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.

Race Report: Mount Mitchell Challenge: the Paralysis of Indecision

Long considered of the toughest races in the country, the Mount Mitchell Challenge presents runners with obstacles before even reaching the starting line--and I'm not referring to the September entry lottery, which fills the race to capacity on the day it opens.  The unpredictable and ever-changing course conditions tend to destroy the best laid pre-race plans.  Many of us associate North Carolina with Tobacco Road and year-round warmth, but western North Carolina is without a doubt mountain country, and February in Black Mountain can be as harsh as winter in the northeast.  Deciding what to wear and what to carry for a 40-mile mountain race with 9000' of elevation change in the heart of winter presents unique difficulties, even in a good year.

This was not a good year.

The ten days that preceded our trip down to NC this year--my third try at this race, after finishing fifth in 2011 and sixth (fifth male) in 2014--was filled with a whirlwind of texts between myself and the four friends I'd be heading down with, most of them variations on the theme "Do you believe this fucking weather?"  Reports from the course painted a picture of a mix of snow and ice, with high temps in the 20s-30s.  Race director Jay Curwen, who usually downplays any sort of reports as hyperbole, was warning us that traction devices would be necessary; coming from him, this was a shocking admission.  By Tuesday before the race, it became clear that the alternate "snow route" above the Blue Ridge Parkway would be utilized, shortening the course by about 2-3 miles and making the latter stages of the summit ascent a road race--albeit at a 7% uphill grade.  Thursday brought another 4-6" of snow to the course.  I packed two large duffel bags with clothing, four pairs of shoes, two different hydration vests, Nanospikes, and Microspikes.  I was about to pack a pair of Dion snowshoes before I decided that if it was going to turn into a 40-mile snowshoe race, I'd simply skip the race and drink a whole bunch of beer.

Decisions, decisions...

Upon reaching Black Mountain on Friday afternoon, I drove out to Montreat, where the course leaves the pavement after the first few miles and enters the trails.  After a short scouting run with different devices, I decided on the Microspikes, which would provide the most traction in the several inches of loose, unpacked snow that was covering the course; I planned to carry them until the trailhead, then to strip them off again after the trail for the run to the summit on the Parkway and the summit access road, and use them again for the descent back down to Montreat.  At the pre-race meeting that night, though, Jay reported black ice on the summit roadway.  Now worried that I'd need traction for the roads as well, I started to think Nanospikes might be the way to go; they'd be more versatile, I could run with them on pavement if necessary (unlike the Microspikes), and they would provide some help on the snowy trails as well.  The agonizing over this and many other gear decisions--long sleeve shirt or arm sleeves?  Cap or winter beanie?  Regular trail shoes or gaiters?  Handheld bottle or vest?--occupied our conversations, not only for several hours that evening, but even at breakfast on race morning.  We sounded like a bunch of fifteen-year-old girls getting ready for prom.  Having myriad options didn't help; in fact, it simply left me feeling much more vulnerable to second-guessing myself.

The weather seemed reasonable, though: high 20's at the start, little wind, no rain.  I was actually pretty comfortable as we gathered on Cherry Street for the start.  I had felt a little sluggish the day before, but our short jog to the start told me that I was primed and ready to go.  Training had gone very well.  I had a six-week, 600-mile block behind me, with tons of hills and several strong tempo workouts mixed in; after switching up my diet in early January, I was at my lightest weight in fifteen years.  I knew the field was as strong as I had ever faced at Mitchell, but I couldn't wait to get going.

Ready to go!
Photo: Mike Siudy

The opening pace was suicidally fast.  Several people fairly sprinted off the line, as if starting a 5K.  The marathon division has become more competitive in recent years, and this has contributed to some fairly insane starts for those of us in the 40-mile division.  In 2011, I ran in the lead pack for most of the first 15 miles; of the first ten people to reach the marathon turnaround on the Parkway that year, only one of them was actually a marathoner.  This year, however, several of the marathoners came to hammer, and they strung out the rest of the 40-milers as well.  I found myself exactly where I wanted to be pre-race: running with Shaun Pope (the Challenge runner-up in 2014 and this year's favorite) and Matt Roane (the 2014 marathon winner), though our small pack of about six runners was not at the front of the field but back in about seventh, over a minute behind the leaders by the time we reached the two-mile mark in Montreat.  Our pace was fairly aggressive, though, and we were banking on some carnage among the fast starters later in the race.  (We were right, kind of; five of the top eight finishers came out of our group, although Daniel Hamilton, the race winner, was one of the guys off the front who managed to hold on.)

After a very gradually uphill first couple of miles, the race climbs steeply for about 3/4 of a mile on pavement before entering the trail; I powered smoothly up this section, leading our group and feeling great.  I stopped at the trailhead to slip on my Nanospikes, losing about thirty seconds.  As soon as I stepped onto the trail I regretted my decision to leave the Microspikes back in my room.  The snow was mushy and loose; the Nanos offered minimal traction, and I was sliding all over the place.  I hemorrhaged time and places, giving up three additional spots within the first mile on trail.  I had already lost track of how many people were ahead of me--10?  15?  My legs felt great, but I was running in quicksand; it felt like every race anxiety dream I've ever had.

My man Brian, seventh in the marathon
Photo: Asheville Citizen-Times

By the time we reached the first aid station at Sourwood Gap, about an hour into the race, I had all but given up.  Beyond this point, the conditions improved a bit; the trail had been traversed by snowmobiles and ATVs at this point, and so was somewhat packed, allowing for stretches of decent running, but never for more than a few minutes at a time.  I stopped losing spots, but I wasn't making up any ground either; instead, I was in a back-and-forth with an unknown runner for a place in the mid-teens.  I was awash in negative self-talk, mostly directed at myself for, after all that agonizing, making the wrong decision on my traction device, which was clearly costing me minutes.  My only saving grace was that I still felt good, and that I knew an 11-mile stretch of pavement--when traction devices would hopefully be irrelevant--was approaching.

I reached the Parkway after a very frustrating 2 hours and 10 minutes--ten minutes slower than ideal conditions in 2014, when I had felt like shit; and nearly twenty minutes behind my opening pace in 2011.  I dug out a GU Roctane with my frozen fingers and gulped it down, vaguely registering that this was the first nutrition I had taken since breakfast.  I started up the access road with my Nanos still in place but ditched them after about a mile; the road was pristine, without an icy patch to be seen.  I was all alone, but periodically caught glimpses of Matt Roane about a quarter-mile ahead of me, locked in his own solo battle with the hill, and though it didn't look like I was making much headway, I tried to dig in and go after him.  About 1.5 miles from the summit, the road leveled out somewhat, and I pushed through the burn in my legs and started to finally gain some ground.  It took several minutes to reel him in, but finally I caught him with about 800 meters left in the climb.  Shortly afterwards the leaders started making their way down and we could see where we stood--we were sixth and seventh, about ten minutes off the lead but only about five minutes out of fourth and 2-3 minutes back from fifth.  The road remained clear until the final 400-meter push to the summit, which is a paved pedestrian path that in previous years has been plowed but this year had six inches of fresh powder on it, forcing a final hike to the top.  I paused momentarily to take in the view from the highest point east of the Mississippi, took a deep breath, and headed back down.

Matt is a wonderful downhill runner--he won last year's marathon with an amazing charge to overtake Mike Halstead in the final eight miles, himself no slouch of a descender--and I fully expected to get caught within minutes, but tried to push that out of my mind and instead tried to focus on the spots in front of me.  Cid Cardozo, an excellent masters runner and triathlete from North Carolina, held on to the fifth spot, and I set about employing my limited descending skills trying to catch him.  Which I did, somehow, and we ran in lockstep down the pavement for several miles, reaching the parkway aid station together where we stopped to re-apply our spikes one more time for the snow-covered trail.

Coming downhill, trying to find that rhythm
Photo: Asheville Citizen-Times

I was fairly certain Cid had left the aid station before me and started charging as hard as I could, but could not see him, so I settled into a solid, steady pace and focused on making my way to the next aid station.  The trail was now much more packed from having had hundreds of runners follow us up, and I was able to run the downhill at a nearly normal pace, avoiding marathoners all the way.  My energy levels still felt good; small cramps seemed to disappear after swallowing a couple of salt tablets.  Almost before I knew it, I was back on the pavement, hammering down the painful descent back into Montreat, not flying but moving better at this point than on any of my previous attempts at this race.  I left the spikes on for the last three paved miles back through Black Mountain, tiring but still moving well; I had given up hope of catching Cid, who I couldn't see anywhere; but I didn't see any Challengers closing behind me, and was fairly sure I had sixth place locked up.  I crossed the line in 5:22:26, about four minutes slower than 2011 and 22 minutes faster than 2014, on a shorter but infinitely more difficult course.  It was a nice surprise to find out a few minutes later that I was actually fifth and that Cid had been behind me the whole time!

In retrospect, I was quite pleased with the way the race turned out.  It was a frustrating day, made more difficult by my own second-guessing and ultimately wrong decisions on gear, and in the first half of the race I did a terrible job mentally, allowing my negative thoughts and frustrations to limit my performance.  But ultimately, I was as fit as I had hoped, and that fitness allowed me to regroup and salvage a satisfying performance.  Mount Mitchell is a difficult race on a good day, and given the conditions, I think this may have been the most difficult race I've ever run.  The second half of this race was very gratifying; outrunning a strong descender like Matt by several minutes was the sign of a strong performance for me.  It was a bit disappointing not to improve on my placing from previous years, but with the Microspikes, maybe that would have happened; overall, I had to take away mostly positives from this day.

In terms of the new diet, I have to report that unfortunately, it worked very, very well.  I took absolutely no nutrition for the first two hours of the race; I did the entire race on five gels and one bottle of GU Brew.  I did not stop once at an aid station except to put on or take off my spikes.  My energy levels were great; I rarely cramped and never bonked.  Whether I'm doing this whole LCHF thing correctly or not, I really have no idea, but for my first race as a purportedly "fat-adapted" athlete, it was an unqualified success.  Which is annoying; now I have to keep eating this way.  I took a little dietary vacation this week--impossible not to, in Beer City USA--but will be starting back on it tomorrow, so I'll have to crack open a few tonight.

Gear report: Orange Mud HydraQuiver Single Barrel (no bounce hydration, worked brilliantly) and trucker cap; Yard Owl race shirt from Verge; Pearl Izumi shorts; New Balance MT110 Winter shoes (the gaiters worked great).  Can't wait for the Salming Trail T1s to arrive.  Nutrition: GU Roctane and GU energy gels; GU Brew.