Team inov-8: Coming Home

Quite possibly my favorite shoe of all time.

Last year I partnered up with Salming, a Swedish sporting-goods company which broke in to the domestic running shoe market in late 2014.  I felt very lucky to be included among their first crop of sponsored athletes in the US, and I put in many happy miles in the Trail T1 and the Race, an ultra lightweight road-racing shoe.  I greatly enjoyed my relationship with the company and I'm thankful for the support they give me, and I stand by their shoes, which are of excellent quality.

I'm thrilled to announce, however, that at long last I'll be rejoining Team inov-8 in 2016.  Inov-8 was the first company to take a chance on me, back in 2011.  Over the past few years, their team has moved in a number of different directions, as have I.  I couldn't be happier that we've found our way back together.

Inov-8 is known overseas as the industry leader in the absolutely insane niche of our sport known as fell running.  In the last few years they've expanded into orienteering, road running, and Cross Fit; but the trails remain their bread and butter.  They make shoes that are lightweight, flexible yet supportive, with incredible traction, and across a wide range of heel-toe differentials.  There is a shoe for every ultra runner in the inov-8 line.  Usually more than one.

The inov-8 team has seen many accomplished runners come and go, both in the US and internationally.  I'm the first to admit that I'm not on the level of many--maybe any--of my teammates, or even on the same level as many of the runners who are no longer associated with the team.  I'm under no illusion that this is a purely, or even mostly, performance-based relationship.  Whatever middling ability I've cultivated as a writer--and my willingness to contribute my writing to the inov-8 blog--is a major part (maybe the biggest part) of what I bring to the table.  And I'm ok with that.  I'm going to represent this company to the best of my ability, with pride and with joy.  I'm going to do everything I can to live up to the faith they've shown in me.  Hopefully we'll find some good stories to tell, and hopefully you'll join us for a fun ride.

As Max said when leaving Montrail for Salomon early last year, there are always mixed feelings when making a change of teams or sponsors.  You feel loyalty to those who have backed you in the past.  You don't want to feel like a "sellout".  You've made relationships that you are leaving behind.  These are never easy decisions.  But this one was made much easier for me because there is no other shoe company I want to run for.  Right now, I feel like I'm back home.



Inov-8 isn't my only sponsor.  I'm lucky to have support from a number of fantastic companies, including Mountain Peak Fitness, Red Newt Racing (and, through the MPF/RNR team, GU, UD, and Merrell), Orange Mud, and Yard Owl.  Check out my new and improved Sponsors page and please patronize these fine companies (in a non-patronizing way of course).

Race Report: Canyon Meadow 50K--Riding the Ragged Edge

A couple of months ago, when we started planning a spring break trip to California to visit some family and friends, I did what I usually do and stopped by Ultrasignup, looking for races in the area.  This never really seems to work for me--I will rarely find a race that matches up with my travel plans--but to my surprise one popped up.  The Canyon Meadow Trail Races, in Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, would be held the day after we arrived in San Francisco, a mere 30 miles from where we were staying the night before.  Jodi took a bit of convincing; I had to make the argument that if I raced a 50K on the first day of our trip, I'd be comfortable taking the rest of the week off.  Logistically there were some problems with cars and rides and such.  But I was able to make it work and found myself at the start Sunday morning among a small ultra field mixed in with competitors running the 5-mile, half-marathon, 30K, and marathon options as well.

I'm not sure why it felt so important for me to run this race.  Certainly in the grand scheme of things it didn't matter much.  (I guess none of it does, really.)  I hadn't been targeting the race at all; it was very much a last-minute idea, or as last-minute as I get with this sort of thing.  I like running and racing in new places, which was part of it.  The timing worked out well with my vacation, and I was able to rationalize taking a dietary break for the week afterwards.  (It can be hard to stick with the diet on vacation.)  But mostly I think I was just excited to be in a race that I had a chance to win.  I've had what I consider a strong start to the year at Bandera and Caumsett, and a good six-month stretch reaching back to Water Gap.  But I didn't go into any of those races thinking I had any chance at a victory.  Sometimes it's just fun to try and run up at the front of a race, and I think I just really wanted that opportunity.

I knew going in, though, that I wasn't at my best.  As successful as 2016 has been thus far, it's come with a bit of a price.  Two high-level ultra efforts in eight weeks had taken their toll, particularly Caumsett, where the stress of pounding pavement at a high intensity for three and a half hours had left my legs trashed.  Laura was running the day after Caumsett, but even ten days later I wasn't feeling right, and though my soreness was gone by the time we got to California, I reached the starting line still without having had a run since then with any pep in the legs.  I knew I'd be in contention, but in terms of performance, I really didn't know what my body could offer.

I started off in the lead group of runners attacking the first climb, which comprises the first mile or so of the race and gains about 400' elevation.  I ran the majority of the climb at a very easy pace, walking only a few spots here and there.  It was a little tough to tell exactly who was in which race.  Our bib numbers identified which race we were running, but with bibs on the front, I wasn't sure who among the 10-12 people in front of me was in the 50K or the shorter distances.  I was pretty sure I was leading the 50K, based mostly on what I perceived of everyone's effort around me and the fact that nobody seemed to be carrying a bottle or pack as I might expect for a trail 50K.  (Though I wasn't carrying anything either, at least not on the first lap, so who knew how reliable that was.)  After the first couple of miles, the path leveled off, and I fell into an easy rhythm with a half-marathoner.  I decided not to worry about where I stood in the field.  I could only take what my body would give me on this day.  If it was enough to compete up front, great; I'd figure that out soon enough.  But early on I had to run my own race.  I ran as easily as I could manage, just trying to cover ground with minimal effort, enjoy the surroundings, and see where the chips fell.

The miles passed easily enough.  We reached the first aid station at 4.7 miles in just over 39 minutes, taking a quick drink and moving on.  Most of the climbing for the first lap was behind us; the course rolled gently, on a mix of dirt roads and West Coast single track, which is basically doubletrack with a few rocks and roots here and there.  The park was very pretty, though felt like the downtown city park it basically is; we were never terribly far from a road or parking area.  But the redwoods, while not particularly dense, were pretty, and there were a couple of breathtaking views to keep us interested.

I was content to maintain a fairly easy effort level through AS2, at about 10.8 miles, where one of the volunteers confirmed I was leading the 50K.  About a half-mile later we reached the start/finish area, except to complete the loop we ran past the finish line for a two-mile out-and-back paved section, where I was able to see for myself where I stood.  In front of me were all half-marathoners and a single marathoner, the women's leader, about two minutes ahead of me.  I made the turn and started checking my gaps to the next 50K runners: about two minutes to second place, who looked to be struggling; another minute back to third place, looking solid; and then about a 13-minute gap to fourth.  A podium spot seemed assured, but the win was still very much up in the air.  I finished the first lap in 1:43, right in line for my pre-race goal of a 3:30 marathon split, and took in my first calories of the day.  I had planned on grabbing my iPod for lap 2 but decided with only a small gap over second and third I should stay focused and alert, and instead resolved only to grab my Orange Mud handheld.  Unfortunately when I got to my drop bag I realized I had left the water bottle back in the car.  This caused a bit of panic, but I realized there wasn't much I could do now except hydrate at the aid stations and hope for the best, and I headed out for lap 2.

The second lap proved fairly uneventful.  I was running solo, except on the rare occasions when I'd lap a slower marathoner.  But I was almost never alone.  The park had filled up with all manner of hikers and joggers, all of whom seemed to have dogs, all of which seemed to be off-leash; I spent a great deal of time dodging curious puppies whose oblivious owners had stopped dead in the middle of the trail for a chat with someone they knew.  I tried to keep the miles effortless, but this was becoming nearly impossible; though the terrain was not overly difficult, I was finally feeling the full effects of the past few months.  Joe had warned me, in the lead-up to Bandera, that by trying to stretch my peak out to Caumsett, I was "riding the ragged edge of fitness."  I reflected now that by chasing this win I was really pushing my luck.  I didn't fear getting injured, but past the twenty-mile mark I knew I was both physically and mentally going to the well.  It wasn't particularly uncomfortable.  I just knew that there really wasn't any reserve left.

My pace had slowed significantly, closer to 8:30s now, but I saw approaching the turnaround that I had even pulled back a minute or so to the marathon leader (Anna Zielaski, who set a very strong womens' CR of 3:32 and won the marathon by nearly 30 minutes).  After making the turn and seeing that my lead was growing, I started to relax.  Second place was now about 12 minutes back, and I knew that as long as I simply kept moving forward, I was likely to hang on.

The final five mile stretch was an out-and-back over the first section of the main loop, which meant running the opening climb for the third time.  Though by this point "running" was a stretch; I simply hiked most of the climb and jogged the flat sections on top.  It was quite a slog.  Surprisingly, in the closing miles, my legs (despite feeling like Jell-O) were not the worst part of me; I had almost no strength in my core.  Particularly on the downhills, I felt incredibly fatigued in my back, glutes, and abs, to the point that I was favoring my entire core on the way down.  I was surprised because I've been very diligent over the past six months in adhering to my core regimen.  This regimen clearly needs a bit of a boost, and I'll be consulting with Joe and Elizabeth when we return to New York to do some fine-tuning in that respect.

Otherwise the closing stages were an nondescript slog.  I jogged home for the win in an unremarkable 4:22.  I had few goals for the day otherwise, so I guess we can chalk that one up in the "win" column, so to speak.  At least I felt as though I'd earned my dietary vacation.  My pilgrimage to the Russian River and Bear Republic breweries later in the week were gloriously guilt-free.  Much thanks to Wendell, Leng, and the rest of the crew at Coastal Trail Runs for a really first-class event.  And love to the sponsors as always.

Gear Review: Ultimate Direction Fastpack 20

I’ve run with a variety of different hydration systems, from handhelds to waistbelts to vests and packs.  When it comes to hydration, I tend to be a minimalist; particularly in training, I rarely carry much of anything, except on the longest efforts.  But for long training runs of 25+ miles, or unsupported or minimally-supported races, I’ve had good results with both the Ultimate Direction AK vest and the Orange Mud HydraQuiver.  Neither of these have enough storage for a long day hike, though.  Recently, on a family hike through Black Creek Preserve in Esopus, I was able to test out the Ultimate Direction Fastpack 20.

The Fastpack 20 is a day hiking pack that is inspired by UD's Signature Series of running vests (the AK/SJ/PB vests that are widely seen on the ultra running circuit). As with all the vests in that series, the water bottles are located in front, on each shoulder strap, which makes for easy access and excellent stability. Also with the vests, the shoulder straps are secured by two adjustable sternum straps, which I prefer when hiking (though they can sometimes annoy me when running). The shoulder straps are nicely padded and quite comfortable, though I did find the ride a little low on my back.

The pack itself is basically one big pocket with about 20 liters of storage (hence the "Fastpack 20" moniker). There are mesh pockets on either side which are fairly spacious for additional items, as well as built-in lashes for trekking poles, which is very useful. One cool feature is that the main compartment has no zippered closure or flap over the top; basically, the upper part of the compartment rolls over on itself and secures to the sides with clips. I'm not sure why I liked this so much, but I found it extremely cool. I think I just like the fact that there are so few extraneous/moving parts. You can really cinch the pack down if you're traveling light; it compresses to about 15 liters if you want. This top rollover compartment is waterproof, and the rest of the pack is water-resistant.

Much like the Signature Series of vests, the Fastpack is very streamlined; it's large enough for everything you would need for a long day on the trails, but not so large as to be cumbersome or to invite over-packing. Having the water bottles on the shoulder straps can take a little getting used to if you're not familiar with it, but having run in UD products before, I appreciate the convenience of easy access to water. The fit of the back panel is a change from the vests, and on first wearing was not as flexible as I'd like, but I suspect that will improve as the pack breaks in a little bit. All in all, the Fastpack is an excellent choice for day hikes or even a weekend if you're traveling light.

Race Report: Caumsett 50K--"Too Short?"

I first ran the Caumsett 50K in March of 2008, my third ultramarathon and my first national championship.  The race, hosted by the Greater Long Island Running Club at Caumsett State Park in Lloyd Harbor, NY, has served as the US 50K road championships since 2006.  I ran much of the race with Dan Verrington and Leigh Schmidt, two studs from New England, ultimately falling off their pace but running a (still-standing) PR of 3:25, finishing seventh overall.  (Dan's 3:17 that day was, at the time, a national age-group record.)  It was about five minutes slower than I thought I might do, but I had felt like I had put in a very good effort and all in all was pretty pleased with how it turned out, nabbing a top-10 in a national championship race.  Of course, when I called Joe Puleo to tell him how it had gone, his immediate response was, "What happened?  Too short?"

My immediate response (other than "fuck you, asshole," which I'm 75% sure I didn't say) was"Oh, god, no!"  I was just scratching the surface of ultras at that time, and still had at least one foot in the marathon world; my marathon PR had come just 18 months earlier, and only six months before I had been in likely low-to-mid 2:30s shape leading into Chicago only to be foiled by an epically hot day.  I still had the mindset that anything longer than a marathon was an incredible undertaking, and had not yet come to the realization that 31 miles miles really isn't that much farther than 26.2.  The thought of going beyond that point seemed unimaginable at the time.

Fast forward eight years.  Training for my first 100K this winter brought with it a certain measure of anxiety and self-doubt.  Finishing was not my concern; I wondered, though, whether I really was built for the longer stuff.  In the last eight years, I've grown very comfortable with the 50K distance, and had several strong performances at the 40-mile Mount Mitchell Challenge.  But I had yet to experience any real success at 50 miles; certainly nothing commensurate with my performances in shorter ultras and trail races.  I'd been unable to completely master the nutritional requirements or to fight through the fatigue in the late stages.  So despite my long-standing (ill-considered?) belief that I get stronger as the races get longer, I was apprehensive that the 100K might not suit me all that well.  As Bandera approached and my fitness progressed, I started to think that maybe I should take another crack at Caumsett.  It was a known quantity at a distance where I'd experienced some success; a good fallback or safety valve if the 100K proved to be too much for me.  My workouts were not far off of what I'd been able to do back in 2008.  At 40 years old, could I run close to--or better than--that 3:25 I'd thought was beyond my reaching again?

As it has much of this winter, the weather cooperated nicely: clear and cool, high 30s at the start, low to mid-40s by midday, no significant wind.  I lined up in the third row with Laura and Joe Murphy, behind the likely favorites, including Zach Ornelas, who last year had set the course record of 2:52; Jared Burdick, second at the 2015 Cayuga Trails; 2:20 marathoner Fred Joslyn; and my teammate Cole.  My goal was to run even splits, even slightly negative if things went well, and try to stay near the front of the masters field, but ultimately to run my own race.  Zach took off at the gun, opening up a 15-second gap on the field by the mile mark; I ran in the lead masters' pack, in about 12th place, with three or four other old guys until we hit the mile in 6:10.  I felt pretty relaxed but knew this was not sustainable, and quickly eased off the gas and let the pack go.  I was running solo almost immediately, but was able to find my rhythm quickly and ran 6:30 for the second mile, just a few seconds ahead of what I wanted.  I settled in for the day.

photo: Ed Grenzig

The course is a 5K "loop" with a short out-and back section just before the start/finish, repeated ten times.  With a couple hundred runners soon joined by a few hundred 25K runners (starting five minutes later) on a short loop, the road quickly became congested.  Even so, I ran solo--as alone as you can be when surrounded by other people--the rest of the way.  I was passing and lapping people throughout, but outside of the first mile, I spent almost no time with anyone running the same pace as I was.

The race had split up into a few groups.  Zach was off the front, chasing the American record of 2:47.  Jared and Fred led one chase pack; Cole and Eric Senseman another.  Then came the masters group of three or four runners.  Then four or five solo runners stretched out over a few minutes' gap, including Dan Verrington, still getting it done at 53, and Caroline Boller, the women's leader.  Behind me lurked a few runners, including Joe and Laura, who was running very fast, though she looked pretty uncomfortable.  (She struggled through the day with some hip pain--us trail runners don't take too kindly to the roads--but gutted out a fantastic 3:40 to place second.  She is so, so tough.)

I struggled a bit getting comfortable in the early stages--I was running very even 6:30-6:35 splits, but my legs felt a little heavy and tight--but past 15K I started to feel great.  The 6:30s started to feel too easy, and I had to rein myself in to prevent them from turning into 6:20s.  Lap 4 was my fastest and easiest of the day, and lap five passed quite comfortably as well; I came through halfway in 1:41:06, in 15th place I believe, feeling very strong and confident that a 3:25 was well within reach.  My plan now called for me to relax through laps 6 and 7 as much as possible while making a concerted effort to take in some fluid and calories.  Through 25K I had taken in just a little bit of water and no calories, so starting lap 6 I grabbed my handheld and resolved to take in at least two gels, four S! caps, and the entire bottle by the end of lap 7.  I was well on pace and was OK with giving back a little time here.  Even if I gave back 30 seconds per lap over the next two, I was looking at a 41:30-42:00 10K and a 35K split of 2:23.  I was then fairly certain I could run a 62-minute last 15K for my 3:25.

photo: Ed Grenzig

Lap six passed without much incident--I was getting a little tight, but nothing unmanageable--but it was becoming clear that I had a bathroom issue.  From about the hour mark on, I had an inkling that I had to pee.  Normally, in an ultra, I'd just stop and go, but a flat road 50K, like a marathon run for time, is unforgiving; afraid to stop and lose precious seconds, by lap 5 I was starting to psych myself up to just pee on myself as I ran.  (What a stupid sport this is.)  Which would have been fine, but midway through lap six my stomach was starting to make it known that my pre-race evacuation, while satisfying at the time, had been inadequate.  I tried hoping it would go away, but that didn't work, and I really didn't have any other ideas, so I pulled over at the mid-lap aid station halfway through the seventh lap--almost exactly the 20-mile mark, in 2:11.

In a trail race, or a longer ultra, this would be no big deal.  A road 50K, though, has much more in common with a marathon than with what we usually think of in ultras.  One of the reasons I got out of marathoning (other than not being very good at it) was that the enormity of the effort coupled with the relentlessness of the clock was too overwhelming.  There is just no room for error.  Running a big-city marathon like Chicago or New York renders your place basically meaningless; I couldn't tell you if I had a good raced based on finishing 150th, or 500th.  Only the time matters.  To put so much effort into training only to be derailed by something as trivial as the weather, or the course, or, having to stop and poop--it's just too frustrating.  And I was acutely aware of that feeling as I opened the port-a-potty door and thought, "Oh, well, my race is over."

I gave up two and a half minutes in the stall--150 agonizing seconds--and it took me another 1-2 minutes of slow jogging afterwards to shake the stiffness out of the legs.  By the end of the seventh lap I felt like I had my rhythm back.  I tossed my bottle and got back to work.  The PR was gone, but sub-3:30 was still in play.

photo: Ed Grenzig

Lap eight passed quickly; I felt very strong and was able to earn back one or two of the spots I'd lost during my pit stop.  By the start of lap 9, I was tightening up again; the pace had slipped from 6:35-6:40 down to 6:50-6:55, but I was holding it together.  I split the marathon in 2:56:05 (pre-race goal had been around 2:50-2:51, so without my bathroom break, a 2:53 or so--not too far off) and caught Joe, struggling with hamstring tightness, a quarter mile later.  I started the bell lap knowing I'd need close to a sub-21:00 5K to break 3:30.  I couldn't quite make that happen, but by the mile mark I started seeing glimpses of Dan Verrington about a minute ahead.  I'd been chasing him for nearly three hours, and thought I was likely to run out of room, but I gave chase anyway.  For awhile nothing happened, but by the two-mile mark of the loop I had the gap down to about 30-40 seconds, and it looked like he was coming back to me.  I still doubted I had enough time, but kept pushing, and it paid off, as I was able to draw alongside with about a half mile to go and put in a nice hard pass to secure the spot by about 20 seconds at the finish.

Split	Interval	Cumulative
5K	19:59	19:59
10K	20:22	40:21
15K	20:17	1:00:37
20K	20:09	1:20:46
25K	20:19	1:41:06
30K	20:48	2:01:54
35K	23:51	2:25:46
40K	21:04	2:46:51
45K	21:49	3:08:40
50K	21:45	3:30:25

In all, it was a good B+/A- effort.  I hadn't quite been able to pull out the PR--even without the pit stop, I might have fallen short--but subtracting three minutes from my seventh lap gives a 3:27, which I would have been quite happy with.  I'm beat up like I haven't been for awhile; I almost forgot how tough road marathons are, and I'll be on the bike only for the next couple of days.  But this was my second top-3 age group placing at a national championship this year, and I'll certainly take that.  It was tough, though, returning to straight time-based road racing for the first time in a number of years, and I think that my answer nowadays to Joe's question might be: "Yeah.  Too short."

Race Report: Bandera 100K--Suggestibility and the Curse of the Elite

"A trail of rugged & brutal beauty where everything cuts, stings, or bites."

--Tejas Trails race website

I've proven in the past to be a bit of the suggestible type.  Particularly where racing is concerned.  And as more and more races start to look enticing, I've found it harder and harder to say no.  A few years ago, even with several 50 milers under my belt, I had no real desire to tackle the 100-mile distance.  Yet within the last eighteen months, as I've immersed myself deeper into the ultra world, I've become fixated (like everyone else, it seems) on getting to the starting line in Squaw Valley.  And while most rational people think this is as stupid as it probably is, I've been spending more time training with less rational people.  Which is probably why it seemed like I had to get my WS lottery qualifier immediately.  And why when Phil told me he was registering for Bandera last fall, the only decision I had to make was whether I was going to join him there or wait a month to run Rocky Raccoon.

Ultimately a 100K seemed like a better idea than jumping straight to a 100 mile.  We started ramping up the training just after the Water Gap 50K in October; I'll go into a little more detail in a bit, but suffice to say it went quite well.  So well, in fact, that I found myself enjoying some of the best fitness I'd ever had.  I ran my high school alumni XC race in November for the twenty-third straight year (god, I can't believe it's been that long) and turned in my best performance there in a decade, despite the highest mileage I'd run since medical school.  I journeyed out to Texas with Phil and our friend Kali, feeling quietly confident.  I had two terrible runs in the days leading up to the race--tapering is the worst--but reminded myself of the last few workouts I'd put in, including a (short) ten-mile progression run in under 63 minutes, and a 20-mile long run eight days before the race that I'd run in 2:21 while holding back the entire way.  I came up with five tiers of goals for the race, ranging from easily attainable to frankly unrealistic:

"D" goal: finish my first 100K, qualify for the WS lottery
"C" goal: break 11 hours
"B" goal: break 10 hours, finish in the top 10-15, top 5 masters
"A" goal: sub-9:30, finish in the top 5 if I got lucky, top 3 masters
Ridiculously unrealistic goal: sub-9:00, Golden Ticket to WS 2016

The last one wasn't even really a goal; it would require me basically running out of my head for nine hours without any consequences and would also require a lot of folks in an elite field not having particularly good days.  None of which seemed to be in my control.

We lined up for the start on a clear, cool morning among a national-class field that included four men from the GUR top 50.  For a sub-elite runner such as myself, running against a field that is out of my league can make things a little easier; it frees me up from having to think about racing for places, especially early in the race, and allows me to focus on running my own pace and sticking with a race strategy.  That strategy was to run the first lap with as little effort as possible--really, the first 40 miles, if I could manage to be patient enough.

Bandera trail, where everything cuts and stings.
photo: Kali Bird

The Bandera course starts with the toughest running in the first five miles, which played into my strategy perfectly, making it very easy to back off, walking the big climbs, running the downhills as relaxed as possible.  I ran the opening mile at the back of the lead pack of twenty or so, letting them go without a fight pretty quickly and falling in after about a mile with Chad Lasater, another runner in my age group.  Chad is a native Oklahoman who currently lives in Dubai, and has had alot of interesting running experiences at many of the classic trail races throughout Europe, so the early miles passed quickly as we fell into a nice rhythm.  I led most of the way with Chad just behind; we passed through AS1, about 9K in, right around 9:00/mile pace.

From AS1 through AS3 was about 11 miles of basically flat, runnable trail, with some small steady climbs.  The millions of rocks that litter the Bandera course were a bit less dense in these sections, and it was easy to find a nice rhythm running between 8:00-8:30 pace.  I was careful to keep the effort in check, reminding myself to slow down every time I felt my breathing get even a little heavy or my legs take on a little fatigue.  Despite the relative ease of effort, though, we were making good progress, and caught two or three runners before we reached AS3.  Chad stopped at this point to restock his supplies from his drop bag, while I continued on, using my Orange Mud handheld and taking in about a GU an hour.  By now we had caught up with many of the 25K runners and I made my way through the back end of that field, still keeping the effort level in check, coming through 11 miles in 1:33, 16.9 miles in 2:21, and 21.8 miles in 3:05.   The four-mile section from AS4 to AS5 was almost completely runnable save for one giant climb and descent at the end; I ran that in a very relaxed 35 minutes and passed AS5 (26 miles) at 3:40, still feeling very smooth.  The last 5 miles of the loop mirrored the first five, with several large climbs and descents over the rockiest sections of the course, but I kept up a relaxed tempo and focused on walking the uphills efficiently and descending with minimal effort; I passed two more runners before I reached halfway in 4:26.  On the short out-and-back section leading in and out of the start/finish area, I counted about five runners, including women's leaders Cassie Scallon and Michelle Yates, within six or seven minutes in front of me.  Trying to read facial expressions is tough, but I convinced myself that I felt better than they all looked (with the exception of Cassie, who looked locked in), and after a brief 2-minute stop to refill my bottle, pound some Coke, and eat a slice of bacon (my first stop in an aid station on the day), I headed back out for loop 2 eager to make up some ground.

Judging from splits in previous years, most runners, even the leaders, demonstrated a significant slowdown on lap two, as the climbs and rocks started to extract their toll.  I knew that losing even two minutes per mile might not cost me any spots, and that if I could limit the damage to less than that, there might be a few people I could pick off.  And I felt good; tired, but I clearly hadn't overextended myself early.  Sub-9 was not going to happen, but I felt quite confident I could run a 5:30 second lap and come in under 10 hours.  I forced myself to stay patient, particularly early in the loop, and made my way cautiously through the first 5+ miles to AS7.  The split here was just under 1 minute/mile slower than on lap one, and I caught two runners, including Michelle.  I was assuming at this point that I was around 15th place, but the folks at the aid station thought I might be in the top 10.  I told myself they were crazy and pressed on.

Miles 36-42 were very runnable, but I tried to still keep the effort under control.  I was starting to fatigue a little bit, but by pushing the salt tablets and taking an extra gel, I kept that at bay.  I wanted to have as much left as possible for the final twenty miles, when I'd be entering unchartered territory for me, having never gone past 50 miles before.  Even so, I managed one more pass before reaching AS8, 42 miles in 6:11 (about 1:44 for the second loop, almost exactly 1 minute/mile slower than lap 1).  Stopped at the aid station was Kory Cool, a young elite from Kansas with a 3:05 50K to his credit.  He looked like he was getting ready to drop, but confirmed I was up to eighth place overall.

The next stretch to AS9 continued to be very runnable, and finally I felt comfortable letting myself get a little more aggressive.  I knew the section between AS9-10 would require a good bit of hiking and would allow myself a bit of time to recover, so I opened up a little bit; the 5.9 miles which had taken me 48 minutes the first time through took me about 54 minutes this time (again, keeping it right at 1 minute/mile difference), and I caught another runner leaving AS9 on a flat stretch leading up to the biggest climb of that section.  Somewhere in that stretch I passed the 50-mile mark in around 7:24, making this not only my longest run ever but also setting a 50-mile PR by over 5 minutes.

AS9 and 10 are the same spot, and as I stopped at AS10 to grab my headlamp for the final stretch, Phil was in AS9, looking pretty good.  We chatted very briefly before I struck out again for the final 9-mile push.  Once I found my rhythm I let loose; the next four miles were the last runnable four miles on the course; there was nothing left to save in the tank now.  And somehow I still felt great.  Tired, but strong; I mowed down the miles to AS11 in 37 minutes, reaching the 57-mile mark in 8:34 and knowing that sub-9:30 was in reach.  The last five miles were a bit of a slog--once I passed the 9:00 mark, I was really ready to be done--but I kept up a 10:00/mile pace, finishing lap 2 in 4:57 (again, almost exactly 1 minute/mile slower than lap 1) for a sixth-place finish (fifth male, second master) in 9:23.

A very happy, very blurry Phil, who had a great race to finish in 10:38.
This is the only picture I took all weekend.

I'm by no means an elite runner, but this was an elite result, against a very strong field.  How did that happen?  I'd attribute this to a few factors:

Training.  I've been fortunate enough to have had nearly 18 months of virtually uninterrupted training, with my only injury of significance in the past year being the freak back injury I had in July while tripping in the ocean.  I ran 4317 miles in 2015, second-most in my career.  Over the final ten weeks of the year, before my two-week taper, I ran nearly 1000 miles, recovery weeks included.  But beyond just the mileage was the amount of quality work I was able to put in: track intervals ranging from 400m repeats to ladders and miles; a couple of tempo sessions; four marathon-pace runs; and several long runs in the 33-40 mile range.  In terms of depth and breadth, it was the best sustained training block I'd had in years.  I supplemented that with some very light core work: just a short routine that takes 10-15 minutes of pushups, sit-ups, planks, side crunches, and various stretches, which I try to do at least five days a week.  Regular short sessions on the foam roller--generally daily, if I could remember--were instrumental in recovering between workouts and keeping me injury-free.

Diet.  I don't want to harp on this, and I don't want to give this too much credit.  As I've stated before, the science on LCHF is inconclusive at best.  And I don't want to proselytize--nothing is worse than having someone tell you what you should or shouldn't be eating.  Anecdotally, though, for me, I've certainly seen significant benefits from whatever bastardized version of LCHF/OFM I've been adhering to for most of the past year.  Much of this is likely due to just simple weight control; but I've found the benefit in energy level and expenditure during long efforts to be profound.  I ran 9+ hours at 9:00/mile pace without a hint of a bonk and without any GI issues.  My intake for the entire race consisted of somewhere between 6-8 GUs, half a banana, half a PBJ, a couple of M&Ms, and two strips of bacon. (I used GU Brew for fluids--probably filling my 16-oz bottle four or five times--and pounded Coke at every aid station in loop 2.)  It's not the reason things went well, but it certainly helped.

Strategy.  There's something to be said for having a plan and sticking to it, and forcing myself to hold back over the first 35-40 miles proved to be a winning plan for me.  I'm constantly learning how to run ultras better, and I've found--surprise!--that running within myself in the early stages has lead to the most success for me; almost every bad race I've had in the past several years can be tied to going out too hard.  As I mentioned earlier, this can be a lot easier when you're in a sub-elite or recreational position, rather than being an elite athlete who has to concern themselves not only with their own tactics but with those of everyone else around them.  As it turned out, I wasn't far off of grabbing a Golden Ticket, but pre-race that was a pipe dream.  If I'd started the race as a serious contender for a podium spot, would I have been able to lay back early and let the leaders build a 30 minute lead over the first 50K?  Patience is a lot easier when you don't have anything on the line.  The Curse of the Elite is that the margin for error is much smaller; they have to take risks the rest of us don't.  Last weekend, for Chris Dennucci and Jim Walmsley, it worked out.  For Kory Cool and Mario Mendoza, it didn't.  Not having to concern myself early on with what they were doing allowed me to pick up some of the pieces later on when things went sideways.  It lowers the potential variability--you won't win with that strategy, but it might give you the best odds of maximizing your individual performance.

All in all this was a great start to 2016 and a great introduction to the world of longer races, which I may have developed an appetite for.  The good folks at Tejas Trails put on a fantastic event, and I look forward to returning to Texas next year for Rocky Raccoon (don't tell my wife).  Next up are two more national championships: road 50K at Caumsett Park in March, then trail 50 mile at Cayuga in June.  The second half of the year is still up in the air, but may include some longer stuff as well.  For now, I'm enjoying a few days of carbs and beer, and a few weeks of being just an ultra fan before I start buckling down again.

Quick gear recap: MPF/RNR racing kit from Patagonia; compression socks from SLS3; Orange Mud trucker cap (and lightweight OM/Headsweats cap that I grabbed for lap 2, when it got a little warmer) and handheld; inov-8 Roclite 280 shoes; GU Roctane and GU Brew.

Gear Review: Patagonia Strider Pro Shorts

I tend to be pretty picky about my running shorts, more so than most of my other gear.  I run in shorts down to about 25 degrees outside, so I spend a good bit of the year in shorts.  I don't like my shorts too long or too short; I like a certain cut.  I need them to be lightweight but stable, and I need to be able to carry a few essentials without feeling like the shorts are slipping down my bottom.

I've found a lot to like with the Patagonia Strider Pro shorts.  Before joining the MPF/RNR team last year,  I did many of my long runs and most of my ultras in the Pearl Izumi Fly Endurance short.  These have a lycra-type material that comprises the upper half of the back part of the shorts, where the gel pockets are located; this helps keep everything stable.  The Patagonia Strider Pro shorts have a similar design; while the material is not quite as tight as lycra, the upper half of the rear of the short is made of a stretchier material that the rest of the short, which stabilizes the rear pockets.  This is by far the best feature of the shorts, allowing you to carry gels, keys, or other essentials without the constant bouncing that would otherwise drive you crazy.  Lots of shorts have multiple rear pockets nowadays; what separates a good short from a bad one is whether or not you can actually use those pockets without bouncing or slipping.  These shorts accomplish that goal, which is the most essential part of making a good ultra short.

There are five pockets in the back.  Four interlocking pockets have an "envelope" design, with elastic flaps that hold gear in place; they will each hold about two gels comfortably.  The middle, largest pocket features a zippered closure and is large enough for keys, a phone, credit cards, or other essentials.

The material is lightweight and breathable, and due to the DWR treatment, repels sweat well without getting too heavy.  The liner is comfortable and doesn't chafe.  The shorts have a split cut on the side of the leg, which for me is an absolute essential; I refuse to run in notched basketball-style shorts.  The only downside for me is the 5" inseam, which is about an inch longer than I'd prefer (gotta show off the quads!).  Plus I'd like the split on the side to be a little higher, giving it a bit of a less "boxy" cut.  But that's nitpicking.  All in all, the Patagonia Strider Pro shorts provide excellent form and function for long training and ultra racing, and I'm happy to have Patagonia on board as a MPF/RNR team sponsor.

Revised 2015 Final Ultra National Rankings

So 2015 is in the books, and I've finished updating the Ultra National Rankings for the year.  Only one change to the top 50 in the final two weeks of racing: Ed Ettinghausen jumped into 36th on the men's side, following up his third place showing at the Desert Solstice 24-hour with a win at the Across the Years 6 Day only a week later.  Unbelievable stuff.

The Ultrarunning UROY results were released as well, so we can see how the voters' top 10 compared to the rankings:

Men	UROY	GR Ranking	Women	UROY	GR Ranking
David Laney	1	6	Magdalena Boulet	1	1
Ian Sharman	2	7	Camille Herron	2	4
Seth Swanson	3	9	Stephanie Howe	3	3
Rob Krar	4	2	Kaci Lickteig	4	5
Dylan Bowman	5	3	Katalin Nagy	5	10
Zach Miller	6	11	Nicole Studer	6	7
Brian Rusiecki	7	1	Aliza Lapierre	7	8
Alex Nichols	8	10	Ellie Greenwood	8	9
Joe Fejes	9	59	Darcy Piceu	9	26
Bob Shebest	10	12	Bethany Patterson	10	18

I've already started working on the rankings for 2016, with a few minor tweaks as I outlined earlier.  Some exciting news: I'm working with the good folks at Ultrarunning magazine to try to bring these rankings to a wider audience.  In the coming weeks, we hope to have a dedicated page on the UR website for these rankings (which I think I'm going to rename the Gunksrunner Ultra Rankings, you know, building the brand and all).

As always, peruse the entire list here.  (Helpful hint from some smart folks: use CTRL-F to search for your name on the sheet.)

Final 2015 Top 50

	Men	State	Points	Women	State	Points
1	Brian Rusiecki	MA	104.15	Magdalena Boulet	CA	171.6
2	Rob Krar	AZ	87.5	Kathleen Cusick	VA	105.5
3	Dylan Bowman	CA	80.5	Stephanie Howe	OR	95.075
4	Paul Terranova	TX	79.9	Camille Herron	OK	90
5	Alex Varner	CA	78.6	Kaci Lickteig	NE	87.275
6	David Laney	OR	72.2	Larissa Dannis	CA	82.4
7	Ian Sharman	CA	69.5	Nicole Studer	TX	79.675
8	Ryan Bak	OR	68.9	Aliza Lapierre	VT	78.6
9	Seth Swanson	MT	68.6	Ellie Greenwood	Can	78.15
10	Alex Nichols	CO	62.8	Katalin Nagy	FL	72.5
11	Zach Miller	CO	62.5	Cassie Scallon	CO	71.8
12	Bob Shebest	CA	56.375	Ashley Erba	CO	70.9
13	Justin Houck	WA	56.075	Sarah Bard	MA	64.225
14	Zach Bitter	WI	52.5	Bev Anderson-Abbs	CA	58.6
15	Jared Hazen	CO	52	Megan Kimmel	CO	55
16	Mark Hammond	UT	51.8	Amy Rusiecki	MA	55
17	Ryan Kaiser	OR	50.975	Neela D’Souza	Can	54.5
18	Jim Walmsley	AZ	50.3	Bethany Patterson	WA	52
19	Ryan Smith	CO	50.075	Hillary Allen	CO	51.375
20	Chikara Omine	CA	50	Kerrie Bruxvoort	CO	49.4
21	Jorge Maravilla	CA	49.8	Rachel Ragona	CA	49.15
22	Jorge Pacheco	CA	49.3	Traci Falbo	IN	48.1
23	Mario Martinez	CA	48.4	Jacqueline Palmer	NE	48
24	Jean Pommier	CA	47	Emily Richards	NC	46.6
25	Mario Mendoza	OR	47	Emma Roca	ESP	46.35
26	Christopher Dennucci	CA	46.7	Darcy Piceu	CO	43.175
27	Benjamin Stern	CA	46.2	Caroline Boller	CA	41.95
28	Andrew Miller	OR	46	Ashley Nordell	OR	41
29	Pete Kostelnick	NE	46	Lee Conner	OH	40.5
30	Gediminus Grinius	LTH	44	Amanda Basham	OR	39.15
31	David Herr	VT	43	Angela Shartel	CA	39
32	Daven Oskvig	NY	42.5	Amy Phillips	CA	38
33	Michael Wardian	VA	41.1	Emily Peterson	CA	37.75
34	Daniel Hamilton	TN	41	Silke Koester	CO	37.4
35	Scott Traer	MA	40	Kara Henry	CO	37
36	Ed Ettinghausen	CA	38.85	Catrin Jones	Can	36.8
37	Ryan Ghelfi	OR	37.175	Erika Lindland	CA	36.475
38	Dominic Layfield	UT	37	Robin Watkins	DC	36.1
39	Michael Borst	WI	37	Megan Stegemiller	VA	36
40	Daniel Kraft	OR	36.025	Susan Barrows	OR	35
41	Nate Jacqua	OR	36	Luanne Park	CA	34.525
42	Chris Vizcaino	CA	35.7	Maggie Guterl	PA	34.4
43	Mike Foote	MT	35	Alissa St. Laurent	Can	34
44	Ray Sanchez	CA	35	Julie Koepke	TX	34
45	Sage Canaday	CO	34.5	Leslie Semler	MA	33.1
46	Joshua Arthur	CO	34.325	Marylou Corino	Can	33
47	Owen Bradley	AL	34	Keely Henninger	CO	32.95
48	Michael Carson	AZ	33.5	Ashley Lister	PA	32.8
49	Yassine Diboun	OR	33.5	Leslie Howlett	UT	32.5
50	Jason Lantz	PA	32.85	Meghan Arbogast	CA	32.075