Ultrarunning National Rankings

 

We are living in the midst of the ultrarunning boom.

Frank Shorter's victory in the Olympic Marathon in Munich in 1972 is often cited as the launching point of the US running boom.  The explosion in popularity of "jogging" and road-racing in general (and marathons in particular) has its roots in that legendary race, as well as the publication of Jim Fixx's seminal The Complete Book of Running which was published in 1977.  Forty years later, ultrarunning is having its moment.  The success of Dean Karnazes' Ultramarathon Man and Chris McDougal's Born to Run have helped to fuel an unprecendented growth in ultramarathon participation.  An estimated 70,000 folks will complete an ultra this year, an increase of over 400% in the past fifteen years, according to Ultrarunning Magazine, the bible of the sport.

While it's still not exactly mainstream--that's about 12% of the 540,000 marathoners this year, not exactly a mainstream sport itself--the interest in our little niche has certainly swelled to unprecedented levels.  Sponsorship money is flowing--well, maybe not flowing per se, but at least trickling in.  Ultrarunnerpodcast and Talk Ultra boast thousands of downloads a month.  Ultrasportslive TV and irunfar.com provide live coverage of major races.  Stupid blogs like this one seem to be multiplying like rabbits.

So I've decided to do my part in servicing the Ultrarunning Boom.  If we're going to be a mainstream sport, let's act like it, dammit!  Let's get in on the sports conversation. Forget fighting about whether LeBron could take MJ one-on-one.  We want people arguing in bars (or, more likely, craft-beer tasting rooms) about who the best ultrarunners are, right?  Well, fear not.  Your prayers have been answered with the Ultrarunning National Rankings.

In truth, I've been kicking this idea around for a few years.  I train with alot of tri-geeks, and they all have their national rankings, both overall and for their age groups, courtesy of USAT.  I thought that was pretty cool, and thought a similar idea--a national ranking for any ultrarunning finisher in the country--would be pretty awesome.  I didn't particularly like the USAT formula, though, which involves comparing performances to estimated times by certain "pacesetters" in the race.  I didn't love the Ultrasignup rankings either, which work similarly, by awarding finishers a percentage of the race winner's time--it penalizes folks for racing in competitive fields, and rewards those who only run races they know they can win.  (Though admittedly the database power of Ultrasignup, allowing them to rank absolutely everybody, is very impressive.)  I wanted a system that acknowledged that not all races were created equal.  And so I found my model: golf.

The World Golf Rankings are very complicated, and may not be perfect, but they provided the basis for what I wanted in my system.  In the WGR, players accumulate points via their performances in tournaments on the various world tours.  The tours are all ranked--the US tour tanks the highest, followed by the European tour, and there are various factors for the Australian tour, the Japanese tour, and all the various mini-tours around the country--and the events within those tours are all ranked, too, based on how many of the top players in the world are playing.  Each tournament is assigned a value of importance--the majors are the highest, of course, with the World Golf Championships a step below.  The combination of what tour is involved, what the event is, and how many top players are there, determines how many ranking points are available, and how many players at that tournament will receive points.  The cumulative points are then divided by the number of events the player finished, and the result gives the player the number used for their ranking.

This was what I wanted.  Just like in golf, some events on the ultra calendar--Western States, Leadville, UTMB--are more important than others.  Placing highly in those events should carry more weight.  After all, which impresses you more: my win in a local 50K, or, say, Dominic Grossman's 19th-place finish at States last year?  (If you have to think about it, the rest of this post probably isn't for you.)  I could simplify things somewhat--ultrarunning doesn't have tours, for one thing--but the basic ideas were there.  Win small events, get a bit of credit.  Win bigger events, get more credit.  Beat the best runners in the country, get even more.

Initially, I had envisioned something akin to what USAT and Ultrasignup provided: a ranking for every finisher of an ultramarathon in the US.  Quickly, though, the impracticality of this idea became apparent.  First of all, there was just too much data to enter manually.  I don't have an automated database like Ultrasignup does, and I can't manually enter, say, 1100 finishers at JFK into a spreadsheet.  Plus, even if I figured out a way to automate it, more problems reared their head.  For one, duplicate names--how would I deal with, say, having five different Matt Smiths in the results?  (I've encountered this problem on Ultrasignup, which sometimes confuses me with another Jason Friedman about my age who happens to live less than 100 miles away.)  Limiting the rankings to top finishers doesn't eliminate this problem, of course, but makes it much more manageable.  Also, golf doesn't award points for every finisher--you have to hit a certain minimum criteria at a tournament for ranking points to become available.   That might mean making the cut, or the top 20, or whatever.  But not everyone gets points.  So not every finisher was going to get a ranking.  I had to make peace with that.

Trying to be as comprehensive as possible, I'm including every domestic race I can, as well as major international ones which might attract the top US talent.  Using the Ultrarunning Magazine race calendar, I started by assigning each race a score on a five-point scale.  Most races were ranked as Level 1: there are over 1000 ultras in the country, and you haven't heard of the overwhelming majority of them.  Level 2 races are slightly more prestigious--they might have some local or regional cachet, or they might have some name recognition by virtue of being associated with a race where a different distance is more important--say, the Ice Age 50K, which gains some prestige by riding the coattails of the Ice Age 50 Mile, but is decidedly the less important of the two events.  Level 3 races have a strong regional importance and maybe some mild prominence on the national stage, but aren't quite attracting the top fields--think Leona Divide or Umstead.  Level 4 races are national-class events--Miwok, Chuckanut, Speedgoat--that are separated from the top only by degrees.  (By default, I assigned all national championship races a Level 4.  They should be a big deal, even though not every US championship is created equal.)  Level 5 is reserved for the true majors: States, Leadville, Sonoma, North Face, and a handful of others that if you win, you just consider retiring right there on the spot since it probably will never get any better.  IAU World Championships and World Cup races are automatically granted a Level 5.

Using the same ratios for points and places that are used by the WGR, I then established how many points were available for each level of race, and how deep the scoring fields go.  A Level 1 race is worth five points to the winner, three for second, and one for third.  Level 2 races score out to the top 5; Level 3 the top 10; Level 4 the top 15; and Level 5 the top 25.  Generally, second place is worth about 60% of the points of first place (again, similar to the WGR), placing a premium on wins, which I like.

Next, we have to calculate a multiplier for strength of field--I want to reward people for racing against the best.  For the WGR, the top 200 in the world are used to calculate field strength; I settled on the top 50.  Each spot in the top 50 is assigned a point value, and those values correspond to a certain factor by which every finishing spot in that race is multiplied.  Of course, this is the first time we've done this, so there is no top 50 to work off of.  Instead, I used the results of the Ultrarunning magazine Ultrarunner of the Year voting from 2014 to set a baseline top 10 for the men and women.  When any of those top 10 run in an event this year, that race is worth correspondingly more points.  Not only does this place a high importance on seeking out top competition, it also acts as a reward for those who have previously achieved a high ranking.  (Once I have enough data for a reliable top 50, this multiplier effect will become a bit more pronounced.)

I decided to base the rankings on the sum of the points earned, not a per-event average, for several reasons that I will get into later.  At this point, my formula was set, and I started the (rather laborious) task of compiling results and manually entering the data into a spreadsheet.  It's a painstaking process.  I use the Ultrarunning website, as well as Ultrasignup, and I wind up doing a lot of Google searches to find results that aren't posted there.  So far, out of the 575 or so races that I have listed through the weekend of May 31, I've found results on about 90-95% of them (several were cancelled or have been removed from consideration due to fat-ass status or other situations that will make getting results unlikely).  In all, over 1400 men and 1300 women have earned at least one ranking point so far this year.

Before I unveil the actual rankings, I know you probably have some questions/concerns/criticisms.  I'm going to try to anticipate some of them now, and address them as best as I can by trying to explain my reasoning. 

Ultra rankings won't work.  You're comparing all different kinds of events: road, trails, track, timed events.  Different runners have different strengths.
True, but that's a feature, not a bug.  That's exactly why I think this is a cool idea.  You can accumulate points in any race, in any discipline.  In theory, the most well-rounded athlete should have the best chance achieving a top ranking.  Think about golf: some courses are long, some short, some with tighter lies or deeper rough.  Doesn't matter.  You have to beat whoever shows up on that day.

You're not accounting for times, or margin of victory.  What about course records?
I want the focus to be on the head-to-head competition, not the times.  Course records are nice, but ultimately meaningless.  You don't get more credit in golf for winning by 10 shots than winning in a playoff.  A win is a win.  Also, comparing times across courses--just like comparing golf scores across courses--doesn't work.

Your race ratings are terrible.
Yeah, well, that's like, your opinion, man.  This is obviously the most subjective part of the system.  I live on the East Coast, so there's probably some local bias involved.  And I certainly can't keep track of 1500 races and know which are necessarily the most important.  What I'd like to do in the future is have a committee of folks spread out around the country, so I can have people responsible for rating races in their home region.  Let me know if you want to volunteer.  When we monetize this thing we'll all be rich.

How come all the timed events/track races are rated so low?
That's not 100% true, but I'll admit, the track events generally are receiving lower ratings than their road and trail counterparts.  My explanation is that, in the current climate, these races are not as highly regarded, and the fields are (usually) much weaker.  This isn't to say that some of the stuff Zach Bitter and Joe Fejes are doing isn't incredibly impressive or historically important.  But the truth is that less people are paying attention to, and talking about, these accomplishments than they are dissecting results from Leadville or Lake Sonoma, and that less of the top runners are showing up at these events.

What about FKTs/solo record attempts?
There's no way to account for these in the system, which I am OK with.  As I've stated before, this is about head-to-head competition deciding who the best runners are.  I don't want to be in the position of deciding whether Zack Bitter's 12-hour record is more impressive than Rob Krar's R2R2R FKT or Mike Wardian's treadmill 50K.

In reality, I think all of these things that we're talking about--FKTs, course records, national bests--are fodder for voting, not rankings.  Which is great.  I find the UROY vote fascinating, and I'm not saying we should replace that vote.  This ranking is meant to be an objective supplement to that subjective process.  Golf has the WGR which is completely objective, and the Player of the Year vote which is completely subjective.  You can use whatever criteria you want to value when you're voting.

You should use an average, not a cumulative score.  Without an average, there's no penalty for running poorly or DNFs.
I struggled with this decision for awhile.  This is where I deviated from the WGR, which uses an average.  In the end, I decided an average for our sport simply didn't work.  First of all, I wasn't comfortable with setting a minimum amount of races to qualify--that seemed way too arbitrary to me.  Secondly, from a logistic standpoint, it was almost impossible.  I'd have to comb through all the results of every single race and record zeros for anyone who didn't earn points for that race, just so I could average that race in later if they happened to record points--just not doable.  Plus, how would I count slower, non-scoring performances vs. DNFs?  You'd like to reward finishing, I guess, so if non-scoring finishes are worth zero points, should DNFs result in losing points?  And then, how would I track DNFs at all?  Most race results don't list them.  If I can't track them, it might encourage people to DNF, rather than record a slower finish.  (The Ultrasignup rankings have run into this issue.)  Finally, some people use low-key races as training runs, or social events.  I don't want to discourage this practice by penalizing people for participating in a race without actually racing it.  Ultimately, cumulative points was the only way to go.

You do a terrible job with international races and international runners.
I'll admit this is the one of the biggest problems I'm having right now.  These are US rankings--God knows I can't do world rankings, though it'd be fun--but there are plenty of top US athletes racing overseas in big races, and I need to account for their results.  And since I'm not keeping track of international runners (except in certain cases when I know they'll run a bunch of US races) the field strength of these races isn't as robust as it probably should be, so the multiplier isn't as significant as you'd want it to be. These races aren't as important on the domestic level as they are overseas, so maybe, it's not as big a deal as I think it is, but I'll readily admit this is a problem that I haven't solved, and I'm open to suggestions.

Level 4 and 5 races are undervalued in points as opposed to levels 1, 2, and 3.
And this is the other problem.  Again, I based this off of the WGR, making level 5 races akin to the majors, level 4 in line with large events like the WGC or the Players, Level 3 some of the medium-sized PGA tour events, Level 2 a small PGA tour event, and Level 1 a mini-tour event. At baseline, winning a level 5 event is worth five times as much as a Level 1 event...and likely more, since the chance for having a field strength multiplier is much higher.  These are approximately in line with the ratios the WGR follows.  But the more I look at it, the less sure of these numbers I am.  Is winning Western States really just five times as important as winning a podunk 50K?  Should it be worth ten times as much?  Or twenty?  I'm a little too far into this now to change for this year, but next year I might need to tweak the relative values.  I could fix this by adding more levels, but I think parsing the different races between levels is going to get maddening.  (I mean, States is a 10, but is Leadville a 9?  Is Vermont a 6, 7, 8, what?  Too complicated.)  Probably the larger races will simply be worth more points.  (Incidentally, I do like the numbers of scoring slots for each level, which are 3, 5, 10, 15, and 25 respectively.  These seem about right and I'm pleased I got that right on the first try.)

ANYWAY...here are the first set of rankings, through May 31.  We're getting into the summer racing season now, when big events start coming more frequently, so I'm going to try to update these maybe every couple of months.  If you like, you can view the entire list here.  Sheet 1 is a list of all the races, with rankings and field strength multipliers.  Sheet 2 is my reference for how points are distributed and how multipliers are calculated.  Sheet 3 is men and Sheet 4 is women.  I have it listed alphabetically by first name, so you can find your name there.  Sorry, I don't have it set up to view the entire list in numerical order.  I'll figure out how to do that at some point I'm sure. Probably. Maybe.

Through May 31

	Men	State	Points	Women	State	Points
1	Alex Varner	CA	52.6	Magdalena Boulet	CA	77
2	Ryan Bak	OR	48	Stephanie Howe	OR	65.5
3	Brian Rusiecki	MA	46.2	Nicole Studer	TX	55.6
4	Paul Terranova	TX	45.5	Cassie Scallon	CO	46.6
5	David Laney	OR	43.9	Aliza Lapierre	VT	41
6	Dylan Bowman	CA	42	Jacqueline Palmer	DE	37
7	Chikara Omine	CA	40	Kathleen Cusick	VA	34
8	Mario Mendoza	OR	38	Traci Falbo	IN	33.8
9	Rob Krar	AZ	35.7	Caroline Boller	CA	32.6
10	Jorge Maravilla	CA	34.6	Katalin Nagy	FL	32.5
11	Jorge Pacheco	CA	32.8	Sarah Bard	MA	31.225
12	Benjamin Stern	CA	31.2	Ashley Erba	CO	30.9
13	Jared Hazen	CO	30	Megan Roche	CA	30
14	Jean Pommier	CA	30	Melanie Fryar	TX	29
15	Justin Houck	WA	28	Bree Lambert	CA	27
16	Andrew Miller	OR	26	Amy Sproston	OR	24
17	Ian Sharman	CA	25	Angela Shartel	CA	24
18	Scott Breeden	IN	25	Meghan Arbogast	CA	23.225
19	Alex Nichols	CO	24.8	Rachel Ragona	CA	23
20	Christopher Dannucci	CA	24.8	Laura Richard	CA	22.5
21	Christian Gering	CO	24.25	Nuria Picas	ESP	21
22	Karl Schnaitter	CA	24	Tracie Akerhielm	TX	21
23	Tim Tollefson	CA	22.5	Lindsey Tollefson	CA	20.975
24	Seth Swanson	MT	22.2	Kaci Lickteig	NE	20.275
25	Ben Nephew	MA	22	Amanda Basham	OR	20
26	Daniel Hamilton	TN	21	Camille Herron	OK	20
27	James Blandford	PA	21	Joelle Vaught	ID	20
28	Nate Polaske	AZ	21	Megan Stegemiller	VA	20
29	Jason Leman	OR	20.6	Michelle Yates	CO	20
30	Fernando de Samaniego	CA	20.3	Silke Koester	CO	19.4
31	Jim Walmsley	MT	20.3	Emily Richards	NV	19
32	David Kilgore	FL	20	Kerrie Bruxvoort	CO	19
33	Ford Smith	TX	20	Julie Fingar	CA	18
34	Mike Bialick	MN	20	Ashley Lister	PA	17.8
35	Patrick Smyth	UT	20	Amy Rusiecki	MA	17
36	Zach Ornelas	MI	20	Jennifer Edwards	WA	17
37	Ryan Smith		19.5	Catrin Jones	Can	16.8
38	Zach Bitter	WI	19.5	Robin Watkins	DC	16.5
39	Lon Freeman	CA	19	Gia Madole	OK	16
40	Owen Bradley	AL	19	Suzanna Bon	CA	16
41	Adrian Stanciu	CO	18.5	Emily Harrison	AZ	15.6
42	Jason Lantz	PA	17.35	Kathy D’Onofrio	CA	15.6
43	Bob Shebest	CA	17	Kerrie Wlad	CO	15.2
44	Jared Burdick	NY	16.8	Leslie Howlett	UT	15.2
45	Brandt Ketterer	CO	16	Alicia Woodside	Can	15
46	Catlow Shipek	AZ	16	Amie Blackham	UT	15
47	Charlie Ware	AZ	16	Beth Meadows	TN	15
48	Karl Meltzer	UT	16	Claire Mellein	CA	15
49	Ray Sanchez	CA	16	Jennifer Benna	NV	15
50	Mario Martinez	CA	15.9	Jessica Lemer	WI	15
				Joanna Masloski	CO	15
				Megan McGrath	NJ	15

All right!  Let the ad hominem attacks on my character begin!

Race Report: Cayuga Trails 50 Mile

Photo: Ron Heerkins

I came into the Cayuga Trails 50, which doubles as the US National 50-mile Championship, off of one of the best training blocks I've had in recent years--a six-week stretch of over 650 miles with some excellent workouts on both the roads and the track.  In the weeks leading up to the race, I was extremely excited and confident.  I couldn't wait to get back to Ithaca and run the beautiful trails of Treman and Buttermilk Falls State Parks, to compete with my MPF/RNR teammates, and hopefully put up a national-class result.  Six days before the race, unfortunately, the family and I were in a pretty good-sized car accident (we're all ok, thanks!  A little sore, but no major injuries.  No, it wasn't the new car; it was Jodi's car, which was eleven years old and had over 200,000 miles, so she's going to get a new one.) and so my final week of preparation wasn't quite what I had hoped.  But between some ART from Scott Field at Performance Sports and Wellness, some electrical stimulation from Greg Cecere at Momentum Physical Therapy, and some excellent massage from my good friend Angi Williams, I was able to make it to the start with some soreness in my ribs but otherwise ready to go.

I graduated from Cornell in 1997 and so Ithaca holds a very special place in my heart.  I had run the inaugural CT50 two years ago, and I knew that my friend Ian would put on another world-class event.  Plus, this was one of the big races for the Mountain Peak Fitness/Red Newt Racing team.  Many of my teammates were gathering in Ithaca to test ourselves against some of the best in the country.  Ian hosted a pre-race dinner for the team at his house on Saturday night, and I had a great time meeting some of my new teammates and catching up with some old friends as my kids ran around with Ben's and Ian's in the backyard.

Race morning was overcast and a bit humid, but with temps in the mid-50s, nearly perfect conditions (though the trails were a little soggy from recent rain).  My warmup was OK; my ribs were tender from the accident but didn't feel as though they would limit me much, and my legs felt absolutely ready to go.  We took off at 6am, the start feeling a bit more controlled than it had two years ago, which had felt like an all-out sprint to the mile mark; I settled into a quick but comfortable tempo, about twentieth place, running with Brian Rusiecki and several others at the tail end of the lead pack.  We strung out pretty quickly, and by about the ten-minute mark I was running with just one or two others as we started to climb the steps past our first gorge to AS1.

The requisite elevation chart.  Yeah, it's as bad as it looks.

The CT50 course is an unrelenting beast.  It's more or less a double out-and-back, with four major climbs per lap, a total of 10,000 feet of elevation gain.  The footing is generally superb--a mixture of double-track, some paved roads, and a ton of technical but eminently runnable singletrack.  And steps.  Oh, my god, the steps; hundreds of them per climb; thousands over the course of fifty miles.  It's a brutal course because almost the entire thing is runnable but extremely hard.  You rarely get a break from going uphill or downhill, and when you do, you feel like you need to take advantage of it and hammer.  And that's a tough combination.  In three years, only five runners have ever broken seven hours, and they're some of the best ultramarathoners in the country: Sage Canaday, Chris Vargo, Matt Flaherty, Jordan McDougal, and Mario Mendoza.

My point is, it's not a PR course.  In 2013, I had run 8:48 for 16th place.  My goal this year was eight hours, which was a pretty good bet to be in or close to the top 10; I thought even with an OK day I was in shape to run 8:15-8:20.  Anything outside of 8:30 or a top-15 finish was, frankly, going to be a disappointment.  Ideally, I'd like to try to run even splits, but on a course like Cayuga, this is incredibly difficult; since there is obviously no respite in the second half, some slowdown is almost inevitable.  I set a target of 3:45-3:55 for the first lap, which would give me a bit of a cushion to slow down by 10% or so over the second half and still have a shot at that 8:00-8:15 goal.

I climbed the first section well and reached AS1 (5K) in 26:30, a little faster than I wanted to be, right with Scotie Jacobs, a MPF/RNR teammate and the facilities manager for the Ithaca Beer Company.  Scotie and I don't know each other well, but he is easy company, and a very strong runner, and we attacked the next section of the course with a bit too much enthusiasm.  Scotie was definitely pushing a little faster than I would have otherwise, but I was feeling great, and I was so excited to be not just racing--finally, after all that prep--but racing with a teammate, and went along for the ride.  We hit AS2 (seven miles) at 59:30--way too fast.  As Scotie said, though, at this race, you have to take what the course gives you, because it doesn't give you much.

Climbing with Scotie.
Photo: Ron Heerkins

I settled in.  The miles clicked by pretty easily.  I pulled away from Scotie and ran solo for awhile, feeling in control; he caught back up and pulled a bit ahead on the bomber descent down to the base of Buttermilk Falls, the quarter pole for the race (1:50 and change, still a little fast but seemingly in control).  We immediately started climbing back out of the gorge, passing through the aid station without stopping; I hadn't stopped at an aid station yet and wasn't planning to for awhile.  We saw Elizabeth and Joe Azze within the first half mile of the climb; Joe chased us with his video camera as Scotie and I ran what I thought was a pretty solid ascent of the gorge.




Just past the top I pulled away again and was running solo; I felt great and focused on running a sustainable tempo for the second quarter of the race.  I picked off a couple of spots and before I knew it I was heading back toward the start/finish line at the end of lap 1, hitting the turnaround in a near-perfect 3:49 (1:50/1:59), in 17th place.

On my way out to start the second lap, two problems became quickly apparent:

1. There were about ten runners, including Scotie and our teammate Ryan Welts, tailing me by about five minutes or less.
2. I was starting to get really, really tired.

The first problem wasn't a big deal.  I didn't have any room for error, but I wasn't far from where I wanted to be either; Cole, Carlo, and Silas were running ninth through eleventh, and I wasn't more than ten minutes behind them.  Both my time and place goals were within reach with a strong second half.  The second problem was obviously going to be an issue, but my legs still felt pretty good.  Nutritionally, I was on top of things.  My stomach felt fine, I was well-hydrated.  If I could run close to two hours for the third quarter of the race--giving up about 1 minute per mile to my time from that segment of lap one--I'd be in good shape.  I was definitely walking more now, but was still making solid progress.  I saw Ian just after AS6, which I reached 30 minutes after leaving the start/finish, having surrendered my minute per mile.  I could tell from his expression that I still looked OK.  Fake it until you make it, I thought, and pushed  on down past Lucifer Falls.  I hit AS7 in 5:01, 72 minutes since the turnaround and a little slower than I wanted, but hanging on.  Legs still OK.

photo: Ron Heerkins

It was on the descent into Buttermilk Falls nearly an hour later that I knew I was in trouble.  Until then I had been holding it together--leaking minutes, to be sure, but I had actually picked up another spot or two, and was maintaining about 10 minute/mile pace over some pretty difficult terrain.  But as I started the descent I could tell my quads were not going to hold on for another 13 miles.  I hobbled downhill, each step becoming more and more painful; I tried to open up the stride to remove the "braking" element from my quads, but couldn't maintain the turnover.  I reached the aid station at 6:01, still technically on pace for an eight-hour finish, though that obviously wasn't going to happen.  My three quarters of the race had now gone roughly 1:50, 2:00, 2:10.  Could I run a 2:20 for the final quarter, maybe salvage an 8:20 and hang on to my top-15 finish?

In a word: no.

There's not much to say about the last 12.5 miles beyond the fact that it sucked.  I walked, limped, hobbled, spent a miserable 160 minutes out there just trying to move forward.  My quads were so shot that on the final stair climb up Lucifer Falls, with about five miles left in the race, I literally questioned whether I could get up the staircase.  I lost eleven spots in the last 12 miles and it's a miracle it wasn't more.  My quads felt like they had been through a meat grinder; I couldn't run uphill or downhill, and could manage a slow jog on the rare flat stretches.  By the time I stumbled into the finish chute I didn't really care how poorly it had gone, I just wanted it to be over.

Is he laughing at me?  I think he's laughing at me!
Photo: Joe Azze

Later, after I had a little time to reflect, I obviously did care, and was obviously pretty unhappy.  My 8:40 was eight minutes faster than I had run in 2013, but it was at least 20-30 minutes slower than I thought I was capable of.  The first half of the race had been great, and I had hung very tough through 37 miles, but it's a 50-mile race, and with the training block I'd had, I was bitterly disappointed with the finish.  Nutritionally things seemed to go pretty well, and the failure was less of a dietary/bonking issue than my legs just not being up for that pace on that course.  Looking back on my training, the one missing element was hills; I get plenty of climbing in on my daily runs, but didn't focus on hard hill workouts, doing most of the quality work on the roads and track.  Maybe that was the issue.  I don't know, I'm kind of out of answers.  As well as I feel like I can run a 50K, I feel pretty lost at the 50 mile distance right now, and I really don't feel any closer to an answer than I did the last time I ran this race two years ago.  Maybe 50 miles is just too far for me.  (I hope not, I'm running my first 100K in September.)


For now, recovery, and a quick rebuild before the Whiteface Skyraces at the end of this month.  All hills between now and then.  I'm not expecting much; I can't imagine the course will suit me particularly well, and I have to let Ryan beat the crap out of me on a course like this since he was a good sport and came to a "runnable" one last weekend.  So hopefully it'll just be a fun weekend with Jodi and my teammates.  As disappointed as I was with this race, it really was great running on a team again, encouraging each other on the course, feeding off the great support from Joe, Elizabeth, and Ian.  That's what I'll take away from this race and look forward to next time.

Goofing around a bit, before things started getting ugly.
Photo: Joe Azze

Almost forgot, quick gear report: Patagonia racing kit courtesy of MPF/RNR; Orange Mud HydraQuiver Single Barrel (continues to perform brilliantly) and trucker hat (I know it's cool, 'cause Kevin Bartow was wearing one too); Shoes: split time between the Salming Trail T1 and the Montrail Fluidflex.  Nutrition: GU Brew and Roctane, as usual.  The Sea Salt Chocolate gets a big thumbs up!

Race Report: Prospect Mountain Road Race

I've been trying to get to Lake George for the Prospect Mountain hill climb for the past few years.  I like hill races, even those on pavement, and this one, less than two hours from my house, has been on my radar for some time.  The race has a long tradition; this year marked the twenty-sixth running, and several top-flight competitors have taken on the climb, most notably New England mountain running legend Tim Van Orden.  I didn't know who would be in the field this year, though I wasn't sure it would matter.  The race fell at the end of week of five of my final six-week push before Cayuga Trails; with 550 miles run in the previous 5 weeks, I doubted I'd be able to put up much of a placing if anyone of note showed up.  I was looking forward to racing, though; with only a pizza race to my name since Mount Mitchell, I was getting a little antsy.  And I've been feeling good, running some decent-to-solid workouts on both the track and the roads to go along with my 110-mile weeks.  I wasn't fresh, but I was fit; maybe I could sneak out some kind of result if the day went well.


This seemed unlikely as I finished my warmup and saw Mike Slinskey getting out of his car.  Mike is a bit of a local legend in our parts.  A three-time Olympic Trials qualifier in the marathon, Mike holds many of the course records for local races in the Hudson Valley, and is an accomplished (if less prolific) mountain racer as well, having placed highly at Whiteface and Mount Washington in the past.  At 45, he's not quite the indomitable force he once was, but he remains a tough competitor, still one I've never beaten in a race.  His presence alone meant I was probably not in the mix for the win.  Oh well.


I felt a bit sluggish overall on the warmup--likely the result of my 5am alarm--and my stomach didn't feel great, but as far as I could tell my legs felt strong enough.  No tightness in my Achilles, which has been bothering me to varying degrees for several months, and no real residual soreness from the hard track workout two days previously, or the 119 miles of the previous seven days.  Not raring to go, exactly, but as best as I could hope for as we stood on the line.  There were a few other fit-looking folks lined up near the front, so we'd have to see how everything played out. 


The Veterans' Memorial Highway that runs from Lake George to the summit of Prospect Mountain is just under 5.7 miles, climbing 1600 feet in elevation.  If everything went well, I thought I might be able to run near seven-minute pace, close to the 40-minute mark which, based on previous years, would put me in the mix for the top two or three.  The first mile is mostly flat, and I started fairly aggressively, following a fit-looking runner about my height to the lead immediately after the gun.  I checked my watch after a couple minutes of hard work and saw that my GPS had me running 5:55 pace--probably not sustainable.  I backed off a tad to a slightly more relaxed tempo and allowed a small gap to open; I came through the first mile in 6:05, five seconds back of the lead, not sensing anyone from behind.


The climbing started in earnest immediately after the mile mark, and the pace slowed considerably as we started uphill at a 6-8% grade.  My cadence seemed a little quicker than the leader's, and I caught him within about half a mile, moving in front and opening a small gap.  I couldn't completely put him away, but it was still early; I resolved to keep the pressure on as best I could.


After a steady mile and a half of climbing, the road leveled off near the 2.5-mile mark, and he came back up on my shoulder.  I picked up the pace in response, and we dipped down under 6-minute pace as I started to open the gap again.  I was feeling strong, though I knew I was probably going too hard.  I passed three miles in 20:17, about five seconds in front, as the climbing started again.


From that point on there would be no respite from the climb, but we were already past halfway and there was no looking back now.  I started to pay the price a bit for my aggressive start.  My legs got heavy and my cadence slowed a bit.  I could feel the rubber band stretching between me and my rival behind me, but I couldn't get it to break; I could still sense and hear him back there from time to time, and at four miles (27:53) the gap was still only around five seconds.  Keep pushing, keep pushing.


The fifth mile became a slog.  The tempo dropped drastically, and I fought to keep my pace under 8:00/mile.  Slowly I could hear him coming back on me, and inevitably the negative self-talk crept in.  You can't do it, you can't shake him.  You'll be lucky to hold on to second.  I could hear him drawing closer, very slowly, with each step.


Stop it, I told myself.  If you can get to the five-mile mark with the lead you've got a chance.  I had very little left in the legs, but we were only about a mile from the finish.  Make him work for it.  See what he's got left.  With about two hundred meters until the five-mile marker, I could feel him right behind, and I knew I was going to get caught; I eased off the pace the tiniest bit, regrouping, gathering myself for one more move in the final half-mile.  Just relax.  Recover a little bit.  Maybe he's through, maybe you can come back on him at the end.


Sure enough, as he caught me, I felt him relax a tiny bit, content to latch onto my shoulder and not pass me and force the pace.  An opening, maybe.  I took a deep breath and kicked the pace down a notch, getting immediate separation.  Two strides, three, four.  Past the five mile mark, a three second gap.  Two hundred meters later I could feel the gap getting even bigger.  I was locking up, but there was less than half a mile to go, and it felt like I had finally put him away.  Around a big sweeping left turn with two hundred meters to go, I felt and heard nothing.  I chanced the tiniest glance over my shoulder and saw nobody.  Don't let up, I told myself.  You can't have more than a few seconds' lead.  Keep pushing.  Finish line in sight now.  The bored, tepid applause of scattered spectators.  Keep pushing, come on.  A hundred yards.  Fifty.  OK, nobody's there.  Nobody's cheering.  I eased up five yards from the line and, of course, out of nowhere, got blasted from behind by a tall gangly runner in an orange singlet whom I hadn't seen since the start.  No!  Too late, no time to react.  Half a second and it was over.


I slumped to the curb at the end of the finish chute, kicking myself. After leading from the nine-minute mark on I lost the race in the final stride.  I was angry with the spectators and the finish line officials--no heads-up?  No warning?  Not a single "hey, he's closing on you" or even a blip of excitement at the prospect of a sprint finish?--but of course I was mostly angry with myself.  Even three days later I'm still kicking myself.  Sure, it was a good effort, a good training stimulus, a solid run at the end of a huge mileage block, a nice result for a race I hadn't been aiming toward at all.  But still.  Two more hard strides would have done it.


The disappointment does not wash away easily, even for an otherwise well-executed "C" race.  I guess when I stop being disappointed about being pipped on the the line, I'll know it's time to hang up the racing flats; the fact that it still rankles me so much is probably a good sign.  And again, I'll take mostly positives away from the rest of the race.  For one thing, I beat Mike Slinskey for the first time in my life, so that's something.  In terms of my overall fitness level and my response to the heavy training, I feel like I'm right on track for Cayuga in three weeks' time.  And it's silly to pretend that anything's wrong or that I'm not race ready when, if I had run one second faster, I'd feel completely confident and pleased.  But it's hard not to let the teeniest bit of self-doubt creep in.  It feels like I bought a new car which I love but a week after I bought it it's got a big ding in the side panel.  The car runs great and maybe nobody even notices there's a dent and the paint's a little scratched.  But I still know it's there.


Of note, this was the first race I've run in the Salming Race flat, so check back in a few days for my review of the shoes.

Race Report: Spring Dual Against CF Kid's Race

The Spring Dual Against CF is the unofficial opener of the local multisport season, and this year both Lexi and Dylan decided they were going to take part in the kids' race. (The fact that I offered them pizza, ice cream, and chocolate-chip pancakes may have had something to do with it.)  The kids' race is a 0.5-mile run, a 2-mile bike, and a 0.3-mile run.  It's open from ages 7-17, and I was very proud of them for competing against a field of kids who were generally much older.  They both tried incredibly hard and really made themselves suffer, which is both awesome and horrible to watch as a parent.  But again, very proud.  Both managed to medal in the 7-10 year-old age group, so despite the suffering, the story had a happy ending.  Take it away, girls!

****************************************************************************

This is the story of the duathlon:

This was my first big race. It was my second big race, but still big. It was so awesome! They handed out timers to put on our ankles. I liked the beginning, but at the end I was out of breath. I liked the biking better than the running. So did I. At the end, my legs felt like rubber and I was breathing funny. I am pretty sure that I was literally the youngest person there, so I thought that I was going to be nowhere near 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place. But to my surprise, I got 2nd place! I never would have guessed that I came in 3rd place! That race was awesome! I was pretty relieved when the race was over. Me too. :) ****:) :)*****:) :)*****:)

--Lexi & Dylan

First Annual New Paltz Pizza Challenge

Logo courtesy of Vinny Sickles

"This is the first time I'd rather be running than eating pizza."

--Chris Regan, co-founder of Team Pizza Racers, while eating slice #6

As most running/eating stories begin, this one starts in college.  At Cornell, we had six "all-you-can-eat", buffet-style dining halls, spread out across the 750-acre campus.  Our meal plan would allow you to visit as many of these dining halls, as many times as you wanted, within each specified meal period (generally a 2-3 hour window).  Naturally, it didn't take long for the cross-country team to decide that a race between the six dining halls, consuming a meal at each, was a great idea.  The 2.5-mile Dining Hall Classic started in 1991 (predating the famous Krispy Kreme Challenge by over a dozen years) and was won by this idiot.  The race was held every December, following the end of XC season, until 2002, when one of the greatest ultra runners in the world ended his three-year winning streak--and the race itself--by reportedly running through a glass door.

Gathering at the start.
Photo: Jodi Friedman

I ran the DHC one time, my senior year, placing an unimpressive 11th, and I have no particular affinity or aptitude for such events (as anyone who has followed my beer mile career well knows).  But upon moving to New Paltz in 2004, I was struck by the density of pizza shops in our small town.  Our quiet little hamlet, barely a mile in length, with a population of less than 7000 people, housed no less than eight pizzerias (no doubt supported mostly by the 6000 or so full time students at SUNY New Paltz). My love for pizza knows no bounds.  Slowly an idea began to percolate--a brilliant, stupid idea.  A one-mile race through town incorporating a slice at each pizza shop.

Mike Selig, food-racing visionary.
Photo: Tara Siudy

This brilliant idea lay dormant for several years.  I envisioned an official race, necessitating closure of Main Street, a near-impossible task, and so the event did not seem possible.  But in 2013 I mentioned it to Mike Selig, a former college teammate who had just moved to the area.  Aside from being a top-flight mountain runner, Mike has some experience organizing food races.  He had hosted a fast-food challenge in Boulder and was the originator of the Mighty Mile in Buffalo (think beer mile, but with tacos), which in its sixth year was drawing 40-60 runners annually.  He encouraged me to follow my "dream" in a, shall we say, less conspicuous capacity.  And so the New Paltz Pizza Challenge was born.

For our first event, I wanted to keep it small.  I didn't want any issues with holding up traffic, upsetting the NIMBY-leaning element of our town; I also didn't want to make any of the pizzerias feel as though we would harm their business on a busy spring Friday evening.  I reasoned, we'd put it on once, small-scale, and show everyone that it was not only possible, but low-impact and fun.  Not wanting to call undue attention--or have someone give me a flat-out "no"--I notified only the pizza places where I knew the owners.  I did no publicity.  The field was invitation-only and capped at 16 people.  (For ease of ordering.  Two pies, get it?)

Dylan and her first-grade teacher, Matt Elkin
Photo: Jodi Friedman

Unfortunately about a month before the race, one of the longtime pizza shops in town closed their doors, so we were down to seven slices, but that was OK.  I assembled the field and stationed volunteers at each "aid station," whose job it was to order the pizza, make sure it was ready for the runners, and serve as the referees, enforcing the rules at each stop (no running indoors, no vomiting indoors, must finish each slice completely before leaving, etc.).  I came up with a 5K+ loop to emphasize the running aspect a bit more, and established a menu.  And on Friday evening, May 1st, we gathered behind the Water Street Market and took off.

I started off fast, leading Selig and Brian Oestrike by just a couple of seconds through the first half mile down the rail trail to Village Pizza, where we settled in for a cheese slice.  I'm not much for eating fast, but did I mention I really, really like pizza?  Plus, since I've become a bit wedded to the LCHF thing, my pizza consumption has dropped precipitously.  I scarfed down my first slice in over a month like a ravenous hyena, leaving in second place, about 30 seconds behind Brian.

The leaders at AS1: Oestrike, Selig, yours truly
Photo: Tara Siudy

The stretch from AS1 to AS2 is the longest uninterrupted running segment on the course, about 1.25 miles of mostly steady uphill running.  It took me about a mile, but I caught up with Brian about two minutes before we reached Rocco's Pizzeria, where we attacked a cheese-less slice of Grandma's pizza.  I was feeling good, both running and eating well.  I left in second again, only about 5-10 seconds back this time, with Selig, Mike Halstead, Brian Hickey, and Mike Siudy all eating vigorously, less than a minute behind.

Chris Regan, founder of Team Pizza
Racers, ran the whole race in costume.
Photo: Tara Siudy

The next two stops--Pasquale's and Rino's--are just across the street from Rocco's, making for three slices in less than 200 meters.  I started to find my rhythm.  Pasquale's was a half-slice, pepperoni for me, jalapeños for the vegetarians; Brian maintained a slight lead, but we dashed across the parking lot into Rino's and sat down basically together for slice #4: a Caprese slice, stacked with chunks of tomatoes and mozzarella.  The eating was starting to get a little slower now, but Rino's Caprese is one of my favorite slices in town, and I was simply loving life.  I crammed the last of the tomato in my mouth and left AS4 a few seconds in the lead.

Brian caught up on the half-mile stretch to La Bella, where we entered together for slice #5; a half-slice of cheese for me and eggplant for Brian.  (I felt the need to handicap the vegetarians a little bit, given, what was coming on the last two slices.) Once again, we left within seconds of each other and ran the next downhill half-mile together.  Two slices remained, only half a block apart.

Hickey struggling at Gourmet.
Photo: Courtney McDermott

Gourmet Pizza was where the wheels started to come off, fortunately not just for me but for everyone else.  To this point we had run about 2.9 of the 3.3 miles, and just about everyone reported reaching this point feeling good, but the menu was about to take a turn for the disgusting.  I ordered up a cheeseburger pizza for the carnivores--ground beef, mozzarella, cheddar, mayo--and a broccoli-wheat pizza for the veggies. The slices were enormous, and with four full slices already on board, it was getting hard to choke down more.  For the first time, I was worried I might vomit.  But we had slowed the eating pace enough that I was able to recover a bit and got out in first place while Brian still had several bites left--my first real gap.  Only Halstead and Hickey had arrived by the time I left, so I knew my lead on the rest of the field was widening as I jogged the few feet down to Jordan's, the final stop.

Jodi and the girls were part of the volunteer team at Jordan's, and the girls surrounded me giddily as I settled into my chair with slice #7.  "Did you puke?  Who puked?  Did anyone puke?"  After about three minutes of listening to this, I finally blurted out, "Nobody say the word puke again!," which mercifully shut them up.

At Jordan's.  Nobody is happy.
Photo: Jodi Friedman

The final slice is one of my all-time favorites--Jordan's "CBR," shorthand for "chicken, bacon, and ranch."  I knew it would be murder at this point though, and it was.  I tried to be as methodical as possible.  I felt as though my lead was slipping away, but a couple of minutes passed before anyone else made their way in; by the time Oestrike and Halstead arrived together, I was halfway through the gigantic slice, and knew that neither of them would be making up too much time on this monster.  (Brian, one of the vegetarians, had no real advantage with his assigned pesto-peppers-onions combination.)  I staggered out the door several minutes later, as Hickey and Selig both arrived, but everyone looked about as bad as I felt.

I had spent the majority of the race running very well, despite having run a solid track workout the night before, but the final few hundred meters to the finish was a death march designed to move me forward at the fastest rate I could tolerate without vomiting.  My legs still felt fine, though, and I had enough of a lead to relax through the finish in 33:39, the inaugural NPPC champion.

Yay, I guess.
Photo: Tara Siudy

Sprint finish for second.
Photo: Tara Siudy

The race seemed to be a success.  The volunteers were awesome and logistically everything went off without a hitch.  Everyone complained incessantly about the final two slices, which is how I know I got the menu right.  And several of the pizzerias were enthusiastic about the idea once they saw it in action.  There's already talk of an Ithaca Pizza Challenge possibly on tap for later this year.  We'll tweak things a bit for 2016, and hopefully open the race up to the general public.  In five years we'll be Krispy Kreme big.  (Probably not.  But a guy can dream.  About pizza.)

In the pain cave.
Photo: Tara Siudy

RESULTS
1. Jason Friedman 33:39
2. Brian Oestrike 38:40
3. Michael Halstead 38:42
4. Mike Siudy 43:40
5. Mike Selig 43:53
6. Myron Baker 45:50
7. Mike Bakker 47:19
8. Phil Vondra 48:17
9. Vinny Sickles 49:32
10. Christopher Regan 54:30
DNF/DQ
Brian Hickey 43:09 (did not finish slice #7)
Natalie Thompson 48:16 (skipped a few slices)
Scott Field 1:04:01 (did not finish slice #7)
Greg Cecere 1:16:21 (did not finish slice #7)
Matt Elkin 1:16:21 (did not finish slice #7)

Shoe Review: Salming Trail T1

BOOM.

I've been ramping up my training recently, trying to get ready to throw down with the big boys at the Cayuga Trails 50 in four weeks.  I had a bit of a struggle recovering from Mount Mitchell, and didn't bounce back quite as quickly as I'd hoped.  The mileage came back pretty quickly--it usually does--but it took a few weeks before I started really feeling my oats again.  We took a nice trip to Puerto Rico at the end of March, jumping straight from 30 degrees in NY to 85 degrees, and man did I feel sluggish!  But since returning I've been on a bit of an upswing.  The past three weeks have totaled 317 miles, with a couple of unspectacular but solid track workouts and some decent longer quality runs (what I like to call "Lydiard" runs, which are more or less marathon-pace efforts or a bit slower).  Last week I ran my usual 10-mile Lydiard course (which in reality is probably about 9.6 miles) in just under 63 minutes and felt pretty relaxed most of the way, so that's a good sign.

It's HOT in Puerto Rico.

Anyway, nobody likes to hear about other people's workouts.  It's boring.  So, I figured I'd share my thoughts on the newest offering from Salming, the Trail T1.  I've been putting in about 65% of my miles since Mitchell in the T1s, so I've probably run at least 300 miles in them so far, and to this point they have not disappointed.  Of course, I'm running for Salming this year, so I tend to think their stuff is pretty great.  But you should too!  Here's why.

First off, they're damn good-looking.  I know nobody buys shoes for that reason (actually, as a former shop owner, I know nobody ADMITS they buy shoes for that reason), but let's be realistic--it doesn't hurt.  The men's T1s are a snazzy electric blue with a red outsole, which is a great pairing.  The women's model, with a deep purple upper and a yellow midsole, is even better.

Women's T1: also hot.

OK, ok, what do they feel like?  The upper is nice and breathable, but not too loose that you're sliding around.  The platform is fairly basic, true to Salming's natural running ideals.  No medial post, no transition zone, no outer lugs--just a single density midsole with a 5 mm drop, perfect for mid-foot striking.  I found the toe box to be surprisingly roomy.  They're not extra-wide, and not wide enough for my funky foot to actually accommodate its real-life length, but they do not pinch at all, and the upper is snug enough without being cramped to hug the foot pretty well.

I felt like the midsole was a bit stiff at first, but after the first two weeks the shoe loosened up quite nicely on impact.  The transition through foot strike from rear- or mid-foot to toe off is very smooth and natural.  The outsole is not especially aggressive but is grippy enough in light mud and on mildly technical trails.  It's a versatile enough shoe that it's comfortable for moderate stretches on the road, which is great for me on days where I'm running on pavement for the ten minutes from my door to the nearest trailhead.

There's not a lot of downside to the T1.  They are on the heavier end of the Salming spectrum.  At about 10 ounces, they're still pretty light but the heaviest shoe Salming offers, which is a bit of a turn-off for racing purposes. At that weight, I'd prefer a bit more of a cushioned ride, but that's just nitpicking, really.  It's been a little while since I ran in something I could compare the T1s to; in recent years I've been wearing a lot of inov-8s, which are not a great comp, and have been dabbling a bit too much in "minimalist" shoes, which also aren't in the same category.  I would say they feel a bit like the Brooks Cascadia--lower stack height, less controlled, a bit lighter, but a similar ground feel and versatility.  Maybe a lighter, less clunky version of the Salomon XR Mission.  Probably what the XR Mission wishes it felt like.

The other shoe I've been enjoying quite a bit is the Salming Race, but I'm saving a review for a couple of weeks from now, after I've had a chance to actually, you know, race in them.

Team Mountain Peak Fitness/Red Newt Racing

I'm extremely excited to report that I've been invited to join the Mountain Peak Fitness/Red Newt Racing Trail Running Team.  This team is born out of the marriage of two amazing companies.  Mountain Peak Fitness is a coaching, training, and adventure company based right here in the Hudson Valley.  The group's founders, Elizabeth and Joe Azze, are both coaches and personal trainers who have grown this business out of their love of the outdoors and of endurance sports.  MPF offers coaching and personal training services, as well as leads adventure groups for runners, cyclists, and hikers. 


Red Newt Racing is the brainchild of Ian Golden, the owner of the Finger Lakes Running and Triathlon Company and the race director of the Virgil Crest Ultras and the Cayuga Trails 50.  Red Newt is Ian's race management company, which has recently expanded to include not only those two races but several other gnarly trail races throughout New York, including the first stop of this year's US Skyrunning Circuit at Whiteface Mountain.  Red Newt will also provide their expertise and support for Charlie Gadol's races: Manitou's Revenge, possibly the toughest 50-miler in the country, and the inaugural Cat's Tail trail marathon.  Ian is a fantastic race director who puts on a world-class event and has hosted the US 50-mile championships at Cayuga Trails, and Red Newt is quickly growing into a major player on the trail running scene.


The MPF/RNR team is supported by the FLRTC and also Run On Hudson Valley, a new specialty running shop in Croton-on-Hudson.  Both shops are excellent and you should definitely check them out.


I was a bit taken aback when Ian asked if I'd like to join, as I'm not quite up to the caliber of most of the other athletes in the group, and I'm humbled to be included on a team with such luminaries as Cole Crosby, Iain Ridgeway, Ben Nephew, Carlo Agostinetto, Ryan Welts, and many others.  Hopefully I can put up some performances this year that justify my inclusion.  Please, check out Mountain Peak if you are considering a coach, and if you're looking for a great race this year, pick at least one of the Red Newt events.  I'll be running in at least three of their races, including Cayuga, so hopefully I'll see you out there.