Squamish 50: Race Report

Aug 10 - 2013

I'm gonna jump right into this one . . .

5:30 am :

Spooky

We're lined up at the start area and Gary Robbins is counting down to GO! except he forget the order of the numbers when counting backwards (which is hilarious). Somehow he gets to ONE and we're off!

That's me on the far left of the frame in blue throwing up the shakalaka

Darryl and I keep pace as Lucien gives us high fives!

Darryl and I set into a rhythm early on keeping a low six minute pace per kilometer in the beginning, which is perfect for the game plan I have set out. Speaking of which, here's my game plan (which aside from the actual arrival times, is very similar to Mike Murphy's):

1. Keep an easy effort until Quest (km 53) ETA 1:30

2. Walk the hills

3. Take it easy on the downhills (don't wreck the legs)

4. Once I get to Angry Midget, push with whatever is left

5. Eat, Drink and Be Merry all day!

6:15 am:

Darryl and I both take a pee break (not together, but at the same time - don't get all weird - it's trail running people).  Little did I know it would be the last time I would pee in the race. Not a good thing, since I normally pee a lot on runs and hate the time it eats up in doing so. Well, wish granted, consequences to come.

A girl comes out of the woods on the other side, and says, "Ed! It's me . . . Lisa!" Except she didn't say Lisa, she said Linda, and I'm thinking wow, she looks like Linda, but she said Lisa. Weird. We start to run together, and a dude named Pablo keeps pace with us for a bit. I ask Lisa if she's run the course, and she says, "Umm, yea, I was flagging yesterday . . ." and I very tactfully say, "Yea that's what I meant!" realizing that it is in fact Linda and not a doppelganger. These things happen when you wake up at 4am. Sorry Linda. Anyway, we have a great chat about life and love (she's engaged to Gary) and come into Aid Station #1 together.

Linda Barton (aka Lisa, aka soon to be Linda Robbins) and I

6:36 am: 

I'm feeling great. I'm running a steady pace with low effort with some great people. My wife and boys are there and I do a shoe change amidst some superb signs they made. Why a shoe change so quick? Well, I sprained my ankle five days prior and the North Face Ultra Glides are way better for flat running than my Salomon XT-5's. #strategy

Shoe change and my awesome kids

This is what's inside my left foot.

KT Tape for the win

A bunch of us leave Aid Station #1 together and we hit the Coho Trail heading into Debeck's hill. Gregan, from We Run Mas, had some fun signs up, but I have no pictures sadly. 

An odd thing happens and I catch myself before it turns against me: I have dropped Linda, Darryl and Pablo on the trail. This is not a good thing. They have all run multiple Ultras. I have run ZERO, but have done Ultra distance in training (read as: not the same thing). I pull back the effort and they catch up on the climb. #strategy

A whole gang of us reach the top together and we're ready to drop into the 1st descent. At this point, I have just a hand bottle and gels. Even when I'm taking it easy, I have a hard time going slowly downhill. Not because I'm being foolish, but I tend to roll my feet if I'm not moving with some sort of dance-like momentum. Linda lets me pass and reminds me to save my legs, which I always appreciate hearing from the pros. I catch up to Carolyn, and zip past her also. I'm sweating a lot. More than normal. First sign that something inside my body is malfunctioning. I've run harder and more aggressive than this, and I'm purposely keeping it mellow since 80k is a long way to go!

I feel fresh outside of the intense sweating. I run into Alice Lake. Aid Station #2 . .  . 18k complete

8:15 am:

Running into Alice Lake feeling GREAT!

The Aid Station is awesome and my boys have more signs.

I'm WAY to sweaty at this point. Hmm . . .

 Linda, Darryl, Carolyn and Pablo all converge as we take in some fuel. I grab my pack and ditch some weight, since I now have a sense of how much fuel the stations have. I also dump half my bladder sleeve to drop weight.

Dumping fuel. Carolyn surveys the buffet.

Mmm, food. Awesome stations by Gary and Geoff (RD's)

One of my goals was to not spend more time at Aid Stations than is necessary. I'm right on schedule according to my estimates, and then I see the pros all leave. Woah, let's get going!

Hey, wait for me . . . I'm a white belt at this sport!!

Carolyn and I run pace together along the lakeside and she mentions that she thinks her pace is going too quick. When we hit the road leading to Stump Lake, she pulls back and I'm loosely following the Linda, Darryl, Pablo team, plus a couple other runners, with Carolyn close behind. I see Emma Lee marshaling and we high five (she sadly had to drop last week due to a knee injury).

Stump lake section is good, and we hit the memorial trail. My HR monitor is bothering me. It's not actually the strap, my chest is tightening, I just don't know it yet. I fiddle with for a few kilometers to no avail. I keep taking in gels to stay on top of nutrition. We reach the switchbacks that head up to Corners (Aid Station #3). As we climb up, Carolyn passes me as I pull a hamstring cramp. Manageable, but I stretch it out to prevent it from getting rough. "One of many issues that'll happen today, " Carolyn says. Indeed.

9:15 am: 

I pull into Aid Station #3 and it's like a scene in a movie where the bay doors open and there's space ships and vehicles and service crew all over the place, It's got a ton of food: coke, drinks, gels, with drop bags organized in rows, photographers, support crews, volunteers and of course runners. I feel like a pilot on a mission as I wheel in. Carolyn offers some cramp relief and finds a trigger point in my leg which relaxes the hamstring cramp. She then takes off. I hope to catch up with her soon. It doesn't happen.

I eat some oranges, watermelon and drink up. Replenish the hand bottle. I feel like I'm doing everything right. Taking in salt, watching pace, basically running a smart race.

I thank the volunteers and tell 'em I'll see them after doing the Edith Lake Loop. Now for some reason, in any training run I've ever done on this particular trail, this loop hates me, no matter what distance I started at. Things weren't about to change.

Problem #1: I pull a calf cramp on the way into the loop.

Problem #2: I get bit by something, again! (deja vu from previous blog post)

Problem #3: I feel nauseous.

Life is about solutions so here goes:

Solution #1: Massage and stretch the calf. Take two salt pills.

Solution #2: Threaten the bugs

Solution #3: Drink water.

9:50 am: I run along the lakeside before the climb to Entrails and see my family for moral support and cheer squad goodness. Simone says Darryl and Carolyn just passed through maybe ten minutes. That's a good feeling. 

After some quick hugs, I head up the climb. That's when Problem #3 from above evolves into Disaster #3. I'm almost at the top of this short but reasonably steep climb when I lurch forward and start vomiting. Okay, I think. This is normal for Ultra running. It's getting warm, I'm hot and exerting energy, just clear the stomach and let it out. Nothing comes out but fluid. Two female runners come up the trail and ask how I'm doing. "Stomach I say . . . need a reset." They offer me some chewable salt tabs and I run with them for a bit. Not wanting to vomit on anyone's shoes, I let them get a bit ahead, stop and let go another round. I catch up to them just as we start to descend Entrails and once again I get in front and start skipping down the trail. Entrails is very precarious with some big steep drops, so I slide down them and jump and run the rest. I feel another one coming on . . . resist it and take a salt. Small sip of water. Keep descending. Almost there. I reach the bottom and I get that full body vomit sensation that radiates up from the legs. My salt friend gives me three more discs to carry for later, and they slip out of the trail and kick out onto the climb back to Aid Station #3 (we hit it twice for 50 milers).

Two more runners come up and pass me on this section. I feel myself struggling. Chest is tight. I think it's because of throwing up (it's not, but it's all I can think of), and loosen the Salomon pack straps to relive some pressure.

I monitor my heart rate and keep it sub 150 bpm on the climb back to Corners. I chat with a redheaded fireman from Alberta, but he's about ten feet taller than me and I can't keep his stride. I see him at Corner's and Scheisse approach later on.

I reach Aid Station #3 . . . kilometer 38 complete.

11:10 am: 

I'm about 20 minutes behind my ETA for this section, but that's survivable. I need to fuel. I know I lost some energy in my vomit sessions, so regaining that is key to the next session, which has a big climb (3000 feet) , a major descent, (10k of steep downhill) and then post Quest (Aid Station #5) another climb (2200 feet).

I take in watermelon, some sweets for sugar, and drink coke and water. Normally by this time I would have peed, and I am now conscious of the fact that I haven't. I'm perplexed why this is happening, as I've been smart with my run, understanding and accepting odd things can and do happen, but it's still odd. 

A photographer named Dave massages my right calf out, which relieves the cramping there. Thanks Dave! I grab some gels for the climb and leave after about a ten minute break. 

Off to Scheisse! I am overwhelmed. My chest hurts, I'm having troubles breathing, I am sweating profusely, my stomach is revolting, and everybody is being so damn nice! People are awesome, They genuinely care. Perfect strangers are massaging my leg and feeding me food. I send this text to my wife as I depart Corners. 

She is THE best!!

   

I have to get my mind off this curveball I've been thrown. Remember, the goal is to FINISH! I pop in the headphones, start my playlist and start to sob. No tears, just sobbing. 

I reach the Base of Scheisse. In I go. It starts to rain. For about two minutes. Darn, that would have felt great!

11:30 am:

Climbing this mountain is hard. I had a superb climb up it three weeks ago on a 34k training run, but today is different. I can't breathe. A half breath is all I've got. Standing upright causes my chest to seize. I'm reduced to a snail's pace. The ironic thing: my legs are fine. Sore, of course, I've just gone marathon distance, but fine. Functioning, responsive, minor but manageable cramps, arms are good, no headache. I just can't breathe. I try to eat. Vomit. That's  puke number five if you're keeping count.

I grab a stick and use it to keep me upright. Two runners pass. I lean against a tree with my arms and close my eyes. Another runner comes up. She's struggling, asks if I need anything. And carries on. Another runner comes up. I'm taking three steps, and then a breath. A stop, three steps, and then a breath. Stop. All the way to the top. Garmin reads 3200 feet. I take my heart rate monitor off. With my chest constricting, it's the last thing I need.

I run down to the water and start cooling off. Wet my hat, splash my shirt and shorts and carry on. 

Just before the descent starts, I take an Espresso Hammer gel. I keep it down! Awesome, maybe I'm coming out this slump.

1:00 PM:

I start down the hill. I stop to stretch the legs and there are flies everywhere! Keep running. They bite and they hurt.

I reach a corner and there's a photographer there! Cool. I rip off the hat, beam a big smile for the shot and turn the corner of the trail. Smile disappears. Down Powersmart I go, steady but slower than normal. My legs can carry me, that's not an issue. Cramping is not so bad. I just can't breathe and my heart is pounding. Three weeks ago I came down this section very fast with Charles Yuen (who is doing Fat Dog next week - go Charles!), and maintained an even 150 bpm. The thudding in my chest says that's not the case today.

Regardless I hoot and holler down the trail. Might as well have fun in agony.

I really wanted to reach Quest by 1:30 pm, but I know I'm off pace and slowing down. That's fine. Expected. Carry on.

I reach Aid Station #4  . . . kilometer 48.

1:15 PM:

There's a very fit looking runner there! Yes. I can run with someone to help me stay focused, I come in and ask how his race is going. He says it's rough and that he's beat up. I concur and despite the volunteer saying I look good, I feel like a bag of crap. I stand there and try to breathe. Drink water, eat a gel (only get part of it down),  and ask when he's planning on leaving. That's when he says he's not running: he's dropped for the day. My heart sinks. Shit, how am I going to run solo into Quest with this breathing issue. That's when Kelly and Eric arrive. They're a mountaineering couple, and are looking decent. I ask if I can run in with them to Quest, and we do so. Eric gives me some Honey Stingers Berry flavor (delicious!)

Kelly is a trail running cheerleader! She's yelling out words of encouragement as we traipse down the trail. I'm distracted by their stories, and let it just flow. On the flats and downs, I'm doing okay because the pace is steady and slow, so it doesn't burden breathing too much. 

Then we hit the last little climb and that's it. Vomit number 6. I know I'm done. Kelly and Eric disappear with a fading "Keep going Ed!". The sections to come are very familiar to me, including Garibaldi climb to Angry Midget (exposed, hot, and hard on a good day, let alone with no oxygen intake). Something is going on that I can't manage. I've never experienced this issue on any training runs at all. Breathing has always been a strength. I don't get side stitches. My posture is good. For some reason, despite all my efforts, something inside is out of sync and I have to play it smart so I can run another day. 

But there is one last hope . . . maybe if I just refuel and sit at Quest I'll be good. . . . 

2:05 PM:

I come into Quest. There's a small dirt slope just before the gates. That little "obstacle" takes me almost two minutes to get up. Let's do the math - 30 feet / 2 minutes = 15 feet a minute. This is not gonna happen.

I see the course marshall at the gate into Quest. "How's it going triple 7?" he yells out.

I can barely speak. I just shake my head. Apparently over the radio there was word of a runner with breathing and stomach issues. Well, that runner was me,

I climb the stairs to the Aid Station #5  . . . . kilometer 53.

Lucien looking worried. I'm moving zombie slow.

One of the volunteers is running over to me with a coke and a water in hand. Another is grabbing ice packs. They have chairs set up in the shade.

My wife and kids are looking at me and I shallowly squeak out I can't breath. 

I sit down. My wife, Sean, one of my running partners and close friends (and husband to Elaine Fung who rocked the 50k course), and the volunteers start providing assistance. I have ice under my arm pits, in between my legs, on my neck. I have food options, and drink options. I'm telling you, people are amazing when it comes to moments of duress.  

I look to my wife from the chair and say thats it. "I'm done. I can handle . . . everything else. Not breathing  . . .  is game over. " 

Medical is called. I'm in a car within fifteen minutes to Squamish hospital. A couple of hours later, it's over the St. Paul's via Ambulance with flashing lights. Four IV bags and a ton of blood and cardiac tests later and I am kept awake and tested on until Sunday morning. Looks like my kidney was failing, causing the heart to stress and breakdown, in turn causing the kidney to fail even more in a vicious cycle. 

Finally got home and had a chance to bathe, stretch, massage and rest by late Sunday morning. To be honest, I'm not sure what I could have done to prevent it. I welcome any and all suggestions or links or resources to help for next time. Post a comment below! I'll dedicate my next race to you.

Regardless, I will persevere. Do some more smaller, less intense races and push my hand at a couple of 50k's to develop some more distance skills. My legs and feet are standard sore having run 53 kilometers but other than the kidney/heart issues, I feel good today.

Like Charles Yuen messaged me on facebook, "You have done all the preparation you can for the race...some things are just out of your control. I will remind you to pack extra internal organs into your drop bag next time." 

Brilliant! 

Tough Mudder: Whistler 2013

June 23, 2013


Tough Mudder is ridiculous. I say that because it does a great job of not taking itself too seriously while scaring the heck out of the average-joe, yet still getting them to sign up. This was going to be my second year doing a Mudder event, and I have to pay tribute to the event for getting me into trail running and running in general.

For 2013, the running wasn't going to be an issue for me, since a quick 18k with some obstacles is not of any major concern. Our team, "Lightning Unicorns" (my boys Paris and Lucien came up with the name and logo), was filled with 9 people this year. Shanthi (a 2012 alumni), Elaine, Sean, Carlos, Kevin, Suzi, Justin, Claire, and I, with my wife, Simone, and boys as our cheer leading squad.

We arrived in Whistler, and as we were running on the Sunday vs the Saturday, had a nice gathering amongst friends at Sean and Elaine's hotel suite. The village was alive with party atmosphere from the Saturday Mudders, including the noticeable "Mudder Swag", where people walk with a very specific limp from the course laying waste to their joints and limbs.

The next morning, we car-pooled to the Olympic Park where the event was happening and were suitably excited for the day to unfold.

We arrived at registration, and wow, great job TM, the organization this year was top notch. It took no time at all, and all the reg desks, package pick ups, bag stations, out houses and the whole area was very well manned and much improved from 2012.

We all got through the process in record time. As a mixed team of athletes of different skill sets, we had agreed that we would have a fast and slow group. However, we would all stick together at least until obstacles 5 or thereabouts (Glory Blades according to the course map).

Carlos duct taped a bunch of gels, shot blocks and gu's to his body, which was hilarious. I had some salt caps with me also. We were a walking aid station, and I'm glad we had the stuff. We gave away most of our food and salt to cramping weekend warriors who avoided death walking to the finish. Hilarious.

The opening speech by the MC at Tough Mudder events is one of the highlights of the event. He brings you up, the brings you way down, then ramps you up again, and gets you so jazzed to chant the mantra "First Aid" that you forget that he's actually having you chant "First Aid!"

Once you get suitably jazzed up to get going, they open the flood gates and you're off.

Sean and I bolt ahead, and once we navigate a few overly ambitious fresh out of the gaters, we reach the first obstacle with no one ahead of us. It's Kiss of Mud, and it's a 25 meter barb wired crawl through mud and water with about a foot of clearance. We get out the other side and wait for our crew. We are no longer clean. In fact, this year's TM is SO muddy that it really did the title justice.

There's a steep little ridge that we run over, and then run a mile or so to Arctic Enema, cargo containers filled with ice. Our cheer squad races us to the site and we wait for the whole team to arrive before going in. Last year, I hated this obstacle. This year, with the heat starting to climb, it felt great. There was a ton of ice on the far side of the barb wire board that forces you to go under and it's much colder on that side. I pull myself out and reach for Sean and Carlos to come out.

The I see Shanthi. And Claire. Shanthi is being pulled over the side in the middle next to the board by an attendant, her shoulder clearly jutting out an odd angle. She's telling him that her shoulder is dislocated and that she needs a second to pop it back in. Claire is struggling with breathing and isn't going under the board. I tell her to take a deep breath, and she's staring at me with wide eyes. "Deep breath, Claire, then under!" I yell. She takes the breath, and comes up on this side of the board. I reach in and help out of the ice. Supreme cold does weird things to people. She's out. Shanthi pops her shoulder back in and comes out of the ice, laughing. Typical Shanthi.

We all regroup, get a wet and cold picture opportunity and then head off to the next session. We clamber over some terrain and head into Bushwacked. It's basically a steep descent down a non-trail.

Carlos, Sean and I break left, as the crowd goes right. Oops, guess left wasn't intended as we hit a cliff. Oh, well. We slide down it on our butts and hands. I look back up and it was a seriously steep slope with some unforgiving angles, but we made it out in one piece. We avoided the mud that others are clambering out of. Haha, suckers. Regroup. My outfit gets some attention, from both male and female participants. Hey, not everybody can pull it off, but who am I to say whether I can or not. I'll take my shirt off in a kilometer or so. It'd be fun to run this thing basically naked.

We take off on another mile long run and reach Warrior Carry. Sean piggy backs me, I fireman carry Sean. Then run back and Carlos piggy backs me, and I fireman carry Carlos. Everyone else has a partner, and we run off to the Glory Blades. These are basically angled walls.Carlos and I help the rest of the team over as they arrive. Elaine decides she would like to do back flips and ends up on the dirt on the wrong side of the wall . .. not once, but twice! Justin, as he clambers up my body decides to boot kick me in the face and pin it against the planks as he pushes of my right orbital bone into the unknown on the other side of the barricade. Carlos can't stop laughing at my plight and shoe print across my face.

We climb over a wall of snow and reach the log jam further down the trail.

At this point we decide to split up into two groups: fast and less fast. Carlos, Sean and I break away and after a quick up and over, and under and over and under and under and over and over some logs, we run along to the next set of whatever Big Mudder has thrown our way.

Trench Warfare is a fair distance away. Not a very exciting obstacle (crawl through boxes), and then one of my favorites for the event: Fire Walker! There's a foot and a half wall of heat blasting fire that we sprint towards (I know, run AWAY from fire, not towards it!), and then a big leap and a jump followed by a 5' foot drop on the other side into a pool of dirty water. We pull ourselves out of the water via a cargo net. That was awesome.

We banana it up at the aid station, drink some water and run off to the next set of goop. It's called the mud mile. It is less than one mile (1.6k) but is very muddy, has little hills and slopes that are slippery and challenging to get up and down and it stinks like bear latrine. Don't breathe and don't fall in.Too late. We exit this obstacle absolutely covered from head to toe in mud.

The next section has a decent amount of running, and we pass a ton of people in severe cramping. I'm handing out salt pills like it's candy. The look on a lot of people's faces at this point is either one of elation or frozen bewilderment. I am enjoying the carnage.

We run down and then up a small hill (N.B. I've been running up 3000' foot mountains, so small is relative to me these days) and come up to a  set of planks, each about 5' feet above the other going up to about 25' feet off the ground. Welcome to Ladder to Hell. I have little fear of climbing, since I climbed trees as a kid daily, so I pop up to the top, flip over the other side and reach the bottom. Sean has some issues at the top transition, but with a quick tip from the HQ ground team to Major Mud, he gets over. Champion mode is on!

We come to Electric Eel after what is a solid amount of running, and the temperature is getting hot. We hear screaming in the distance. That's the sound of people getting zapped! The spectator crowd here is huge!! We hop up the rise and there's barb wire strung 1' foot above about 6 inches of muddy water. I hesitate at this one, because I'm wary of the electric shocks with my tremors. Carlos goes in first, and he looks fine. Last year, I don't even think the electrical was on, and it seems to be the same for Carlos' path, so I get on all fours and follow his route.

Suddenly, I'm pulling my face out of the water?! What just happened?! I got zapped, hard and took a faceplant into the ditch. Crawl, fast, zap. Crawl some more zap! Ok, this thing is ON today. Almost there and BAM, I take an aluminum baseball bat to the lower back. I plop over the final rail and get the heck out of that death trap. That sucked! Can't you tell by the picture.

Now that we've been suitably jolted, we come up to Cage Crawl, which is supposed to be  claustrophobic water tunnel with a cage over your head preventing you from getting your head out of waterline except for your mouth. I've been anxious for this obstacle. And here were are . . . in reality, it sucked. There was no water. It was basically trench warfare but on snow. Wait, trench warfare WAS on snow. So, it's trench warfare on snow with a cage instead of a box. Terrible challenge. Move on.

Here comes Cliffhanger. last year, this hill climb which runs parallel to the Olympic ski jump killed me. It's steep, it faces the Sun and it's steep. Well, after all the mountain running from one year to the next, this climb was straightforward and short in the grand scheme of things. Great to see measurable  progress.

There's a ton of mud along what is an unlisted obstacle, that is actually one of my favorite sections. It's like the mud mile, but occurs in a rooty, rocky, rugged trail. It's slow, treacherous and slippery. Plus people alays take a wrong step and go tip to tail into the mud here which is worth a laugh. It's also a shoe graveyard, as they get suck in the muck, and good luck getting them back. We're at the top of the rise, and after exiting this section, it's a fast descent to Hold Your Wood. You pick a wooden log, carry it up a climb and then down the other side. No problems. Another fast descent, and people are suffering. Cramping all over. It's like a zombie walk for some groups at this point. We see some "Uber-guys" (you know gym dudes with muscles the size of my torso) walking like they came off a hundred mile horseback ride moving at a pace similar to a geriatric with constipation. I make a few salt deals, and we're off again.



We hear more screaming in the distance. And here comes Walk the Plank!! It's a 5 meter climb up a wooden wall to a platform that you then jump off of into a large pool of black murky water. There was a drowning death at this obstacle in the States a few months back, and the number of attendants is clearly bumped up after that tragic accident. I climb to the top, and Sean and Carlos lag behind. I yell down for them to get up here, and Carlos rips up the wall, takes two steps and jumps! Okay, me too . . . oh, sweet refreshing water. All the mud is washing away and I swim to the cargo net to get out of the water.

Sean takes the plunge and realizes it's higher than he thought! He swallows a bunch of water and exits with a smile. We see our support crew and I give my eldest a wet hug!

Now let's take a look at what happened when the rest of the team arrived at this section about an hour later. Elaine and Kevin jumped in first. All good. Shanthi jumped in and came up gasping for air, her arm (the questionable one), clearly out of its socket! They swim over to her and keep her from going under and the attendants start throwing life savers with rope over to the trio. They pull her from the water and she's hooked up with a doctor in an ambulance. He asks her how often she dislocates her shoulder and in true Shanthi fashion she says, "In my life or just today?!". A second waiver is signed, she pops it back in, and off she goes. Warrior mode is on!

Back to the present: Sean, Carlos and I blast through Boa Constrictor (tubes with water) and reach Funky Monkey. I love monkey bars. I secure my grip and swing 3 to 4 bars at a time. I see Simone and the boys running up to get a picture so I hang out in the middle and wait for them to arrive. People are splooshing in the water around me, but I could hang here for days. Well, maybe not days, but I could play "leg wars" confidently and be okay.

Sean and Carlos also rock the bars no issues, which is a HUGE confident boost for Sean, as he was anxious for this obstacle leading up to the event. Kudos buddy.

Everest is next, a 20' foot half pipe that you have to sprint and jump up. Getting someone's arm cuts a few feet from your leap, so it's a good strategy. I run hard, jump up and one arm grabs a helper and the other the lip of the wall. One tug and over. We all get over no issues and help a few other teams up in true Mudder form.

Berlin Walls come up pretty quick. These double walls are higher at 12' feet each, so helping each other is key. We had a solid technique as can be seen here. Yes, we're close friends!

We run to the finish line, Sean is bonking and decides he will zig zag his way along, as Carlos and I have a laugh.

I skip the final Electroshock Therapy. The effect Electric Eel had on me was pretty intense, so no need to play the hero. We cross the finish line, and grab our finisher's swag: t-shirts, the coveted headband, and of course BEER!

We shower off, grab some grub and wait for the rest of the team to come in. We completed in about 2:40 and the rest of our Lightning Unicorns crossed hand in hand at about 3:45.

Great job team! The event was awesome. Good fun, well placed obstacles and a much improved course. The weather was beautiful and warm, so even the cold water was refreshing.

After having done it two years in a row, I doubt I'll do a third year in 2014, and keep my eyes set on Ultra distances instead, but it was a hoot.

Thanks Big Mudder.

Scheisse Cramps My Style

June 9, 2013
Squamish 50 Orientation Run 3 of 3

There are a lot of things that inspire us to push our limits and force us to see just what we're capable of.
The Squamish 50 Ultra Marathon, put on by Gary Robbins and Geoff Langford, an event that I signed up for in December of 2012 (with very little concept of what I was in for), is one such life event that has developed a deeper sense of perseverance, and has pushed my training limits in so many ways. On June 9th, some of those limits fell like dominoes as I broke several personal records in my running resume.

When I signed up for the Ultra, the options were for the 50k, the 50 miler, or a shorter 24k trail run. As my first ultra marathon, the conventional wisdom recommends to run a 50k (often after having done at least one standard marathon of 42k). Well, not one to abide to conventional wisdom I signedup for the 50 miler, a full 59 kilometers farther than I had ever run.

I signed up for the full distance of 50 miles (80k), not because I want to boost my ego (running and training for an Ultra Marathon is more of a humbling experience than an ego stroking one), but rather because there was--and still is at the time of this writing--a very, very, very big chance of not succeeding. Well, that sense of potential failure (DNF) is darn right too enticing to pass up on!

Doing a 50k, even from where I was back in December compared to now, has pretty much a zero chance of failing to complete the race distance. I would finish the race with grit. Maybe it's my martial arts background, but you always finish the fight, and the 50k was a fight I knew I could finish.

Now step into the mindset of the 50 mile distance, and I wasn't so sure. In fact the seeds of doubt were so huge that I was forced to take it seriously. It is an intimidating and lofty goal for someone so new to running, and somehow that's attractive to me. The epic nature of the course, and the work that would need to be done to complete such an endeavor is monumental, and I like that.

Preparing for a long day

The RD's, Gary and Geoff, wisely put on several orientation runs: a 24k that followed the back end of the course (which kicked my ass and flared up a knee injury that set me back for 4 weeks), a 32k middle section (which kicked my ass and brought to light my nutrition woes with vomit inducing nausea), and a 47k which covers the course from kilometers 10 to 57.
Not more than a couple of weeks prior to the 3rd orientation run, Gary posted some changes to the SQ50 website listing the following: a new earlier start time for all runners, additional drop bag locations, and modified cut off times. The course was turning out to be much harder than first anticipated and when Gary says that, you know it's a beast! (The 2012 course was different due to permit issues and 2013 replaces a ton of service roads with amazing technical single track)

We Run Mas Crew

On to training day!! We show up on the morning of the final orientation, ripe with anticipation. Several of our running group "We Run Mas" members are there also, including Elaine Fung, Adina Dragasanu, Shanthi Jayarajah, and Gregan Dunn. The rest of the crew is planning on doing a 37k version, and I'm shooting for the 47k today: it'll be my first marathon distance, first ultra distance, most elevation in a single run, and the longest time on my feet. Like I said, dominoes.

My goal:  8 hours at a steady effort with no injury. Period.

Awesome Turn Out

Gary runs off, chalk canister in hand, as the rest of us take our group shot. He has a two minute lead, although it's doubtful anyone's gonna catch him, even with him having to mark the trail as he runs.

Gregan and I run together to the trail head, Adina "Fairy of the Forest" is slightly ahead, and Shanthi and Elaine are cruising in the back of the pack. Gregan and I take an easy effort to the first section leading to Debeck's Hill. As we reach the meat of the climb, we are about 45 minutes in, and Gregan, who is a much faster climber than I, takes off. It's pretty cool watching him run up hill. I am monitoring my heart rate and want to stay sub 160bpm to keep from going anaerobic.

As I climb Debeck, a familiar face paces with me, a wonderful lady named Michaela. Well, she's wonderful now, but she made some fierce fun of my passion for bright colors on the Iron Knee race at the start line a few weeks back. Just kidding . . .we have a great chat as we climb the hill, sharing stories of our families and the little motivations of life that push us forward.
I tell her my wife and kids are crewing me today, since it's my longest run, which she finds very endearing. Awwwww, how sweet. We reach the top of the climb together and her running partner, Margot, is seconds behind.

Michaela and Margot

Quick photo op, and we start down Debeck descent. I zip past them and bound down the hill, knees, feet and quads all feeling superb. I pass Adina and another runner named Emily along the way. After reaching the base of the hill fresh as a daisy, I run towards Alice Lake.

That's Me Approaching My Crew

As I leave the perimeter of Alice Lake I see my crew. My wife and kids are there. I grab a quick cheer, pound a coke and refill some water. I bound off towards the Stump Lake loop with renewed vigor. I'm 10 minutes behind Gregan.
It's about kilometer 14 when I see Adina catching up. She chases me down for a few klicks, until I stop to evict "Henry" from my shoe. I'm normally fine with debris in my shoes, but once I start naming them, they have to go. We zip up the switchbacks together and reach the Aid Station at kilometer 18 together.

Adina "Fairy of the Forest"

She's doing the 37k route, so with a quick replenish of hydration, she goes left, and I go right to complete the 10k loop just south of the Aid Station. I dart off down the trail and suddenly, sharp pain in the right ankle. I screech to a halt and pull a nasty looking bug from my shoe. Bastard stung me! Well, whatever, move on trooper. I head down the service road, dodging hydro workers who are doing electrical work on some very tall powerlines. Suddenly I realize it's hot. Like really, really hot. Fully exposed, I trot down the hill at a decent clip when I see a runner heading up. He's about 7k ahead of me, having already completed the loop (amazing how fast some dudes are!). He gives me some pointers, and I take a moment to enjoy the scenery as I head back into singletrack forest.

This Bridge is Cool!! The Sun is hot!!

I get into the woods and am having a great time. Eating, drinking, pacing. All good. Then it strikes. Calf cramp. Weird. I don't cramp. I've heard of this phenomenon, but I'm not at all familiar with it. maybe my pace was too quick earlier? Hmm, Clif Shots? Carbs? Nuun? I forget about the salt caps in my vest (big mistake). I can't run fast. I can run, just not fast. Steady as she goes. Some light stretching every km or so. I reach some technical, very steep downhill, and wish I could jump down it, but don't want to aggravate the calf cramping.

I get spit out onto the bottom of the fire service road that I had left earlier and start the 4km climb back to the Aid Station. Uphill is much better! What the what? Did I just say that?! I truck along, passing some day hikers who think we're crazy (I guess they found out how far we were running).

I get to the Aid Station and ask Geoff how many more 47k runners to come. He says about twelve. Okay, I think, fine. Sadly, he was wrong, as those who signed up for it skipped the loop and were already ahead of me (this caused some confusion and phone calls to runners who they were expecting to see twice. Very responsible of the RD's. Good job.). This meant I had no one behind me (Shanthi and Elaine had gotten lost and took a "modified" route). I'm glad I didn't know this at the time. More coke, and I run off to meet the big climb . . . 3000' feet of up.

I hit the trailhead and start climbing. BAM, cramp. This time left calf. BAM, right calf. They're playing ping pong. Wait, the ping pong ball went out of bounds . . . BAM right Quad. What the heck!! I slow my water intake. Oh snap, SALT!! My black sleeveless windbreaker is white from salt buildup. I am at 1600' feet. My heart rate shows 220bpm. What the bejeezus?! 220!! I have a panic attack. Are my electrolytes so far out of whack that I'm having a heart attack? Wait a second, slow down there "worrisome willy". My heart rate monitor slipped off and was sending inaccurate readings to my Garmin. Okay, fix the darn thing, disrobe my vest and shirt and run on the spot as I do so. I must have looked like an idiot to anyone watching (which was the bears and the screaming trees and the moss) as my muscles were cramping and I sang a song to myself to ensure I was still alive. I know, ridiculous.

Shirt, vest and heart rate monitor all back in place . . . the problem is that the HR reading made me forget about taking salt caps. Dummy.

1900' . . ..cramping, 2000' cramping . . .  2600' cramping . . .  doesn't this mountain ever end?! It peaks around 3500' feet and I'm in full leg spasms the entire way up. At one point my left calf literally disappeared while my right calf did the wave up to my groin. Neat bedroom trick. Not so neat on a relentless climb up a trail called Galactic Scheisse.

Suddenly, the trail ends. it's kilometer 35'ish, I've run further than I've ever been before, on the top of a mountain that has no more trail. Instead, there's a small gorge and a river, and a tree with a rope hanging off it that drops to a small lip below. From there, a 20' foot log crosses the mountaintop river. Okay, easy, climb down the rope, cross the river by walking across the log and climb up the other side. No problem . . . except I'm cramping like a MOFO! A couple of deep breaths, grab the rope, and swing to the side of the ledge. BAM, full right leg cramp. I hang there for what seems like an eternity, as the bears and screaming trees and moss all giggle and roll in laughter. Good thing I have experience hanging from rope (a tale for another time)!

I drop to the ledge, and regroup. Slow steps, no cramps please, otherwise I'm taking a drink. I focus on the log like a tight rope walker and make it to the other side before I collapse in a heap as my left calf revolts again. SALT!! Oh right. I pop 3x Thermalyte salt caps and take a sip of Nuun. Slow walk up the slope, and along overgrown single track and my legs are starting to come back after about ten minutes. I see the hill going down. I eat some McDonald's Cheeseburger extra ketchup, no onions from my pack. Salty. Delicious. Clif Shots . . . I can run!

7km of steep technical downhill. I'm having a blast again, but I probably look like hell. Let's take a picture:

My Hell Face

I'm moving at a good pace though. The salt helped. Quest University comes up quicker than I expected. Then I see this glorious marker!

Holy snap! Time for music. I max the speaker on my iPhone and pull up NIN Downward Spiral on the playlist. It's a solid 3K cruise down dirt road to the start area at the Canadian Tire just off the sea to sky! I'm about 800 meters out and my leg is cramping again (I'm out of salt caps) and I don't care. I'm running this in to the finish!

Running It In: 47km + 6000' of climbing!

I'm stoked to be done. My family is there and so is Gregan! So cool that he came back after having lunch to see me come in. Gary and Geoff congratulate me for the achievement as I share my stories highs and lows. Gary points out that 4 to 6 salt caps an hour is what I need, as opposed to the 6 caps I took in all day!
 Ok, lesson learned. Well, that's what it's all about ain't it!

Finish time:  7:51 of running. 

Iron Knee 2013: Race Report

Race Day: May 26th, 2013

I've been suffering a few niggly injuries in the form of a banged up knee from my femur rotating inwards and was aching for a solid long run where nothing went wrong. That wasn't going to the case on this particular event. The terrible beginning would pale in comparison to how simply awesome things were going to finish.

Gary Robbins, a local runner and elite Ultra runner, who is also the course director for the Squamish 50, my "A race" for the year, and wins more stuff than you can imagine (go read his blog), sent me a video with some rehab he did after suffering a double leg break a couple of years back. I had always ignored run specific strength training but, since February of this year, after my knee decided to revolt and sent March into a downward spiral of hurt, leading to a no-run April, I paid attention to the imbalanced and weaknesses I had generated, and started getting to work.

Massage therapy, some hard ass slow controlled movements and a focus on supporting muscle groups was slowly but surely alleviating some of my pains. KT Tape was also become a fast friend to my legs, if not my bank account. I had found a unique taping method that allowed me to run without stabbing pain, and so my runs ramped up again.

In the end of May, we did a 32km long orientation run in Squamish on the SQ50, and my knee was superb. That run I went out too hard in the first 14 k, overdid the gels in the first hour and became seriously nauseous by km 19 and had no quads left for what was, in essence, the most difficult and challenging long run of my reasonably new running life. I learned a lot on that run, but was not planning on repeating the poor finish and failed nutrition plan.
Now I ought to mention, I love downhill technical trails. A lot. I tend to go too hard down them, and haven't found the balance yet on how to enjoy that exuberance AND make it past plus 30k feeling fresh. I'm still learning and making mistakes on every run. Of course, I'm also listening to the feedback and ensuring it would generate a better performance for next time.

So here we were, the next time. The Iron Knee was intended to be a 24k training race for me, not an "A race" by any means. It was an exercise in seeing where I was, what was working technique wise, and also a bit of an experiment. For nutrition, I was going to run with 20oz Ultraspire handheld filled with NUUN grape flavor and CLIF Shot Bloks. That's it - no vest, no gels, no water, no salt tabs, no solid food. Let's see what happens.

Elaine Fung, a dear friend, fellow martial artist and 'OG' runner of our running group "We Run Mas," and I were decked out in rainbow gear. Compression sleeves, and fluorescent colors. Euro Chic is what we call it. We like fancy wine too.

Elaine Fung and I rockin' it like it's 1986

Our plan was to go out slow and enjoy the course. My personal plan was to run a steady effort the entire race. I wasn't going for a PR or a PB or anything else like that (well I suppose it would be both since I haven't run the course before, but let's ignore the semantics shall we). Sub 3 hours would be great. Sub 2:45, even better and on target. Sub 2 1/2 hours? Probably too fast for a training race, since I'm planning on running for the rest of the following week according to a schedule also. Now to point out I'm a 45'ish min 10k runner for road, which isn't too fast. I've never run a road half marathon, so the trail paces are all course specific. My 5k pace is 4:20 (yea, I know, chuckle chuckle potheads) and that's pushing it. There you go, enough of the math and runner geek stuff, let's get to the start line, shall we.

Elaine and I at the start!

The first climb is a steady run from Cleveland Dam to the base of the Grouse Grind. The gun goes off, and we run up the road for a mile and then turn right on the trail head and follow a rocky wide track that has a slow climb up with a few bends and turns. Calves are feeling tight right off the bat, but that's typical for an uphill start, so whatever, no biggy. Keep running. We were easily in the back of the pack, which is a nice feeling when you're not pushing it as a goal race, but rather using it to develop a strong performance for a few months down the line. You can talk to people and enjoy the scenery on these types of events and figure things out for later. Let's call it fine tuning adaptation.

We reach the single track trailhead together and after a bit more climbing, there's a short descent. I decide to see how the knee is doing, and skip down passing a few people along the way. I like to frolick. We reach the bottom, and there's a girl there at an Aid station in the middle of nowhere. I have a laugh, thank her for hanging out in the depths of a west coast rain forest, and take a few leaps up the trail and wait for Elaine. Uh oh, what's this? My calf is stiff and my right foot is tingly. Whatever, loosen the laces on my Salomon S-Lab XT5's, and keep going, It's technical uphill from here, so steady as she goes. Elaine catches up and we navigate some great roots, rocks and muddy middles. Right foot is still a bother, loosen the patellar strap and loosen the laces. Foot is a full tingle. Elaine continues on and I fiddle with my shoes.

We hit some undulating uphill and are only about 4km in, when that's it: I can't feel my foot. At all. I don't know where it's landing, what it's kicking, how high it is, or anything. From the mid shin down, there's zero propreoception and no feedback. Left foot strike, nothing, left foot strike, nothing, left foot strike, nothing . . . each and every stride. I'm concerned. Balance is an issue and I don't want to wipe out. I slow to a walk, since running on technical is impossible with no right foot. Elaine is long gone.
I walk for another 2 km, still nothing. I can't curl my toes, angle my foot or do any controlled movement below the right knee. Hmm, this could be the first time I DNF. No point in snapping a leg for a training race. My pace is gone. I am being passed by everyone. I mean, EVERYONE. I meet a trail marshall and ask her where the next aid station is as I will be dropping from the race. She says it a couple of kliks away on Old Mountain Highway and she' sorry. "Thanks," I say and plod along. One foot at a time.

What I imagine to be one of the last place runners in the race comes along. I'm likely around position 165 out of 166 runners. Yes, it's that bad. The runner asks if I'm okay and I explain I'm probably gonna pack it in, since I can't feel my foot. She's not overly fast and says she just started trail running 6 months ago. She's sliding all over the place on the slick roots and rocks, but is tenacious in her approach, which I admire immensely. I hold my breath a couple of times on her account but she stays upright and keeps moving forward. I can keep a slow run pace with her and place my feet where she does. She came at just the right moment. I thank her for allowing me to keep pace with her, and follow her footfalls, as it's the only way I can stay upright and run at the same time. We dial in a km or so, and then the first descent down Mt. Fromme begins. The aid station is near, so I might as well run it in before handing in my bib. My run is slow and tempered, careful and deliberate. Not how I tend to run downhill at all, but c'est la vie. Another kilometer and my day will be done. Somehow, I manage to catch up to Elaine and my right foot tingles, as though  it's coming back to life. I'm so excited to see her (really,you have no idea), and shout out as I catch up.

We run into the Aid Station together and lo and behold who do I see?!

Ellie Greenwood, Ultra Runner Extraordinaire

Yup, Ellie Greenwood. Now, if one is going to DNF a race, it doesn't happen at an aid station where Ellie Greenwood, Ultra Runner of the Year, Western States 100 course record holder, basically the elite of the elite Ultra runners in the world, is hanging out. She's offering coke and chips and gels. Big smile. I introduce myself, as I was too shy to do so when we ran (together) at the first SQ50 orientation run in March. She says Elaine and I look "too fresh" and we ought to "run faster". Okay, well, when Ellie says run faster, you run faster. My thoughts of DNF'ing due to club foot start to fade and Elaine and I depart the final stretch of Mt. Fromme heading into Lynn Valley.

Elaine and I drop into the trail head again, a part of a trail system we know very well, and my foot is coming alive. Tingly but giving sensation and feedback! Yes, I can run downhill at last. I shift gears and start a controlled tumble into some watery, rocky single track. The undergrowth holds their leaves out like fans on the side of the road cheering me on.

The steep steps that drop into Lynn Valley road are coming to completion and Elaine is minute or so behind. I see waving hands down below and another lift of spirit is there cheering me on! It's my wife and two boys. They're clapping and waving as I make my descent and greet them. I quickly communicate what happened and why I'm so far behind to which my wife, Simone says, "Don't DNF because of your foot. You have another one!" With a backwards run and a big smile, I give a wave and burst down the road to the next trail connector.

Coming down Mt. Fromme

I come into the Lower Syemour Conservation Reserve feeling great. I've made up a few places I lost and take a coke and some chips at the aid station. I'm about to enter a trail network I haven't run before so "stay conservative and run with a steady effort" I remind myself. There is a big climb ahead . . . somewhere.

I reel in a couple of more runners on a service road that goes downhill. I have modified my technique on this type of terrain in the past several weeks and the refinement is paying off. There's a hurt runner ahead and woman in red assisting him. I stop and she explains his knees are toast. He looks like he's in pain big time and the straight downhill gravel road is killing him. He struggles along and he, Donna (the lady) and I head towards the next climb as we turn onto a single track uphill. Donna and I have a great chat about the course, which she has run about 20 times, and has raced 4 times. I make a mental note of her wisdom and thank her, since now I have a plan in my head on how to run the rest of the race. My foot and DNF woes are a distant memory.

Now I want to know how I can make up some time.

Our injured friend starts the climb with us, I tell him he's doing great and then Donna and I start power hiking up Powerline Hill. It's a 1500 foot climb up single track within a 2km distance. In other words, steep. Last year in Oct 2012, when I did my first (trail) half marathon the climbs were torture. I didn't have the technique or form or muscular set up to achieve any success in them. This climb was a confidence booster. I kept an even tempo and reached the top with a lot left in the gas tank. Two aid station workers hold out a buffet of hydration: coke, electrolyte, water, juice? Coke please. 2 Clif Shot Bloks left and Donna says it's all downhill from here. I take off.

Now, I've had fun running downhills before, but never like this. I am literally flying down the trail. It's the most aggressive and carefree I've ever run downhill. It's gonna be a solid 6k effort, but I've got the quads today and I'm energized to finish after such a brutal start. I'm reeling in the back of the pack runners, and passing course marshalls with a huge smile on my face. It's super technical, rooty rocky, slippery and tacky mud throughout but I'm charging it with a recklessness. Day hikers heading uphill are cheering on the runners and they boost my energy, as I thank them all for giving way on my ridiculous free-fall down Mount Seymour's east slope. My Garmin later shows I peaked at 3:37 pace and averaged 5:15 for this section. Wicked! A couple of small up and downs near the base and the last downhill to the end. THE best final 5 1/2k stretches I've had all year.

Final junction, and I yell out, "How far?" to a course marshall. She says 400 meters, and I see the beach and balloons at Deep Cove. Full sprint. Yes! BAM! No! Calf cramp. My right leg buckles then goes straight. I'm about to go over. Hard. Someone screams, "Come on, it's right there!" I pull my toes up in my shoe, and push to the finish line, arms raised.

2:57:36! Paris, my son and Peter, Race Director

My wife, and boys are waiting for me. I get my medal. Final Placement was 133 of 166 - a full 32 spots up from where I was at km 6 of 24. I can live with that. A strong finish is what I was after.

Mmm, Gold tastes like chocolate

Damn, I love this sport.