coincide with rattlesnake season. It’s also best to refresh this training once a year. This is an important point to follow. One of our trail running friends lost her dog when it was bitten by a rattlesnake.
12. Make running fun, not work.
Dogs and humans both appreciate variety. On our shorter runs, I like to shake things up with Ginger. Sometimes we run “people pace”, and sometimes we run “Ginger pace”.
Ginger pace is where she gets a turn to lead. Instead of following me, I follow her. My pace is always steady and slow, but at Ginger pace we’re either running a mad dash, or stopping dead so she can sniff some pee-mail. This puts some fun into our routine, and keeps both of us engaged and smiling (yes, she smiles).
Does it get much more fun than this? Hellz no.
13. Leash wisely.
The leash that works well for road running with Ginger doesn’t work on trails. Most of the trails we’re running are single track, which means that if Ginger is leashed, she can’t run right beside me—she has be in front or behind. She needs a longer extension.
Also, technical trails can have sudden drops or rocks we have to scale. A shorter leash will start to choke her and severely limits her movement. If she has to leap off a rock and I’m still on it, a short leash is a disaster waiting to happen.
We have opted to let Ginger go off-leash as much as possible, and we often choose our trails based on their seclusion so she doesn’t bother anyone. Ginger is actually much better behaved and obedient when she’s off-leash than when I have her leashed.
If there’s a biker up ahead or another dog that might be aggressive, we’ll hold her until the threat has passed. If we spot other people on the trail, we’ll leash her until we pass them.
14. Trust your dog.
Letting your dog off-leash can be scary, but in some ways in comes down to trusting your dog. I knew that Ginger’s nature was very submissive, and she wasn’t one to run away. When we decided to trust her off-leash, we found that she became more protective of us and careful.
Instead of charging ahead like she tends to do on her leash, she would run close to the side of the person who was leading. Then she’d keep looking back to check that the other person wasn’t being left behind.
When we put enough distance between us that we could no longer see the next runner on the trails, Ginger would run back and forth to check on both runners. At one point, I stopped to take off my sweater and adjust my pack. Ginger sat beside me and nudged for me to catch up.
Last weekend Shacky hid behind a bush to see what she’d do if she lost one of us. She ran up and down the trail in search of him until he came out of hiding. She refused to leave him behind.
Miss Ginger checking over her shoulder for Shacky
15. Encourage hydration.
Your dog needs water just as much as you do. Encourage drinking at the end of every run and make it a routine. As your runs get longer, you should encourage your dog to drink mid-run.
We have Ginger drink every 6 to 8 miles, but some dogs may need to drink more frequently. When we’re on the trail, Ginger is great at drinking from creeks or streams when she needs it.
We keep an eye out for good water sources for Ginger and if there’s nothing appropriate, we pull out her collapsible doggie dish that hooks onto my own hydration pack. If we’re travelling long, she carries her own doggie pack with her own water dish.
Ginger has never gotten sick from stream or creek water, although if the water source doesn’t look clean, we give her water from our own hydration packs.
When we first started running trails, Ginger was so excited that it was difficult for her to settle down and drink. Now she is better at understanding when we want her to hydrate.
16. Do night runs.
Night (especially trail) running adds a different dimension. You may find that your dog behaves strangely under the moon. I have a small doggie light that I attach to Ginger’s collar when we run trails at night, more for my benefit than for hers. It doesn’t do much to light her way, but it ensures that I can spot her easily.
Running in the dark with a leash could take some practice as well. Your dog probably has better vision than you do, and it may take them some time to adjust to your more cautious form and speed. Humans should always wear headlamps.
17. Introduce elevation and hills.
This is the same process as introducing trails. Monitor the transition closely, and listen to your dog’s body (bet you never heard that one before). Stop if your dog needs to stop. Chances are your dog will probably adjust faster than you can.
18. Introduce higher mileage.
I used the same endurance-focused technique to build Ginger’s mileage. Speed didn’t matter, only time on her feet. When she got tired, we recovered and continued. We did this until she was comfortable running 20-mile distances without stopping.
19. Consider nutrition.
If you’re going to be on the trail long enough, your dog may need to eat. We are still experimenting with different foods for Ginger, but we try to give her some mix of carbs and protein. I have read of dogs eating anything and everything on a trail, from Cheezits to beef jerkey.
For the most part, we let Ginger tell us what she likes and doesn’t like. Interestingly, she loves pizza (hard to carry on a trail) but will also eat whatever we’re eating, from sandwiches to burritos.
On our last long run, I shared a bean and rice burrito with Ginger. At home, we feed her raw meat as well as high-quality, grain-free dog food. Sometimes Ginger’s diet is healthier than our own.
Mexicans love burritos.
20. Introduce back-to-back runs.
Back-to-back long runs were key for my own ultra training, so that’s where we headed with Ginger. Her recovery is impressive, and she has now caught up to my own training. We start to break down at about the same mileage, and we recover at around the same time. I’ve created the perfect running partner.
Immeasurable Benefits
1. BFF-status
Your dog can become your most loyal running buddy and bring out the fiercest loyalty in you. You’ll look out for each other and understand each other’s needs. I’ve passed up races because I didn’t want to put Ginger up in a doggie-hotel. Sometimes I’d rather bust out a long run with her.
2. Safety
Any run that I do with Ginger is safer. She’s not an aggressive dog, but I know that if danger calls, she’d step up and defend me. I also know that her mere presence is a deterrent.
I am never approached when Ginger is with me, whereas when I run alone I sometimes get comments, cars slowing down, or some lingering. Recently I was running in the dark with Ginger and I saw a man cross to the other side of the road to avoid us.
3. Fun and Enjoyment
Dogs know how to appreciate trails. They frolic. They sprint. They stand out over a lookout and gaze. Watching them teaches you to appreciate the trails. It reminds you where you are and why you’re here.
On roads, Ginger can be clumsy and careless (she once ran into a brick wall), but on the trails she moves with grace while I stumble along.
Here’s an exerpt from the book How to Talk to Your Animals, which outlines the similarities between wolves and dogs as far as movement and behavior in a natural setting:
In the woods I need not ask him to sit when we come to the top of the hill in view of the glorious Hudson. He glances at me, then the vista, sits down, and, like myself, gazes across the river valley. Only a few weeks ago we were on a new trail that opened up over a lake. Qimmiq lanced back at me, ran to the ridge, and sat down.
‘You’re right, it is beautiful,’ I said. He wagged is tail.
His wild kin, the wolves of Mount McKinley, dig their dens high on hills in view of gray-green valleys and snow-covered peaks. And they, like Qimmiq and me, sit and enjoy the magnificence.
At such moments the glance from either of us will say a volume, and the abyss between species is crossed from both sides.
If you’re thinking about getting a dog, please consider adoption
I cringe a little when people ask me how many layers they should wear in the winter. How the hell should I know how cold you feel??
I try to be helpful and polite and direct people to resources on Active like these great posts by Christian Peterson:
What to Bring on Your Winter Run
Your Guide to Winter Running Gear
I write and edit articles like this and I try to remember that when I was a newbie runner, I didn’t know a damn thing either. I’m also a huge consumer of running articles on topics that I have never experienced.
But ultimately, I didn’t start growing as a runner until I stopped listening and started doing. And neither will you.
So put down those running magazines and get your ass outdoors. Try a few layers. If you’re hot, learn something and do better next time. If you’re cold, learn something and do better next time.
Try everything. Run barefoot. Run in clunky shoes. Run in jammies. Run with your hair up. Run with your hair down. Run in the day. Run at night. Run without underwear. Run without a bra. Eat veggies. Eat meat. Eat junk food.
It doesn’t matter what you do, just try it differently. Become your own expert and don’t live within a plan that somebody else created.
This is not to bash the validity of training plans or expert tips. But every year I am more shocked by the ignorance of the questions that come through. Is there ANYTHING we do by ourselves anymore?
There’s a fear associated with going off on our own and trying something unusual, and that upsets me.
Don’t be afraid to switch up your diet. Or to run faster or slower or longer or shorter than what you’re “supposed to”.
There is no right or wrong. You’re not going to die at your next race. If you feel like crap or shit your pants, tweak your routine and learn from it.
I’m personally a knowledge-glutton. If I’m interested in a topic (like running), I want to read everything out there on that topic. But I also found that I was using research as a crutch for masking my fears:
Excuse: “I want to run an ultra, but I haven’t researched it enough…”
Truth: You’re just scared shitless to run an ultra. I’ve been there.
I recommend Jason Robillard’s recent post, Stop Letting Dumb-Ass Excuses Keep You From Your Dreams. It definitely inspired me.
So to practice what I’m preaching, I did something recently that I’ve been “researching” for a while:
I registered for my first 100-miler, Rocky Road. It’s only four weeks away.
I’m probably (ok, definitely) way over my head. I haven’t even raced a 50-miler (though I’ve run the distance at Across the Years).
I’m not 100% on nutrition or sleep or the mental strength it will take to pull past 80 miles. I haven’t read enough articles or asked enough questions. I don’t have any pacers.
Many could argue that I’m wasting my money. But goddammit, I’m registered.
Am I scared shitless? Hell ya.
Do I have what it takes? Who knows.
Will I learn something? Probably a thing or two…
Regrets? Ask me later.
But at least I’m not going to sit around asking how to wipe my own ass. I’m just gonna grab me some soft leaves and hope to God it’s not poison oak.
See you on the trails.
I have a soft spot for timed races. Usually when I tell someone I’m doing a timed race, they react with horror and surprise. I understand that running a one-mile loop for 6, 12, or 24 hours hardly sounds appealing. But I find comfort in it.
At a timed race, I don’t have to think. I can zone out, clear my mind, and just RUN. I experience running in a very raw state. I’m not worried about falling, hydration, or supplies. I’m only focused on the trail ahead. One foot in front of the other. Forever.
This race was my longest timed event yet. Across the Years is a 72, 48, or 24-hour race over a 1.05-mile loop in Arizona. We registered for the 24-hour event, starting at 9 a.m. on December 31st, through to New Years, and ending at 9 a.m. on January 1st.
I had no idea what to expect. The longest I had run before this was 50k, and the longest time I had ever spent running continuously was eight hours. I was a newbie.
I had it in the back of my mind that the best I could aim for was 100 miles, but I really had no idea how I would feel past the 50k, or how my body would respond with lack of sleep. I have never experienced sleep deprivation while running, and I knew that 100 miles was extremely ambitious. So I decided to just do my best, put zero pressure on myself, and have as much fun as possible.
We drove up a day early with my sister Elizabeth (attempting her first ultra), Carlos (attempted 100 miles) and Shacky (attempting a distance PR). We would also be seeing my uncle Pat and Jason Robillard with his awesome wife Shelly.
We stopped by the race on the 30th and I was immediately excited by the atmosphere. Watching the runner’s circle, I wanted to start running right away. It wasn’t long before we saw Jason, who was doing well and going strong. We also caught up with Pat and chatted with him for a bit before heading back to the hotel for a good night’s sleep.
The next morning we were at the race bright and early, eager and ready to run. I started the first few miles with Shacky, running comfortable and steady 10-minute miles. It was cold at the beginning, so I started in my sweater and jammies. When it warmed up I shed my layers. I was wearing the InknBurn cherry blossom set – my favorite outfit. I got a ton of comments on my InknBurn gear, and people wanted to know where they could buy some.
I found myself feeling thirsty as it started getting hotter, and I stopped to drink at almost every mile. Shacky was stopping every five miles to have some Thrive homemade, vegan pudding (a mixture of dates, bananas, cocoa, and coconut). Brendan Brazier eats this on his races. It tasted delicious and was very easy to digest.
At the 50k mark, I was feeling unbelievable. And I wanted to go faster. For my other events, I’ve always tried to pace myself in the beginning, just as runners are supposed to. But I’ve never been able to shake the feeling at the end that I had more in me (except at Los Pinos, which damn near killed me). I usually want to run further, and I always wonder whether I could have done it better or faster.
I’ve never been injured since I started running in 2007. Sometimes I wonder if I’m really fortunate, or if I’m not pushing myself hard enough. I have made great progress as a runner, but my body doesn’t seem to understand the high injury rate it’s supposed to suffer from. It refuses to break.
Another thing I’ve noticed at my past races is that no matter how well I pace myself, I seem to always hit a wall at the same TIME, as opposed to the same distance. So if I’m going super slow, I just end up with less miles logged before I feel exhausted. In any case, I thought that this would be a good opportunity to run faster. I sped up.
Running faster felt amazing. It actually felt easier to run faster than to run slow, which is probably because my “slow” muscles had already been working for over 6 hours. Activating new parts of my legs gave me that second wind.
I did a few sub-10 minute miles until Pat warned me that I was going too fast. I figured that when Pat tells you you’re going too fast, you probably really are. But still, I didn’t listen. I paused long enough to make a Facebook update stating that I might hit 100 miles after all.
Then at mile 45, out of nowhere, I hit a wall and I hit it hard. This was a wall I hadn’t felt since the end of my first marathon. It knocked me right out. Up until that point, I had been saving my motivational messages. Now I stumbled over to my folder and yanked all those papers out to read them all at once.
I was determined to keep moving, but it took me the same amount of time to run from mile 45 to 50 as it did to run the entire first 13 miles. I was half-walking and feeling miserable.
Meanwhile, Shacky was starting to feel an old injury act up, so he opted for a beer run with Jason instead. Pat was also suffering from a recurring shin splint, and wasn’t running anymore. I walked one painful loop with Pat before he decided to sit out. I kept plugging away, and by the time I was ready to run my 50th mile, Shacky and Jason and Pat were all sitting around drinking beer. I wanted so badly to join them.
Instead, I pulled Shacky away for one more lap, so he could run in my 50th mile with me. Then I sat down.
Until this point, I had remained vegan. I was eating fruit, tons of liquids, some vegetable soup, and PB&J sandwiches. I had also brought chips and nuts from home. But dinner at Across the Years was pizza. Cheesy and meaty pizza. They had volunteers standing on the course holding it out for runners to grab as they darted past, as if it were Gatorade. Every loop I made for at least 5 miles, I could smell it.
By the time I ran my 50th mile, all I could think of was pizza. And I was HUNGRY. Although I had brought tons of vegan snacks, I didn’t really think to bring any solid food for a real meal. And that’s what I was craving. A sit-down meal. No more aid station snacks.
I eyed the pizza and waited until there was only ONE slice left. Then I grabbed it. I wasn’t sorry, but I thought I should confess. So I went to sit over with the guys and let Pat make fun of me.
After my pizza break, I tried to keep walking laps. My legs were sore and the guys were just sitting around and chatting, making it really difficult to get back up and run alone. I really didn’t want to run anymore.
I managed to meet my sister as she was just about to complete 50k. I ran that last lap with her and took pictures. I remember when I first set my sister up with a Learn to Run program. She couldn’t even run for three minutes. Now look at her. She had a run a distance she could barely understand. I was so proud of her.
The ultra distance is an amazing thing. I told my sister: “No matter what has happened in your life before, or what will happen in your future, nobody can ever take that ultra away from you. When you’re an ultra runner, you’re a runner forever. You could go out the next day, join a gym and hire a personal trainer. And that trainer may not ever accomplish what you just did. You can flip through a magazine and pick out the most beautiful girl on those pages, and that girl’s body may never be as strong as yours. Her legs will never carry her this far. After an ultra, you are beyond beautiful. You are unbreakable.” She cried.
My sister would end up covering over 40 miles, logging over 100k during her entire stay with us over the holidays. She hadn’t trained for one single day for this. I surprised her with the flight to see us, and also with the entry to this race. Before this, she was running about five miles a week or less. But I knew she had an ultra in her. We have the same blood.
As a sat out watching the other runners, I was inspired by so many still fearlessly circling that loop. All different ages, different shapes, different goals. There were people who looked like they were 80 years old, and there was one 8-year-old boy who ended up with over 30 miles. Some people were slow, but consistent. One foot in front of the other. And they just never stopped.
I was amazed at the strength and resilience of the human spirit, and it seemed almost unfair to me that such strong souls should reside in weak bodies. Why can’t our bodies keep up with the resolve of our spirits?
Earlier on, Shacky and I met Sarah, a really pretty girl with long dreads. Sarah was running in minimalist Merrell shoes, so we stopped to ask her how long she had been running in them. She was embarrassed to say – only 12 miles.
It turned out that it was actually her husband and BRS member (username Abide) who had registered for this race, but he had become injured and could no longer run. She agreed to take his spot, even though she was only training for her first half marathon. She thought she’d take it easy, run a few laps, and see how she felt.
Sarah would take a break every so often to breastfeed her youngest child before jumping back on the course. She ended up with over 50k. Take that, half marathon.
In many of my motivational messages, people said I was an inspiration. But these are the people that inspire ME. I’ve done the training, planned the course, and eased into ultra running like an old man into a chilly pool. But these guys come up to a mountain they have never seen or imagined and look at it without the slightest fear. Then they say, “Meh… What the hell.” And dive right in.
I managed to stay awake until midnight, cheer in the New Year, and run one final lap with my Shacky, Jason and Pat. Then I crashed. I don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I knew I opened my eyes and it was still dark. All I could hear outside was the patter of feet – people were still running.
I crawled out of my tent, slipped on my shoes, and ran in my jammies. It was 5 a.m. The runners on the course were few but faithful. They hadn’t just crawled out of their tents like I had. They had been there for the entire night.
The vibe in the air was tired and subdued. No one spoke. All you could hear was the shuffling of feet and slow breathing. Just one foot in front of the other. Forever.
A few hours before the end, I saw one runner hunched over shaking his head violently, as if he were trying to wake up from a bad dream. We made eye contact and he exclaimed, “I’m hallucinating! I’m seeing shit that’s not there!” He hadn’t slept for two nights.
At 7 a.m. I saw Shacky. He was also still running, and hit his distance PR at the same time I hit my 100k mark. Shacky could only get a couple of laps in at a time because of his injury, but he still pulled out his longest distance.
I really wanted a Starbucks after that, so Shacky drove me to one. By the time we drove back, it was less than an hour until the finish. Jason was out padding his miles, running at an impressive pace. We hung around to watch the end of the race, and I finished with 101k (63 miles).
In the end, several people had run this event so many times in previous years that this year they hit their 1000-mile marks for overall laps on the Across the Years course. Ed Ettinghausen, who had called it quits after the first day, pulled himself back together and ended up in second place. We saw him on his last few laps with his wife.
Yolanda Holder ended up walking for 48 Hours and hit 100 miles. Kimberly Miller also earned her 100-mile belt buckle. And one girl who looked just like Kate Kift looped me about a gazillion times. I never saw her face – only her back as she kept passing me. The back of her shirt said, “Don’t be a pussy.” So I pretended she was Kate, and smiled whenever she passed, nodding at the wisdom of her shirt.
This was an unbelievable event, very well run, and a perfect way to spend the end of the year. I’m really proud of my mileage. I think I had it in me to hit 100 miles, but I definitely needed more time.
I plan to try the 48-hour race next year, or even the 72. Meh… What the hell.
Here is my video recap:
Related Links:
Jason Robillard’s Across the Years Race Report
Patrick Sweeney’s Across the Years Race Report
Carlos Frias’ Across the Years Race Report
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I hope everyone had a great Christmas!
Mine has been very satisfactory and relaxing. I’ve spent the holidays doing what I love: running and eating and reading.
Shacky got me a Kindle so I’ve had my nose stuck in it for the past few days. My sister is also here from Toronto, so we’ve been showing her some of our great San Diego trails and restaurants.
Tomorrow we’re all driving up to Arizona for Across the Years 24 Hour Race. Some of our friends are already there running for 72 hours.
I’m super excited about this race since it will be a distance PR for me, and I also know a lot of the participants. Among them, the Robillards, Ed Ettinghausen and Pat Sweeney. My sister Elizabeth also plans to run her first ultra here.
We start to race on December 31st at 9 a.m. and finish on January 1st at 9 a.m. We will take a break at midnight to pop some champagne and welcome a new year! I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate.
I’m posting today with a special request:
Please take the time to send the runners some motivational notes via Runner Mail HERE.
This race has a great Runner Mail service. You can visit THIS SITE, choose your runner’s name, and type up a motivational note for them. The notes will be delivered to your runner to help them remember that they have people cheering them on. You can do it right now and it will only take a couple of minutes.
Motivation is everything in long races like these, and it’s easy to feel alone. Please take a few minutes to remind someone that they have inspired you. If you don’t know any of the runners, pick a random name and send a note. It can make a huge difference.
You can also view the race through a live webcam HERE.
Thank you all for your kind support throughout this last year and enjoy these last few days of 2011! See you in the New Year!
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On Sunday Shacky and I pulled into William R. Mason Regional Park at 7 a.m. and paid $30 to run for six hours. We didn’t have any distance goals but were there just to have fun.
After our recent Los Pinos experience we were looking forward to a race that was flat, fast and scenic. It was a run where we could chat with people, never be far from an aid station, and stop whenever we wanted.
I hadn’t run a flat course since moving here from Toronto. San Diego has so many hills, I wasn’t even sure there was a one-mile stretch in all of California that didn’t want to murder my quads. But apparently there is. And it is very pretty.
THE COURSE
This beautiful 1.09-mile loop reminded me of the picturesque Mind the Ducks 12 Hour race put on by race director Shelley Viggiano in New York. The concrete was soft, smooth, and well maintained. The loop encircled a pretty lake with busy ducks and other birds.
Children played at a nearby playground while older kids gathered by the pond’s edge to launch sailboats. Other than a couple of seniors out for a stroll, the path belonged to us runners
As lunchtime approached, some larger gatherings set up family BBQs and there was one birthday celebration. The vibe at the park was carefree and friendly. There was a lot to see, but also a lot of room to run.
The course itself was barefoot-friendly. There were no broken sections and only the odd pebble scattered on the pavement. My soles didn’t start feeling the mileage until after 20 miles of barefoot bliss. The path was flat except for one very small incline.
THE FIRST THREE HOURS
Time flew by. Shacky and I ran together for the first three miles and then he slipped ahead of me while I maintained my pace. It took at least three loops to warm up.
It was a cold morning and my fingers and toes felt numb. Most people were sharing my pace, so I was never running completely alone. I enjoyed listening to their conversations and chatted with some of them.
One thing I love about timed races is that you have the chance to meet and talk to people of all running levels. You may pass some and others may pass you, but sooner or later you’re bound to share a mile with someone you’ve never met and swap stories.
The second thing I love about timed races is that you never know who will come out on top. Some people start strong but don’t last long. Others start slow but never give up. I’m more like that second one.
I’m not a fast runner but I don’t always have an OFF switch. Once I get in a groove, I feel great running for hours. I wasn’t paying attention to how far others were going, but I did notice that after three hours a lot of runners had left.
THE LAST THREE HOURS
Shacky decided to stop after a little more than 20 miles, so I sat around with him for a bit and then walked a lap. We took pictures of the other runners, scouted out a nearby trail, crossed a bridge, and hit up the local playground.
There was a nice little outdoor gym setup that provided bars for people to do sit-ups, push-up, or chin-ups. We used all the bars and then did handstands.
Shortly afterwards I decided to keep running. Since so many runners had left and nobody was keeping my pace anymore, I busted out my iPod and continued to loop.
My body felt great and so did my legs, though I did miss the trails and hills. Every stride on the pavement was similar and it was easy for my feet to get bored. But I was running and that made me happy.
THE LAST TEN MILES
This is the point where everyone is looking exhausted and people are slowing down. In the last ten miles, anything can happen.
I didn’t know any of the runners still out there. Shacky had stopped and so had his ultra friend Rachel Boyd. The people I had chatted with had gone home, and the leaders were inching painfully along.
I wasn’t going fast, but I felt good. I felt like I had a lot left in my legs. And I actually felt thankful. Just so lucky to be out there on a beautiful day, pounding out some miles.
Back in Toronto, I used to train with loops. While loops seem boring to many, they’ve always brought me comfort and solace. Loops allow my mind to wander while my legs move fairly effortlessly on familiar terrain.
But back in Toronto I’d sometimes run loops with a sense of guilt. I knew that people were waiting for me to come home. That there were errands to take care of and chores to do.
I was limited by the distance and time I had reported before leaving. So if I felt like running more, I felt pressured to come back with an explanation.
But this felt liberating. Loops with no strings attached. A place I could run forever and nobody was waiting for me to finish. There was nobody tapping their fingers wondering when I would come by or waiting in the car to pick me up. I knew that when I crossed the aid station, Shacky would push me to run one more mile instead of wondering when I would finally call it a day. I felt lucky.
Pretty soon I was the only girl on the course. My mileage built up slowly, inching closer to Rachel’s, who was currently first girl but had stopped running. Now she was on the sidelines watching me.
There was a prize for first place but I didn’t know what it was, nor did I care. I never imagined I would be competing for anything. My prize was the freedom to run until I felt tired. And that was all I wanted.
Meanwhile, Shacky thought he’d keep himself entertained by playing on Rachel’s competitive spirit and tell her how I was going to run one more loop than her and steal first place. I was oblivious to his taunting back at the aid station, but on my 25th loop Shacky yelled, “One more lap and you tie Rachel!”
I smiled and continued. I just wasn’t tired yet.
THE RACE
Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I see Rachel pass me in a mad sprint, cursing Shacky. She was back out on the course to defend her place.
NOW we had a race.
I couldn’t help but cheer Rachel on. I knew she was coming back from an injury and wasn’t feeling her best. I was so proud of her for defending her lead. Rachel is a 100-miler and God knows if my legs had the wisdom of 100 miles I would never in a million years lie down for some Canadian 50K finisher.
I didn’t pick up my pace or try to race Rachel. But I loved watching her walk/run each loop (run when she knew I was looking) and felt so honored to be the fire under her ass.
I knew that if I stopped, Rachel could stop. And if Rachel stopped, I could catch up. And so we both looped. Over and over and over. Each one waiting out the other.
Time ran out before Rachel and I did. I ran my final lap with three minutes to spare for a final 50K distance. Rachel never let me catch her so I came in second girl – my most impressive ultra distance run. It was also a 50K PR for me.
Rachel ended up finishing just one lap away from first place overall. She came into this race thinking she’d be lucky to run 20 miles. And she almost took it all home.
After this, Rachel was left wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t stopped running before I forced her back on the course. And I was left wondering how close I could have come to first girl if I hadn’t messed around doing handstands.
But after all, that is the beauty of ultra running. You’re always stronger than you think you are.
First place finishers Rachel (L) and Deo (R) with RD Sam (M)
Me and my medal
