Coyote Cohort Backbone Ultra

Running 68 miles is, in a word, an extreme thing to do.   It can bring about extreme physical and emotional responses. For the most part, my body responded well to the challenge. I employed the standard ultra strategy of hiking briskly uphill, jogging on flat ground and running downhill, trying to keep my effort constant and aerobic at all times.  My pace was more or less even throughout the event, and I was able to run passably well on flat ground, even at the end of the run.  

While it is very difficult to compare results, I am quite certain that my performance this past weekend was better than at the Avalon 50, and probably better than at the Zion 100 last year.  Progress.  Not satisfaction, but progress.

For the first time in my ultra running career, I experienced strange emotional extremes as I began to reach exhaustion after the Encinal aid station at 43 miles.  For a moment, I thought I might cry from joy near the finish line. Some of the other feelings that flashed through my mind are too personal to write about here.  But enough of the dramatics.  It was an incredible experience, as well as a heck of a lot of work.

The Backbone trail begins in Will Rogers Park in Pacific Palisades, then quickly climbs to the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains.  The trail then turns North West, passing through Temescal Canyon to reach Hub Junction above Topanga Canyon.  It crosses Topanga, rises up to Stunt road, then drops again towards Malibu State Creek Park.  

Will adjusting my Nathan at the Stunt Road Aid Station, Mile 17.8.  This aid station was staffed by the SoCal Coyotes, not be confused with the Coyote Cohorts who hosted the event
Photo Courtesy of Erin Chavin

The toughest portion of the course was from Piuma to Corral Canyon, a climb of about 1,500 feet in three miles.  I reached Piuma around 1pm, when the temperature was in the mid-80s.  I changed shoes at the aid station; the Newton trail shoes in which I started the run just were not cutting it on the technical downhill sections.  I ran comfortably in Saucony Kinvaras -- road shoes -- for the final 43 miles.

For a short period, I thought I might have overextended myself on the climb out of Piuma.  My right calf was cramping and twinging.  The cramps slowly dissipated after the Corral Canyon aid station.  I suspect that two factors played a role. 

First, I had not been taking salt pills, on theory that I get enough electrolytes from Sports Beans, and that additional salt would be counter productive.  But, around Corral Canyon, I just found myself asking the volunteers at the aid stations for salt pills.  I guess my body told me what it needed.  

Alternatively, or perhaps in addition, my cramps may have been caused by the heat and the long uphill hike, and thus dissipated shortly after I reached the top of the climb and the sun began to descend.  In the future, I plan to listen more carefully to my body, and take salt as soon as I feel any urge to do so. 

My memory of the portion of the course after Corral Canyon is not that sharp.  I do recall sitting briefly at Encinal, and telling Lauren that I felt like I was fading.  But that feeling went away as soon as I stood up.  The Mishe Mokwa aid station is a blur, although Lauren was there, too (Lauren, if you weren't really there, don't tell me.  I don't want to know!).  

Ryan and I ran together for the first 18 miles, through Stunt Road.  I was alone again until shortly before dark, when I caught up to Skye, who kept me company for about 10 miles before dropping me again.  We saw a small rattlesnake on the trail just before sunset.

There was nothing fancy at the Backbone Ultra, except perhaps for the espresso at Danielson Ranch.  But ultra running is not about fancy.  It is about challenging yourself, it is about being in nature, and it is about being among friends.  In addition to Ryan, Skye and Lauren, I saw David and Nicole at Will Rogers, perhaps a dozen SoCal Coyotes at Stunt Road, Erin and Pedro after Corral Canyon, Marshall (who came out to the course just to visit) at Mishe Mokwa, and I caught up to Kim, who had started with the 6am group, late in the race.

The Coyote Cohorts and their team of volunteers made this experience possible.  Much like races hosted by Luis Escobar, who is himself a member of the Coyote Cohorts, the Backbone has a uniquely quirky and friendly feel.  

But most importantly, I felt like I was safe and with friends at all times.  The course was expertly marked, and the aid stations staffed by caring volunteers who stayed up to all hours of the night to support the runners.  

Course Map with Aid Stations
Courtesy of Coyote Cohorts

Snow Day on Mt. Baldy

On Wednesday, March 5, 2014, Marshall and I took the day off work and ran/hiked from Baldy Village to the top of Mt. Baldy via Bear Canyon.   There's not much of a story to tell.  We did not even see anyone else on the mountain the entire time, but it was so beautiful up there I thought I would at least post a few pictures:

Marshall does this every time anyone points a camera at him!

It's a Start: Avalon 50 Miler 2014

The Avalon 50 Mile is a solid ultra running event.  About 300 people run through mostly dirt fire roads across rugged Catalina Island.  The aid stations provide just enough support, and the course was marked just well enough.   The runners, race staff and volunteers are the typically scruffy, friendly and tough group that attend such events.  The weather was perfect.  We had wonderful views of the sunrise, the ocean and the typical Southern California chaparral which has been my home since childhood.

I should be satisfied with my race, but I'm not, at least not yet.  True, I've had just three 50 mile weeks since my heart procedure on June 11, 2013.  It is unreasonable to expect much with so little training.  Still, I felt pretty good going into the race, and in the back of my mind must have been expecting something more.

I started conservatively, walking much of the hills in miles 2-4.  From then on, for the next 20 miles, I gradually increased my effort, still occasionally walking the steeper uphills and trying to take advantage of the downs.  Around 25 miles I started to feel a bit weak, and by mile 38 or so I really hit the wall, and ended up walking about half of the final 12 miles, even walking much of the very runnable flat ground.  I was probably in about 15th place at Mile 38, and finished about 28th.  The last 12 miles were quite a struggle.

Even so, I know I was expecting too much and I know it is, in fact, a huge improvement from where I was just a few weeks ago and a good start to the season.

Japan

Running while on vacation always makes me feel more at home.  It also gives me the opportunity to see more of my surroundings, and to see them in a different way.  The same town looks different if you drive through, walk through, cycle through or run through.  

I just returned from an 18 day trip to Japan, during which time I ran almost every morning.  My runs were quite slow, but that allowed me to see more, to take pictures and to breath the cold morning air.

The highlight of my trip was a visit to Nanban Rengo, a Tokyo-based running club.  I joined them for their weekly workout, dinner and drinks.  They were very kind, and made me feel even more at home.  

Here are some photos from the trip.   They appear in chronological order.  Other than the last one, of Mt. Fuji, they were all taken on my morning runs.  John took the shot of Mt. Fuji at the end of a long hike.

Kanazawa

Kanazawa

Shrine to Jizo -- near Ogimatchi

Hida Furakawa

Above Bessho Onsen

Above Bessho Onsen

Hotaka -- one of my favorite places on earth

Hotaka -- one of about 20 monkeys in the troop

Obligatory Picture of Mt. Fuji

Recovery and Renewal

On June 11, 2013, I had my 6th catheter ablation, a seven hour procedure. Since that date I have had no arrhythmia. While it was an out patient procedure, with no meaningful discomfort, I have had one important side effect: my heart rate does not increase appropriately when I exercise. 

That side effect has been wearing off slowly over the past four months, and I am now able to run moderately without discomfort. In early July, I took a treadmill and my heart rate topped out at 140 bpm.  In October, I was up to 160 bmp. That's still a long ways from the 185 bpm I managed back in 2003, but it is improvement nonetheless and I can certainly feel it when I run.

After Western States, I decided to take the rest of the year off from racing to allow my heart -- and soul -- time to recover.  The end of 2013 is now approaching, and I'm starting think about racing again. I just signed up for the Avalon 50 miler on January 11, 2014, and I am looking forward to a brighter year ahead.  

Western States

Western States produced yet another unique and emotionally charged running experience.  It was not the experience I wanted; far from it, but I have no regrets.

Western States is the granddaddy of all ultra marathons.  It comes with an origin legend which is as ridiculous as the concept of running 100 miles in a single day, a legend which also happens to be true.  

The race began as a 100 mile trail race for horses, the goal being to complete the course in 24 hours.  In 1974, a rider named Gordon Ainsleigh discovered at the last minute that his horse was lame and unable to complete.  Ainsleigh decided to take on the horses -- and the 100 mile course -- on foot.  

Somehow, Ainsleigh managed to complete the race in under 24 hours, without any support.  That remarkable achievement began not only the Western States Endurance Run, but ultra running in the US, and that it why the traditional prize for completing a 100 mile race is a belt buckle.

The Western States course begins in Squaw Valley at over 6,000 elevation, and immediately climbs to nearly 9,000 before heading down towards Auburn, near sea level.  In between, the course passes through several canyons with steep descents and ascents.  The canyons have a well-deserved reputation for being hot.  This year was the second hottest year on record, and the high temperature reportedly reached 112 degrees.

Me and Ryan around Mile 20

Western States provides support unlike any other ultra marathon.  There are 25 well-staffed aid stations, with evocative names including Dusty Corner, Miller's Defeat, Last Chance, Devil's Thumb, No Hands Bridge and Robie Point.  

The support from the ultra running community is equally strong.  Everyone in the community wants to participate in some way, but the limited number of entries means that most cannot race and thus join as pacers, crew or simply by spectating.

Most of the 400 or so entries into Western States are awarded by lottery.  The chances of getting into the race the first time are something like one in 14.  

I was having breakfast with Cassidy on a December morning when I got a text from Kate telling me that I was one of the lucky ones to have their name drawn.  From that morning, my entire 2013 running schedule was built around States.

My initial goal was to break 20 hours.  Perhaps that was somewhat arrogant, but I have always been confident in my running ability and believed it was a reasonable, if slightly aggressive, goal.  Of course achieving that goal would require both solid training and good health on race day.

My heart did not cooperate.  In early January, I went back into atrial fibrillation, and the issue was not easily resolved.  I had two cardioversions, two ablations and two emergency room visits in the first six months of 2013.  Training was all but impossible, as I was either in an arrhythmia, on beta-blockers and/or recovering from a procedure most of the time.  I was lucky enough to run the Zion 100 on April 19, during a short window of good health, but I had no meaningful training before nor after that.

The death blow to my performance at States came at the end of May when I went back into an arrhythmia, this time atrial flutter.  Dr. Doshi was kind enough to make my treatment a priority, and he was able to get me into surgery on June 11, just 18 days before States.  The seven hour procedure was successful, but it left me with temporary side effects that made it impossible to compete.  Among other things, my heart is still recovering and refuses to beat fast enough or hard enough to support meaningful running.

Helen leading me across the stream at about Mile 27, 
three miles before Robinson Flat

The week before States I was still unable to run in any meaningful way.  The furtherest I could run without walking proved to be just four miles.  I should have realized that I was wasting my time, not to mention the time of my crew -- Jack, Marshall and Phil -- and that I should not bother getting on the starting line.   But this was Western States.  And I am me.

By the day before the race I had worked myself into quite a state.  I wanted more than anything to complete.  By that time, my sole goal was to complete the course within the 30 hour cut-off, but I knew that the chances of doing even that were remote.  

Just 12 miles into the race I was in deep trouble.  Although I had started conservatively, I was slowing down and being passed by more and more runners.  By the time I reached the Red Star Ridge aid station at Mile 16 I knew I could not finish.  I stopped at the medical tent where my blood pressure was 94/79.  My heart simply is not beating hard enough to support running.  (A quick web search confirms that normal blood pressure while running is more like 200/80, with readings as high as 300/80 being possible; I recall seeing numbers in the 200+ range when I was on the treadmill several years back.)

My stop at Red Star Ridge did yield one entertaining moment.  Gordon Ainsleigh plunked himself down in the chair next to me and, upon learning what was going on, offered to adjust my spine.  I already knew that Ainsleigh is now a chiropractor, so this offer was not so odd as it may have seemed.  Still, I declined.  I do not think a chiropractor can do much to heal a wounded heart.

Moments later, Helen and Ryan, who were working safety patrol at the race, appeared.  I broke down in tears when Helen, a good friend and an experienced ultra runner who knows how I was feeling, sat down next to me and put her arm around my shoulder.  

The aid station captain nearly removed me from the race based on my condition.  Helen rescued me, pointing out that she is an EMT and offering to run with me through to the next two aid stations.  The aid station captain finally relented, and Helen, Ryan and I ran together to Duncan Canyon at Mile 23.5.  Just having my friends with me did make me feel a bit better, albeit it temporarily.

I clearly should have dropped out at Duncan Canyon, but I still could not quite get myself to do it.  Instead, I tried to get Jack to make the decision for me, telling him how bad I felt and that I was not sure I would be able to beat the cut-off if I continued.  That was not the nicest nor the smartest way to handle the situation.  It was my decision to make, and I should have made it, rather than trying to draw someone else into doing it for me.  And, of course, it did not work.  He just encouraged me to stay with it, as he should have done.

A mile or two after leaving Duncan Canyon I finally knew it was time to give up.  Helen, Ryan and I walked slowly into Robinson Flat at Mile 30, where I got a ride back to Forresthill with Erin and Natalie.  One silver lining to my DNF was getting to see Tim Olson finish the race in 15:17, just half an hour slower than his own course record, set last year.  

One Coyote did finish Western States this year, Chris Hays.  Chris persevered through the 112 degree heat in the canyons, waded across the American River at Mile 78 and emerged from the Western States Trail at Mile 98.6 at Robie Point at about 7am on Sunday morning.  A group of six or seven met him for the traditional escorted run to the track.

Chandra, Jason, Chris, me, Helen and Jack: After Robie Point, one mile to go

I wanted so badly to do well at States.  I wanted to prove myself in my new sport.  I wanted to show off in front of my friends, on the biggest stage the sport has to offer.  I wanted to wear my Coyote jersey when running the final 1.4 miles from Robie Point to the finish line on the track at Placer High School.  

In once sense, I failed miserably.  But in a more important sense, I did just fine.  I stepped on the starting line and gave it everything I had, risking a very public failure.  Indeed, I got on the line, knowing full well that the chances of success were slim.  But I was lucky enough to win the lottery, to get to the starting line and to have a chance, however, slim it might have been.  And I did give myself every chance to succeed.  And I did fail to finish the race.  But, at the same time, I am proud of myself for taking that chance despite it all. 

Once again, my wonderful friends were there to catch me when I fell.  Thank you, Helen, Ryan, Jack, Marshall, Phil, Natalie, Erin, Jason, David, Chris, Chandra, Kevin and anyone else I may have forgotten.

Chris Hays taking the time to comfort me at Mile 99.5, 
just when he should have been celebrating his own finish. 
Thank you, Chris!

In the Long Run (and lots of walking)

The Zion 100 did not go as planned, but it was a fantastic day nonetheless.  Instead of running alone, I ran with Marshall for Miles 5 through 55, until he and his pacer, Michael, took off.  Marshall ran a personal best of 23:31.  My pacers, Dave and Kim, kept me company from Mile 52 to the finish, so I had someone running with me the entire way.  And, of course, I talked to my fellow runners, and to my SoCal Coyote teammates, who were at every aid station.

It is difficult to capture the emotional experience of being out in the desert, on trails and remote back roads, for over a full day, watching two sunrises and one sunset, and being supported by so many friends.  Whatever I write here will necessarily fall short of conveying the beauty, camaraderie, euphoria and exhaustion I experienced this past weekend.   

The race began at 6am on Friday morning in 37 degree weather, and I finished 25 hours and 37 minutes later, at 7:37 am on Saturday.  The course rolls through the countryside just outside of Zion National Park, climbing up to three different mesas, then descends back down to the start/finish area at Highway 9.  

Just before the start: Marcus, Tiffany, Marshall, Andy and Jack

The first major climb is around Mile 19, captured in the photo below, which we reached well before noon on Friday.  The worst of the three climbs is known as the Flying Monkey Trail, which we reached at about mile 84 around 3 a.m. on Saturday morning.  

Me and Marshall at Mile 19

The support I received from my crew (David and Kim), the other SoCal Coyotes who crewed and ran the race, the other runners and the many volunteers is what made the experience so special.   On a practical level, David and Kim provided me with everything I needed to get through the long race and the changing weather: food (mostly sports beans aka Jelly Bellies) water, various sports drinks, several changes of shirts, a jacket, a beanie, gloves, hand warmers, head lamps and new batteries when my headlamp went out.  Marshall provided me with toilet paper when I needed it at Mile 21.

 I started out running the flats and downhills, and walking on uphills.  By the end, I was walking on most of the flats and even some of the downhills.  The low point in the race came at Mile 88 or so.  It was about 4am, and Kim and I had just climbed up the Flying Monkey Trail.  We were on top of the mesa, on a fire road, walking into a moderate head wind.  I began to feel cold and a bit fuzzy, and wondered whether I would be able to finish.  Fortunately, Kim gave me a thin plastic jacket, which I put on over my two shirts. The jacket broke the wind.  I rested briefly at the aid station at Mile 88.5, ate a bit, and by the time we reached the final turn-around at Mile 91, I knew I would finish.

Mile 96 - with Jeff in the distance

The final nine miles of the course are almost completely downhill.  The photo above shows one of the few sections of the course that was on black top.  The photo below shows the final stretch, on a dirt road.  Thanks to Helen for the wonderful picture.

Mile 99.74, with Kim, my closing pacer

The video below shows the finish line.  Thanks to David for taking it and sharing it with me.  That's Marshall whom I'm talking to at the very end (he's off screen but you can hear our exchange)

Belt Buckle -- the traditional award for finishing a 100 mile race

A photo Brian took  on race day