Griffith Park Trail Half Marathon (CA)

Posted: November 29, 2012 in Half Marathons, RACE REPORTS
Tags: , , , , ,
13

In Hollywood the woods are full of people that learned to write but evidently can’t read.  If they could read their stuff, they’d stop writing.
– Will Rogers

Trail race or death metal concert?  Either way, count me in!

For most of the races I’ve run, I don’t necessarily remember why I decided to run that race.  Sometimes it’s the setting, probably my most common motive here in the Bay Area.  Sometimes it’s a convenient excuse to travel somewhere enticing, as in the case of Moab earlier this month or the Run Crazy Horse Marathon I ran in the Black Hills of South Dakota last year.  Sometimes it’s my preference for a specific race organizer, as in the case of my favorite local outfit, Brazen Racing.  And sometimes the reason is simply, to quote English mountaineer George Mallory, “because it’s there”… this was the case for the Pikes Peak Ascent two years ago.

But for the Griffith Park Trail Half Marathon, staged in the Hollywood Hills last Saturday, I remember exactly when and why I decided to run.  On November 12 of last year, we were at the pre-race expo-on-the-beach for the Malibu Half Marathon, which I’d be running the next day.  My sister-in-law Laura struck up a conversation with a cyclist who was wearing what looked like a race t-shirt, but then again maybe not, because it was honestly the coolest, most eye-catching t-shirt I’d ever seen (sorry, Affliction devotees).  It was more like body art than body wear.  The colorfully clad cyclist told us he’d just run the Griffith Park Half Marathon that morning and had received the t-shirt, crafted by the SoCal-based apparel design company INKnBURN, as part of his race registration.

That was the moment I filled out my mental registration form for the 2012 Griffith Park Half, a scant 371 days away.

To say I’d give you the shirt off my back would, in this case, be a lie

In recent years, the “free” (as it’s often advertised) race t-shirt has become a norm in the racing community, an ingrained feature of just about any race that strives to be taken seriously.  The t-shirt has become the standard entry-level requirement for staging a decent race… any race director seeking customer loyalty and free advertising includes, at the very least, a t-shirt with each registration fee.  For some runners, the t-shirt is the highlight of the race and their raison d’être for lacing up in the first place.  Though others of us frown on this mindset and tell ourselves we would never fall victim to such shallow motives… we run for the medals instead.

Each race t-shirt typically features the race name and logo emblazoned on the front, along with the names and logos of the various race sponsors on the back.  So by proudly showcasing his accomplishment, each race participant in effect becomes a walking billboard.  Although typically short-sleeved, race t-shirts occasionally come in long-sleeved versions, and some race directors even provide each runner with a lightweight jacket, wind shirt, or hoodie (an upgrade usually reflected in higher registration fees).  A recent positive trend in race t-shirts has been the move away from cotton in favor of “technical” t-shirts – these are shirts made from lightweight synthetic fibers rather than cotton, which wick moisture (i.e. sweat) away from your body to keep you cooler and more comfortable during a workout.  And now this is starting to read like a Wikipedia page.

Hollywood beckons!  A place where fog is a natural consequence of hot air meeting cold, hard truth

Like the races themselves, the quality and artistry of race t-shirt varies dramatically.  But for me in most cases, it’s the thought that counts.  Every race t-shirt is unique and has its own distinct charm, and I’ll never disparage a small race on a tight budget for its no-frills t-shirt.  Certainly some are more stylish, useful and wearable than others; the Merrell tech t-shirt I just scored in Moab easily ranks near the top of my list, whereas Nike’s black trash-bag-with-armholes-and-crooked-logo at the well-funded 2011 Austin Half Marathon ranks near the bottom.

And if you’re an endorphin junkie who over time has accumulated a small ransom in race t-shirts while quickly running out of closet space, never fear… there are now companies online that will “turn your favorite t-shirts into a beautiful quilt”.  Call now, seamstresses are standing by!

So clearly the t-shirt has become a race-day staple, but Griffith Park would be the first time I’d ever committed to run a race based first and foremost on the t-shirt.  Couple that with the fact that the race is run on hilly dirt trails with a sweeping view of Los Angeles stretching to the Pacific Ocean, and how could I say no?  The only potential pitfall turned out to be the $120 registration fee… but after a $15.00 online discount (partially offset by an $8.40 service fee) and some adroit sleight of mind, I rationalized the steep fee as a one-time expense for a kick-ass trail race and one-of-a-kind swag.  Plus, racing in SoCal gives us a chance to visit family: my brother Chuck lives with Laura in Long Beach, while Katie’s parents live in Orange County.  By the time my brain’s perverse machinations had run their course, I could no longer think of a viable reason not to run Griffith Park.

This is my brother Chuck… he’ll be standing in for Katie as today’s blog photog

Fast forward to last Saturday, and as I… actually, let me digress to say that “I” will replace the usual “we” in this post: for only the second time in recent history I’d be Katie-less for this race, having left her in bed to recover from a nasty stomach bug.  So as I navigated north on Hwy 5 through pockets of heavy gray rain, I wondered vexedly what had happened to the climate-controlled dome I’d always assumed Disney to operate over the Greater Los Angeles area. Apparently this was one of the five days a year when Goofy and the gang retract the dome to clean it and repair cracks.  But still I held out hope that Griffith Park would remain in a rain-free pocket of the storm, even as the rain intensified on Los Feliz Blvd just outside the park, where I’d arranged to meet Chuck and Laura so we could carpool to the start line.

Traffic into the park was minimal, and we parked with ~30 minutes to spare before the 8:30am race start.  Making our way uphill (already… feeling… winded) toward the staging area over half a mile away, I was relieved to find that the rain had subsided, likely for the moment but hopefully for at least the morning.  I have no problem running in the rain on well-established trails like those in Griffith Park, but I’d always prefer to keep it dry.  And speaking of trails: although a meandering network of trails zig and zag their way through Griffith Park, apparently few of them readily map to a 13.1-mile race course, because the course map showed three separate out-and-back sections.

The staging area on narrow Commonwealth Canyon Drive was small and fairly crowded.  Laura quickly spoke with race director Keira Henninger and then disappeared back down the hill to help in a volunteer capacity.  Chuck tried but was denied race-day registration, since the field had already reached its 400-person capacity.  So instead he strapped on his camera and prepared to play substitute race photog in Katie’s absence.  In contrast to my usual nick-of-time arrivals, I had a few minutes to kill as I collected my racing bib and t-shirt (can I leave now?) at the uncrowded registration tent, conquered the surprisingly brief line for the porta-potties, and cycled through my warmup routine.  I also elected to ignore the race website’s dictum (on its FAQ page) that “You must carry some sort of water bottle with you to start this race,” especially on this day where weather wouldn’t be a factor.

By this time the crowd of runners milling around the start line had grown and become more densely packed.  A pronounced sogginess filled the air and permeated exposed skin.  As I waited for some verbal cue from Keira and the customary countdown to start, I stood behind the crowd talking to Chuck and stretching away my nervous energy.

The soggy staging area on Commonwealth Canyon Drive… red street flags mark the start line

Suddenly a muted cheer went up near the start line and the crowd of assembled runners surged forward, signaling the start of the race.  And there I stood, in the back of the pack still holding my goodie bag and wearing my jacket.  Muttering a few high-impact profanities for Chuck’s ears only (really? not so much as a last-minute heads-up?), I stuffed my jacket and bag into his hands and took off.  I immediately found myself staring into a teeming mass of cheerfully slow-moving backsides… how sadly ironic (in the Alanis sense of the word) that I’d arrived 30 minutes early and still started late.  Immediately I déjà vu’ed back to the 2009 U.S. Half Marathon in San Francisco, where an unanticipated porta-potty stop just before the starting gun had left me in dead-solid last place crossing the start line… I’d needed roughly a quarter-mile just to catch up to the moms jogging leisurely with their strollers.

Back to Griffith Park 2012, and as the swarm of runners turned left off the asphalt and began its collective ascent up the narrow dirt trail, I focused on passing as many people as I could, as quickly as I could.  This initial uphill on soft loose dirt wasn’t quite single- or double-track, but more single-and-a-half track.  By hugging the left side of the trail, I was able to slide by and break free of the slow-moving throng more smoothly and rapidly than I’d anticipated.  So I ended up losing very little time at the start, after all.  Only the fellow ahead of me nearly being clotheslined around his ankles by another runner’s dog leash slowed my progress. Public service message for other racers: While I don’t doubt that your precious Bark Obama or Mutt Romney is the sweetest pup on the planet, if it’s not a service animal then leave… the dog… at HOME.

I was starting to think the Marin Headlands had followed me to Hollywood
(foggy foto by Chuck)

After a steep staircase-style ascent (up, level out for a few steps, up, level out for a few steps) of ~700ft over the first 1.4 miles, a brisk downhill ate up the rest of mile 2.  Mile 3 comprised a gentler up and down, then transitioned briefly onto asphalt before returning to dirt on the Mulholland Trail.  Thus began the first of three out-and-backs, as the trail skirted the ridge overlooking one of the many canyons in the area.  Far below me to the southwest, the impenetrable cloud cover turned Hollywood appropriately enough into its own life-sized model of Gotham City, with foggy tendrils slinking between and obscuring the tops of high-rise buildings.  And the thought crossed my mind: on almost any other day, this panoramic view would be striking.

This section appears like switchbacks on the course map, but more accurately the trail meanders back and forth along the ridge toward the turnaround point at mile 3.7.  This allowed me to look ahead and see the caravan of runners I was chasing, though the turnaround remained out of view.  The lead runners flew by in the opposite direction, and noting that five of the first ten runners who passed looked to be roughly my age, I kissed any hope I’d had of placing in my age group goodbye (as it turned out, there would be no age-group awards).  But as my mind had wandered freely I’d fallen into a comfortable running rhythm, and before I knew it I’d reached and almost blown by the turnaround.  Heading back the way I’d come, I fell into step behind a fellow who seemed to know every tenth runner or so coming the other way, doling out shout-outs of recognition and encouragement like a swiftly moving spectator.

Abandon all hope, ye who ignore the orange ribbons (photo and caption idea by Chuck)

After another brief transition on to asphalt and back on to dirt, we followed our first steep descent down Brush Canyon Trail toward the second turnaround.  I desperately tried to keep pace with the cool kids in the downhill crowd, until an uphill blip at Bronson Canyon Park just before mile 6 slowed their momentum.  Two women leisurely jogging in the opposite direction clapped their hands encouragingly at me and cried “Great job, looking good!”  As I sputtered out an appreciative “thank you” I realized they were looking past me, and they ended their cheer with “you’re the third woman!”  Apparently their support provided said female with a burst of energy, because at that moment she surged past me.  I had just enough time to notice her impressively sculpted calves before we reached the third aid station at the mile 6.1 turnaround, beyond which lay the Batcave featured in the 1960s Batman TV series.

Quickly bat-turning past the aid station with a nod of thanks to the volunteers, I passed both the second- and third-place women and headed back over the uphill blip the way we’d come.  With the most severe climb of the day looming, I wouldn’t be seeing either of them again before the finish.  Shifting back into uphill gear I felt that familiar midrace energy lull wash over me, helped out by a gusty headwind and light drizzle.  Also adding to my fatigue was the steady stream of energetic runners moving easily downhill in the other direction.  Fortunately both the elements and my fatigue were short-lived, and my energy reserves kicked in as I passed several more runners on my way back up the Brush Canyon Trail ascent, which although lengthy (nearly 1½ miles) didn’t feel particularly steep.

Who woulda knew there was an Observatory and city skyline beneath all that fog? (photo by Chuck)

Reaching the top at ~mile 7.4, I followed the paved road until signs directed me back up the dirt on Eckert Trail.  After running a very short distance uphill I heard sounds on the asphalt below, which ran parallel to my trail.  Looking down I saw two runners – both of whom I’d recently passed – running along the asphalt in the same direction as me. “@!#?!” I muttered in frustration, channeling my inner Q*bert.  The last thing I wanted was to lose the edge I’d gained from making great time up Brush Canyon Trail.  I felt sure I’d correctly followed the signs up Eckert Trail, particularly since I’d followed another runner wearing a body-sized plastic-bag-turned-poncho.  Then again, there were two runners on the asphalt below me who clearly felt they too were headed the right way.  Jogging a few steps around the next bend, I saw no orange ribbon marking the trail ahead.  So rather than run another step forward in what could have been the wrong direction, I slowly and reluctantly jogged back the way I’d come, resolving not to continue until I spotted someone else with a bib number following me.

Finally, about 20 seconds (which seemed like 5 minutes) later I got the reassurance I was looking for, in another bibbed runner coming up the trail.  Turning quickly, my legs whirling in place like a Looney Tunes character, I punched the accelerator and tried to make up for lost time.  Despite my frustration at the time lost, I did feel a slight sense of satisfaction at having built a comfortable lead over my closest pursuer.

Descending into the fog toward the Observatory down the Mt. Hollywood Trail (photo by Chuck)

Working my way toward mile 9 and the third out-and-back, it didn’t take me long to catch the plastic bag-clad runner (turns out she was a course monitor).  Soon after that, as I closed in on the lead woman I looked up to see Chuck standing along the trail with camera poised… he’d run a mile up the trail to snap pictures.  I was psyched to see him, but also disappointed that I couldn’t give him a better subject to shoot: me huffing uphill through a bank of fog wasn’t going to win him any Pulitzers.

Chuck saw me on my way, as I transitioned to the Mt. Hollywood Trail and began the descent toward the Griffith Park Observatory and the third turnaround.  Both the Observatory across the canyon and downtown L.A. beyond it were shrouded by the persistent veil of fog that seemed to have leeched all color from the surrounding landscape.  The course contained quite a few dogs walking their people, and at one point I quickly accelerated between two harried dog-walkers on opposite sides of the trail – one with five dogs, the other with four – before any multi-mutt nether-sniffing could break out.

Reaching the mile 10.4 turnaround just short of the Observatory, I started back up the trail and used this final uphill to pass the lead woman.  Then I passed Chuck, who was waiting to take more pictures… luckily for Katie, her contract as my exclusive photographer isn’t up for renewal soon.  At the top of the hill I transitioned to the Hogback Trail once again and headed downhill toward the finish, knowing this final ~1.5 miles would be a furious scramble as I tried to stay ahead of the fleet-footed lead female.

Heading down the Hogback Trail toward home, with lead female Kaitlin Lavin (wearing gray) in hot pursuit
(photo by Chuck)

Cruising downhill at a brisk pace, I hit a couple of short dicey stretches where I focused on vaulting from one dusty rock to another without wiping out.  A fellow walking in the opposite direction clapped and urged me to “keep it strong!” before turning to his buddy and telling him, “My tattoo’s still itching.”  As the terrain stabilized and my footing improved, I focused on maintaining pace while wondering whether I could reach the finish before the first female.  This was going to be close….

Or so I thought, until a navigational blunder with less than half a mile to go sent me flying by the sharp right U-turn that signaled the final stretch to the finish.  The course signs here were unclear, and almost immediately I knew I’d made a mistake when I saw asphalt directly ahead of me.  As I glanced back skeptically a Japanese woman holding a camera uttered a loud throaty sound, pointed down the trail and said simply, “That way.”  I thanked her and, frustrated with myself and the questionable course markings, headed down the trail in the right direction.  But not before I’d lost several valuable seconds as well as my slender lead over the first-place female.  Down the Aberdeen Trail I followed her to Commonwealth Canyon Drive, where a sharp right turn led back on to the asphalt for the final 50-yard push. Enthusiastic cheers erupted ahead of me for what I assumed was her arrival at the finish line, and as I rounded one last curve I was amused to see Laura awaiting me with medal outstretched, which I gratefully accepted with a finish time of 1:48:00.

Just a few more yards ’til I can wear my INKnBURN shirt
(photo courtesy of Brian Cravens Photography)

Glancing down, I saw disappointedly that my Garmin read 12.56 miles.  I never object to running farther than 13.1 miles – the lone race I won, the 2009 Limantour Odyssey Half Marathon in Point Reyes, clocked in at a muscular 14.8 miles – but running less than 13.1 is a bummer, because it prevents you from claiming a PR (not that this would have been) and comparing your time to other half marathons.

First things first: I congratulated Kaitlin Lavin, who’d run well down the stretch and finished just ahead of me in winning the women’s division.  Though as I’d expected, that final neck-and-neck downhill chase turned out to be academic: taking into account my back-of-the-pack start, I still finished ahead of her in the final standings based on chip time.  Nonetheless it would’ve been nice to physically cross the finish line first, if for no other reason than in a race with 349 finishers, it would have been a major accomplishment to finish ahead of the entire woman’s field.  Silly maybe, but motivation is as motivation does, and this unforeseen motivation of me vs. the women’s field had arisen organically during the race.  More than anything, my imagined chase had kept me kicking hard up and down those final hills.

The final 20 yards on Commonwealth Canyon Drive

Appreciatively accepting a coconut water from the Naked Juice rep, I stretched out my right calf, which radiated a familiar “thanks for the workout, I’ll quiet down in a couple of days” tightness (which it did).  Laura continued to award medals as I cheered on finishers and browsed the lunch provided by Keira, which included sandwiches, pasta and salad from Whole Foods.  Although some runners were chowing down, my stomach would have preferred the usual post-race standbys of bananas, oranges and peanut butter pretzels.  Instead, I sipped on my coconut water as Chuck rejoined me and introduced me to his friend and ultrarunner extraordinaire Michelle Barton.  Unfortunately a knee injury had forced Michelle to sit out Griffith Park this year, although her 73-year-old father Doug had picked up the slack by winning the M(70-99) age group with a hotshot time of 2:34:22.  Coincidentally, the same knee injury had sidelined her for the Moab Trail Marathon two weeks earlier, so I’d missed seeing her in Utah.  But it was great to finally meet her, and here’s wishing her a speedy recovery and triumphant return to the race circuit very soon.

As the steady current of finishers slowed to a trickle we reclaimed Laura, leaving Keira to distribute medals to the remaining finishers.  During our stroll back to the car, Laura told us that a couple of runners had not only bandited the race, but that each of them had also tried to collect a medal at the finish line.  To “bandit” a race means to run it unoffically without paying the registration fee, a practice that in some circles is now treated as the racing equivalent of treason.  Apparently, when Laura confronted each bandit and asked where his bib number was, the first chose the high road and handed back his medal whereas the second fellow chose poorly and actually ran off with his.  Officers, bring in the medal-sniffing dogs!

Trying not to sweat on ultrarunner Michelle Barton
(photo by Chuck)

After registering for this race based almost entirely on its swag and SoCal location, I was pleased to discover that Griffith Park is in fact a bona fide trail race, meaning plenty of tough hills and scenic views (on a fog-free day).  In the weeks leading up to the race, I’d even held out hope that I’d found a worthy challenger to rival Rocky Ridge as the rootinest, tootinest half marathon in California.  But despite its significant hillage and elevation gain/loss of ~2,500ft (billed misleadingly as 5,100ft on the website), Griffith Park ain’t no Rocky Ridge, as evidenced by my 8:36/mile pace vs. 10:58/mile at Rocky Ridge.  For now at least, Rocky Ridge remains The Big One on the California half marathon circuit.

So bottom line, I’m glad I ran the Griffith Park Trail Half.  It’s a well-executed race on a fun course in a cool location, and with a medal that does its hometown proud.  And thanks to my head-turning race t-shirt courtesy of INKnBURN, I can CRASHnBURN in my next several races and still look good doing it.

Maybe that makes me shallow… but in Hollywood it makes me fit right in.

PRODUCTION:  Griffith Park is a relaxed, well-organized trail race on an excellent (albeit short) course.  Trail races in general are more laid-back affairs than road races, and Keira did an admirable job of ensuring that all the key details were in order and that everything and everyone ran smoothly.  Although I would invest in a bullhorn and forego the silent start next year… even a solitary “one minute to start!” announcement would have been appreciated.  Based on the three criteria of course layout, race organization/execution and overall value, I’d still rate the Brazen Racing crew here in the Bay Area as my favorite trail racing outfit in the state.

In her pre-race email, Keira assured us the course would be “marked so well you could probably run with a blind fold on, and still find your way.”  In general this was true, with orange ribbons lining the course, and enthusiastic and supportive volunteers on hand to direct runners at key transition points.  But allowing for the fact that I often run like I’m blindfolded, I’d recommend clearer signage at a couple of places where multiple trails converge and where course markings might be (and were) overlooked, i.e. the fork up Eckert Trail at ~mile 8, and the final U-turn down Aberdeen Trail.  Most importantly, the course should be extended by half a mile or the race renamed the Griffith Park Trail 20.2K.

Off the dirt and on the street: cool urban scenery in Hollywood

Credit to photographer Brian Cravens for making his collection of start- and finish-line photos freely available on the race’s Facebook page.  Any photographer willing to share his photos without stamping his website URL or the word “PROOF” across them deserves a shout-out on a blog with upwards of a dozen readers. (UPDATE: After posting this, I learned that Keira actually paid the photographer to allow runners free access to all his photos, so let me appropriately redirect my shout-out… thanks, Keira!  Posting free photos is a major bonus, and not many other races do it.)

For many trail runners, the major deterrent to running this race will be the substantial $120 registration fee (minus the online discount and plus the service fee).  A sizeable chunk of this fee seemingly goes toward the INKnBURN race t-shirt, which as I may have already mentioned is very cool (and durable).  So it may be possible to reduce the registration fee by offering a “no t-shirt” option during registration.  However, given that the race is small (400 slots) and only in its second year, its popularity should only increase in the future, meaning the registration fee will likely increase as well.  In which case, maybe next year a tiny portion of that fee could go toward post-race bananas, oranges and peanut butter pretzels?

But hey, these are minor grievances… at least there was no HEED at Griffith Park.

UPDATE: Keira promptly and thoughtfully responded to all my suggestions (see her comment below), which I think speaks to how committed she is to her job as race director and to growing the sport of trail running. Based on her feedback, I’ve no doubt the Griffith Park Trail Half will be an even better experience in 2013.

I would’ve posted sooner if my editor didn’t need so many naps

FINAL STATS:
November 17, 2012
12.56 miles in Griffith Park, Hollywood
Finish time & pace: 1:48:00 (first time running the Griffith Park Trail Half), 8:36/mile (official 8:15/mile pace based on a 13.1-mile course)
Finish place: 19/349 overall; 5/56 in M(40-49) age group
Race weather: foggy and cool (temperatures in the 50s) with intermittent light rain
Elevation change (Garmin Connect software): 2,420ft ascent, 2,431ft descent
(Garmin Training Center software): 2,897ft ascent, 2,815ft descent

Moab Trail Half Marathon (UT)

Posted: November 16, 2012 in Half Marathons, RACE REPORTS
Tags: , , , , ,
5

In between the bright lights and the far unlit unknown.
– Rush, “Subdivisions”

Few places in the continental U.S. can rival the spectacular vastness and beauty of Southern Utah.  This ~400-mile swath of wide-open highways and byways stretching to the horizon features a “who’s who” of national parks, including (from west to east) Zion, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Canyonlands and Arches.  Each park is a geological masterpiece of deep sandstone reds and robust earth tones painstakingly laid out and integrated on a distinctive canvas, all of which evoke a strong appreciation for how wild the West once was, and in many places still is.  In the late 1800s, for example, Butch Cassidy and his Wild Bunch took refuge in the remote uncharted wilderness of what is now Canyonlands National Park, frustrating their federal pursuers who quickly abandoned the chase.

I’d been here once before: in the summer of 2000, two buddies and I had road-tripped through southern Utah en route to the state’s five national parks.  In addition to all the natural wonders revealed by daylight, two of my most vivid memories from that trip were actually born in the pitch-blackness that engulfed us during our nighttime drives.  First, I spied for the first time with my naked eye the Milky Way galaxy overhead; and second, while driving one eerily dark and peaceful stretch of road, a winged UFO – we convinced ourselves it must have been a bat – flew into and caromed off our front windshield with an adrenalizing {THUMP}.  So southern Utah was a bit of a wake-up call for us city boys.

Southern Utah’s own start and finish lines include (clockwise, from upper left) Double Arch, Delicate Arch, Landscape Arch, Turret Arch at sunset, Double O Arch, and Mesa Arch.  Mesa Arch is found in
Canyonlands National Park; the others can be found in Arches National Park.

For those approaching from the Colorado (eastern) side, the town of Moab acts as gateway to the natural spoils of southern Utah.  But for trail racing aficionados last Saturday, the town promised more measurable spoils as host to the annual Moab Trail Marathon, Half Marathon and 5K “Adventure” Run, with the Marathon doubling as the 2012 USATF Trail Marathon National Championship.  Meaning there’d be prize money on the line… though not for me, for two reasons:  I’d be running the Half Marathon, and short of showing up with a ski mask and gun, I’m not walking away from a race with prize money anytime soon.

So why Moab?  With a population of roughly 5,000 residents and an economy dependent on eco-tourism, Moab’s laid-back and low-key vibe conveys a “play hard, work not so hard” mentality.  Red sandstone cliffs and miles of dusty trails reflect its definitively Old West character, and earn the town its identity as a mecca for hiking, mountain-biking and rock-climbing enthusiasts.  So Moab itself is a popular destination for outdoorsy types.  But for me its real allure lay in its proximity to both Arches and Canyonlands National Parks, the former of which lies on the town’s doorstep.  Plus, I can’t recall another town where the Chevron gas station advertised itself in the local newspaper as having the “Best Chicken in Town!”

No word on whether the local KFC was offering an 8-piece “high octane” value meal

I’d chosen the Moab Trail Half in collaboration with my college suitemate Ken, who now lives in Denver with his wife Jenny (also a college friend).  Both were willing, able and even excited to meet us for a weekend in the great outdoors, Moab-style.  Plus, I felt I owed Ken another race in the mountain time zone after my ill-timed foot injury had derailed our plans to run the Leadville Heavy Half together in June, leaving his misery without company during the ear-popping climb up to 13,200ft (though he’d sucked it up and run a strong race without me).  Sure my guilt was unwarranted – every runner knows injuries are the great unknown of race training – but still I felt the need to redeem myself, even if he didn’t.

With that in mind, I was looking forward to my first race in the state of Utah.  After a day of travel on Thursday (flight to Denver followed by a 6+ hour, 375-mile drive to Moab), Katie and I spent much of Friday in nearby Arches National Park before picking up our race packets that evening from the friendly race volunteers at Milt’s Stop & Eat (a local hamburger joint and race sponsor).  We then met Ken and Jenny, who drove in late from Denver and arrived just in time to get their bearings and get to bed.  We’d all be lodging at The Gonzo Inn, another race sponsor and for the record someplace I’d definitely stay again in Moab.

Rule #1 of dining out: Never trust a waiter wearing a nurse’s uniform
(Milt’s Avocado Melt was actually very good)

Saturday morning we awoke to bright cloudless sunshine that belied the crisp, though not quite biting, 39°F desert air that awaited us.  Fortunately race start for marathoners and half marathoners wasn’t until 9:00 a.m., giving temperatures a chance to soar all the way up into the mid-40s during the race.  The four of us drove to the start along Kane Creek Road, with sheer vertical sandstone cliffs flanking us on both sides and the Colorado River snaking along next to us on our right.  Our carpool status allowed us to park in the “preferred parking” gravel lot next to the finish line, and after a brief stop at the surprisingly uncrowded porta-potties, we made the short walk to the start line.

The view along Kane Creek Road, en route to the start line

From a distance we could hear race director Danelle Ballengee addressing the crowd over the PA system with several pre-race announcements and reminders.  Danelle herself has a life story worth telling, and one that would make almost any other runner feel like a bona fide weak-kneed couch potato.  For one thing, the 41-year-old Ballengee is a world-class athlete – four-time champion of the Pikes Peak Marathon, three-time winner of the Primal Quest adventure race, and recipient of six “U.S. Athlete of the Year” awards in four different endurance sports.  Sports Illustrated once called her “the world’s premier female endurance athlete.”  And in 2000 she set the women’s speed record by summiting all 55 of Colorado’s 14,000-foot mountains in less than 15 days.

Even more amazing than her athletic achievements, though, is her story of personal survival.  While running with her 3-year-old dog Taz in this same area of the Moab desert in December of 2006, Ballengee slipped on a rock and fell 60 feet.  Somehow she managed to land on her feet, but the fall shattered her pelvis and caused extensive internal bleeding.  After five hours of dragging her broken body through the canyon over frozen terrain, she lay exposed and freezing for another 52 hours until County Search and Rescue members, with help from the unshakably loyal Taz, found her alive and remarkably coherent.  It was an implausibly happy ending: most people with similar injuries don’t live longer than 24 hours, doctors told her, and yet she’d survived for more than twice that time outdoors in sub-freezing temperatures.

Less than five months later Ballengee – registered as a solo competitor under the team name “How’s This for Rehab?” – completed and won the women’s division of the 60-mile Adventure-Xstream adventure race in under 12 hours.

Danelle greets finishers and narrates the action as Ken crosses the finish line behind her

Ballengee’s presence can be felt around Moab in other, more subtle ways.  All proceeds from the Moab Trail Marathon races would benefit Project Athena, a non-profit foundation which Ballengee co-founded and for which she holds the title “Seraphim of Survival.”  Project Athena offers scholarships to female athletes who have “endured life-altering medical setbacks” and are making “that life-affirming transition from Survivor to Athlete.”  And on the topic of potential medical setbacks, in 2007 Ballengee and her husband purchased Milt’s Stop & Eat, a greasy spoon hamburger joint and local landmark since 1954.  Our race goodie bags included a $7 Milt’s coupon which would come in handy after the race.

Mike Sohaskey and Ken pre-Moab Trail Half Marathon

Pre-race posturing with our dual (and dueling) Garmins

So as the four of us approached the start line, the thought of our race director’s own near-fatal outing on these same trails suffused me with a healthy respect for the technical terrain that awaited us.  In this regard, we’d been cautioned to be watchful of the 3 C’s – cliffs, crypto (a living soil crust) and cactus.  Luckily Moab had been precipitation-free in the days leading up to the race, dramatically reducing our odds of discovering first-hand how slickrock earned its name.

Ken and I said goodbye to Katie and Jenny (they’d both be running the 5K beginning 40-ish minutes later) and positioned ourselves at the back of Starting Wave 1 (i.e. the leading wave, comprising the top 1/3 of all runners), behind a mass of lithe excited marathoners and half marathoners engaged in all manner of last-minute warming and stretching.  In true Moab spirit, we were treated to a uniquely free-spirited rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” performed by a local zydeco-style band, who offered their own jazzed-up (though no less respectful) interpretation complete with tuba, accordion, frottoir/rubboard and accompanying dancer with baton.  Suddenly San Francisco didn’t feel so far away, after all.

This was the most popular and crowded arch in southern Utah on Saturday

As the last vestiges of accordion faded the assembled masses cheered, runners whooped in nervous anticipation, Danelle’s countdown reached zero and the eventual winners shot forward while the rest of us… shuffled slowly toward the start line.  A classic case of “hurry up and wait.”  Starting on rocky singletrack will do that to you.

Crossing the start mat the crowd began to thin, and the course soon began an uphill trajectory on Pritchett Canyon Trail that lasted for the first four miles.  My Garmin quickly lost its satellite feed twice during that first mile, and by accidentally hitting the “lap” rather than the “enter” button the first time it happened, I ensured that my mile-by-mile pace times for the entire race would be all out of whack.  But at least my Garmin immediately regained its satellite signal each time.

Course elevation profile or in-race heart rate monitor?  You decide

This initial ascent was unlike the uphills I typically encounter in Bay Area trail races, as this terrain was more technical and the footing more variable.  The trail (and really the entire course) was an alternating mix of dry slickrock, red sand and firmly packed dirt overlaid with rocks of all sizes.  Orange flagging tape and white chalk led us over slickrock and loose rock where no true trail existed… singletrack, doubletrack, really what’s in a name?  And it dawned on me just how perilous the footing along this course would have been under wet conditions.  Luckily the course boasted few tree roots, my toes’ usual nemesis on Bay Area trails.  Nonetheless each step demanded my full attention, and by maintaining focus I was able to keep pace with Ken, who routinely trains in mile-high Denver.

Surrounded by slickrock in Arches National Park

Near the mile 4 marker the flow of runners briefly slowed to a crawl as we hiked up several shelves of boulders.  Although this section appears as an intimidating stalagmite-like spike on the course’s elevation profile, it didn’t feel so severe since we were forced to speed-hike rather than run.  But then the trail summited (~4,800ft elevation) and immediately headed back down the other side, and runners eager to release the parking brake dashed downhill over the rocky terrain.  I followed as quickly as I dared, still vigilant of my footing until the course leveled out somewhat and we found ourselves running through red sand, chasing our shadows on the ground ahead of us.  At last I was safely able to look up from the trail and admire striking views, on both sides, of orange-red sandstone cliffs imposing on brilliant blue sky.

This heavy-footed sensation of running through an hourglass – I should’ve trained on the beach! – continued until roughly the first aid station at mile 5.7 (according to their mile markers; my Garmin read mile 6).  Still running together, Ken and I each grabbed a quick swig of water and began our next ascent as the trail morphed into Hunters Canyon Rim Trail.  The next 3.9 miles offered little in the way of level footing, as we renewed our painstaking climbs and descents over alternating loose rock and slickrock, with the occasional delay to hop down from or scramble over boulders.  Along the way we passed through a couple of singletrack sections that bordered relatively sheer drops; here in particular the course demanded a steady focus to avoid a reckless misstep and tumble that would make Humpty Dumpty cringe.

Another slow, switchback-like descent over layered slickrock brought us to mile 9.6, and we emerged on the paved surface of Kane Creek Road next to the second aid station.  By this point my feet, apparently thinking their vote counted, had begun to protest the relentlessly rocky and uneven terrain.

Either this is Katie’s love of rappelling shining through, or she knows where the photographer is
(photo © 2012 Chris Hunter)

Here the marathon and half marathon courses diverged, the former veering left in the direction of the aid station while we 13.1ers headed to the right.  Ken turned into the aid station and, after slowing briefly, I glanced ahead and saw the course continue up paved Kane Creek Road, where a caravan of slow-moving runners were toiling their way to the top.  Like old friends, seeing that paved surface and steady uphill climb renewed my spirit.  I waved to Ken to let him know I was skipping the aid station, and as my second (or third… or fourth…) wind kicked in, I shifted into a higher gear and passed several runners on my way to the top.

The ascent up Kane Creek Road was relatively short (~1/4 mile), but really its length didn’t matter because finally I was able to forget my footing and just run.  And when the road reversed trajectory and started back downhill I seized the opportunity to pick up the pace, stretching out my legs as I focused on the rhythm of my footfall and breathed in the desert scenery around me.

Mission accomplished!

So I was understandably disappointed when a volunteer appeared on the shoulder of the road ahead and signaled for us to veer left, directing us down more slickrock and into Kane Creek Canyon.  As I navigated the narrow sandy canyon where the creek drains into the Colorado River, I envisioned this potentially messy stretch after a hard rainfall and thanked Tlaloc the rain god for his decency.  Only remnants of Kane Creek – no more than small puddles, really – remained here, and my “creek crossings” were limited to splashing through a couple of puddles that barely covered my shoetops.  Though I may have felt some boyish satisfaction at maxing out the splash-ability of each puddle….

Of course even that minimal amount of mud got stuck in the tread of my shoes, and I carried it with me up a short steep embankment to the Amasa Back Parking Lot, and back on to Kane Creek Road.  As I reached the parking lot a volunteer offered me something to eat, which I declined… I think it was candy though I can’t be sure, because with roughly a mile to go I had finish line on the brain.

Ken skywalks his way across the finish line (photo © 2012 Chris Hunter)

After another short but gloriously runnable stretch down Kane Creek Road, two volunteers cheered us on with promises of “half a mile to go!” while again directing us to veer left, off the road and back into the Kane Creek Canyon drainage.  Negotiating several largely avoidable puddles and more undulating rocky terrain, I heard the mellifluous sound of nearby cheering as the orange flagging tape along the trail increased in frequency.

Finally I reached a point where a 6-inch-wide metal pipe spanned the creek, which here was actually creek-like with a width of approximately 10ft.  Two female volunteers assured me the finish line was just up ahead.  Rather than splash through the creek I crossed the pipe in two steps and one awkward leap to the opposite bank.  And I realized, as I stood looking up at a small-scale inflatable finish arch ~10 yards above me, that they weren’t kidding when they said “up ahead.”  Clambering up to the arch on all fours, I peeked out over the edge of the embankment and immediately straightened as I saw the finish line ~20 yards straight ahead.  Katie and Jenny cheered to my right as I high-fived Danelle (narrating the action with microphone in hand) and gratefully hit the finish line in 2:11:22.  Immediately I turned back around to watch Ken emerge over the embankment and finish strong roughly a minute later.

Jenny goes bananas for the post-race spread
(orange you glad I always go for the low-hanging humor fruit?)

In total, Ken and I estimated the half marathon course to contain ~3 miles of legitimately runnable terrain, including the straight-ahead stretch of soft sand leading up to the first aid station.

Collecting our medals and finisher’s mugs (a Moab exclusive), Jenny shrewdly noted that if you held the mug so as to conceal the “half marathon” (for me and Ken) or “5K” (for her and Katie) designation at the bottom, others would simply see the “Moab Trail Marathon FINISHER!” label above it.  Why put yourself through the stress of training for and running 26.2 when you can skip straight to the accolades?

The finishing four: Jenny, Ken, me and Katie

We then diffused around the finish area basking in the noontime sun until it hit me that whoops, I’d forgotten to wear sunscreen.  So I corrected that and then took advantage of the post-race spread, which was impressively stocked with Campbell’s soup, bagels, peanut butter, cream cheese, chips, pretzels, fruit and an assortment of soft drinks.  And we each scrawled a message and signed our name to the inflatable wall that asked the question “Why do you run?”

After what seemed like only a few minutes since our own finish, Danelle announced that the marathon leader was only ten minutes out.  So we gathered to watch her exchange high-fives with Cody Moat of Fillmore, Utah as he crossed the finish line in a crazy-fast winning time of 3:08:27, over six minutes faster than his closest competitor.  Kerri Lyons of Salt Lake City followed him 19 minutes later, winning the women’s division in 3:27:48.

Apparently the 5K lived up to its “Adventure Run” billing, as Katie and Jenny navigated such obstacles as hopping to an orange pylon and back with both feet in a burlap sack, balancing on a seesaw plank, throwing into a frisbee golf basket, crawling under netting, wiggling through a child’s nylon tunnel, climbing two ladders, and negotiating two steep sections using a hand-line.  Katie’s only disappointment was the lack of a crossword puzzle as publicized on the race website… she’d targeted that as her best chance to make up ground on the competition.  I felt like a slacker listening to the blow-by-blow description of their 3.1 miles.

The four of us spent the remainder of Saturday in Arches National Park, before refueling at the very respectable Moab Brewery (the only brewery in Moab) for dinner.  After Ken and Jenny headed back to Denver on Sunday, Katie and I spent the next two days hiking through Arches and Canyonlands, ultimately deciding we needed more time in the latter.  Butch Cassidy and Co. knew what they were doing.

Overall, the Moab Trail Half is among the most rugged and unique trail races I’ve run… the organizers aren’t kidding when they advertise it as “an unforgettable journey through some of the world’s most scenic and unique lands.”  In many ways the course is what comes to mind when I hear the term “trail running.”  Its primarily sand-and-slickrock terrain is unlike anything I’ve raced in California.  As such it’s not my favorite type of course… I tend to struggle with highly technical, unstable footing (as does everyone to some extent), though diligent strengthening of my left ankle over the past few months has certainly improved my technique.

But Moab itself is an awesome backdrop for a trail race that – luckily for us – benefitted from awesome weather.  I’m glad we made the trip to experience both the race and the town first-hand, and if we lived closer I’d probably include the full marathon on my list of must-do races.  But we’ll definitely be back in southern Utah… it’s a stunningly beautiful region, with a far-from-the-madding-crowd vibe and plenty of postcard-worthy scenery.

And besides… what better destination for a runner than a place called Arches?

Unlike Moab’s other landmarks, Finisher’s Arch is visible one day a year for but a few hours

PRODUCTION:  Danelle and her fellow organizers did a terrific job with race organization and execution.  Friday (packet pickup) and Saturday (race day) each had a laid-back yet decidedly professional feel to them.  The course was well marked with orange flagging tape and white chalk, and well designed, particularly given that much of the course travels over slickrock rather than established trails.  Volunteers were across-the-board friendly and helpful, and seemed genuinely proud of the course.  The post-race ambiance was (to use Katie’s word) festive, due in part to the impressive post-race spread.  And Danelle set the tone with her exuberance and constant encouragement.

Swag-wise, the Merrell tech t-shirt (included with registration fee) is the best in class… it’s a solid piece of craftsmanship I’ll wear for a long time.  The medal, which sports a dangly Athena logo in its center, is a generic “Project Athena Race & Adventure Series” medal, but it’s nice in its understatedness.  On the other hand the finisher’s mug, while appreciated, is excessive… I probably should have politely declined it, since I’m not a fan of hot drinks and can’t envision ever using it.  Plus I don’t know a single person who’s ever wanting for a ceramic mug… aren’t they ubiquitous in homes and workplaces?  Based on their numbers, I’ve always assumed that two coffee-stained mugs left on the kitchen counter overnight find each other and generate many ceramic offspring.

Moab/Project Athena Race and Adventure Series medal

To make matters worse, I immediately filled my superfluous mug at the finish line with what I thought was water but which turned out to be HEED, Hammer Nutrition’s sports drink.  I appreciate Hammer’s sponsorship – I don’t want to bite the hand that feeds too hard here – but boy I wish they’d leave the HEED in the van.  The stuff tastes like cough syrup.  One accidental sip brought back my lone negative memory from the 2008 Grizzly Half Marathon in Montana, where I’d sampled HEED for the first (and what I swore up and down would be the last) time.  And as the name implies, since then I’ve been careful to heed my own taste buds.

As for age-group awards… if I understood Danelle correctly, Merrell stepped up nicely and awarded a free pair of shoes to every age-group winner rather than just the top men’s and women’s finishers.  And the top 3 finishers in each age group received “unique locally crafted trophies,” i.e. copper wire sculptures twisted into the shape of a runner and embedded in a large rock base.  Pretty creative and quintessentially Moab.  Since I finished fourth (by chip time) in my age group, I didn’t have to worry about explaining my awkward copper rock art to the friendly folks of the TSA.

The winners podium awaits the top Marathon finishers, including the Trail Marathon National Champion

GEAR:  My Mix Master 2’s took the slickrock challenge and had themselves a day.  They’re lightweight and provided excellent traction on some of the diciest terrain I’ve navigated.  Amazingly, not once did I lose my footing or have my foot slide out from under me.  Unlike at Rocky Ridge I had no problems with my arch, so maybe it was simply a matter of lacing them up tighter or breaking them in more.  I’d highly recommend them and plan to make them my go-to shoe for future trail races.

FINAL STATS:
November 3, 2012
13.0 miles in Moab, UT (click here for course map)
Finish time & pace: 2:11:22 (first time running the Moab Trail Half), 10:02/mile
Finish place: 73/505 overall; 4/43 in M(40-49) age group by chip time (5/43 by gun time)
Race weather: sunny and cold, low to mid-40s
Elevation change (Garmin Connect software): 2,800ft ascent, 2,822ft descent
(Garmin Training Center software): 3,118ft ascent, 3,011ft descent

Oops… mistakenly pressing the “lap” button during mile 1 skewed all my subsequent mile pace times

Rocky Ridge Half Marathon (CA)

Posted: October 28, 2012 in Half Marathons, RACE REPORTS
Tags: , , , ,
8

Experience: that most brutal of teachers.  But you learn, my God do you learn.
– C.S. Lewis

(photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

The experience of Rocky Ridge taught me a lot last October.

I learned it’s wise to approach the course with a healthy measure of respect.  I Iearned that after 13.7 miles in the Las Trampas Regional Wilderness, I’ll have earned that coveted flaming-tiger finisher’s medal and post-race IT’S-IT.  I learned the humbling frustration that comes from having to walk hills I had no intention of walking, and feel exhaustion I had no intention of feeling.  And I learned (or rather confirmed) that although I’m a sucker for the trails, I’m no mountain goat.

But most of all, I learned that Rocky Ridge is the “Super Bowl of Brazen Racing” for a reason: because with roughly 4,000ft of elevation gain/loss, it’s the most challenging half marathon in the Bay Area, and the toughest half I’ve run aside from Pikes Peak.  All within 2,000ft of sea level, courtesy of a whole lot of up-ing and down-ing.

So with that in mind and 5-Hour Energy in body, Katie and I parked and hustled to the start line at the Las Trampas Corral Camp on Saturday morning.  We’d dragged a bit that morning and ended up cutting it close, arriving just as Sam was announcing one minute until the start of the half marathon (the 10K and 5K would follow 15 and 30 minutes later, respectively).  Truth is, I have yet to find the race where the running part is as difficult as the getting-out-of-bed-that-morning part.  But having carefully read Sam’s pre-race email and having run the course last year, I assumed I could safely dispense with any more pre-race announcements.

So after cycling through the CliffsNotes version of my warm-up routine, I ducked under the ribboned rope and into the start corral, as usual lining up among the front 20-25% of runners.  Forty seconds later the familiar Brazen airhorn sounded one mighty blast, and Las Trampas opened its arms and bared its fangs to welcome some of the strongest trail runners in the Bay Area.  And the rest of us, too.

Rocky Ridge Half Marathon Course Map

I followed the leaders into the wild with one goal in mind: to beat last year’s finish time of 2:33:46.  I was confident for several reasons.  First, I’d learned some valuable lessons from my 2011 experience, lessons that as a now-seasoned Rocky Ridge veteran would help me… if not tame this beast, then at least understand how it hunts.  Second, my half marathon PR of 1:34:02 was set at this year’s Oakland Running Festival the week after I’d run the L.A. Marathon, so I was hoping for a similar post-Chicago bounce.  True, this would be a dramatically different race than Oakland; as Sam had pointed out in his pre-race email, Rocky Ridge is “known for forcing the fastest of runners down to a slow slog!”  Nonetheless, I was psyched for this race and counting on another strong post-marathon performance.  And lastly, weather conditions would be more favorable this year, with persistent morning fog holding the sun at bay, and temperatures hovering in the mid-50s.

So when it came to beating myself, I liked my chances.  But placing in my age group would be another matter.  As Brazen’s championship race with championship money at stake, Rocky Ridge attracts more than its share of talented runners, among them a number of Brazen first-timers including male newbies in the 40-44 range.  Meaning that if I expected to place in my age group, I’d have my work cut out for me.  Last year, for example, I’d placed a ho-hum 6th out of 20 runners in my age group.  And I was pretty sure Brazen hadn’t extended their age-group medals to include a polydactylous six-fingered hand.

I’m still waiting to receive my age-group medal
from last year’s race

Not only is Rocky Ridge the Super Bowl race for all Brazen runners, but it doubles as the final race in Brazen’s more selective Ultra-Half Series.  To qualify as an Ultra-Half Series finisher, runners must race in at least four of the nine series races, plus the series finale at Rocky Ridge.  Scoring is based on each runner’s cumulative “time back” from the winner (the winner’s “time back” being 0) in their four best races, plus Rocky Ridge.  The top three runners with the lowest cumulative “time back” after Rocky Ridge are the Ultra-Half Series winners, and earn the same prize money as the overall winners.  Best of all for the rest of us, all Ultra-Half Series finishers earn a special finisher’s coaster to complement their Rocky Ridge race medal.

I missed out on becoming an Ultra-Half Series finisher last year through my own ineptitude… I’d misunderstood their Nitro Trail Half Marathon to be one of the qualifying races, not realizing until the week of Rocky Ridge that this wasn’t the case.  So I was determined not to screw myself out of another shot at die-cast glory this year.  That is, until tendonitis derailed my plans to run the Trail Quake Half Marathon in June, meaning I would have run only three (rather than the necessary four) qualifying races before Rocky Ridge: Wildcat, Bear Creek and Drag-N-Fly.

In a curious twist, though, I’d also run the Mount Diablo Trails Challenge in April… except that there, I’d chosen to run the longer 50K rather than the qualifying half marathon distance.  Fortunately (and sensibly), the Brazen folks posted on their Facebook page in late August that the Diablo 50K would be accepted as a Series qualifier, though with a caveat: runners using the 50K as a qualifier would not be factored into the final standings and thus would not be eligible for the prize money, due to the differences in “time back” scoring between the 50K and half marathon distances.  I was fine with this decision, since the governing body’s (i.e. Sam’s) reasoning made sense.  My real disappointment lay in my own inability to run Trail Quake… had I run it in a time consistent with my other three finish times, I would have found myself at least 5th, and potentially as high as 4th, in the Ultra-Half Series standings in the week leading up to Rocky Ridge.

Like beach sand in your swimsuit, the Las Trampas fog found its way into every nook and cranny
(photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

Back to race-day reality, and all these musings amounted to little more than neural debris as the trail rolled gradually upward toward its first steep ascent, beginning just after the midway point of mile one.  Rocky Ridge wastes little time in muscling up, and the last echoes of the airhorn had scarcely faded when we reached the first leg-searing uphill of the course.  Sticking with my usual Brazen modus operandi I hugged the left side of the trail and began to pass other runners, many of whom chose (willingly or unwillingly) to walk this uphill section.  I passed about a dozen walkers before I spotted Julie Neumann, the women’s Ultra-Half Series winner in 2011 and eventual second-place finisher this year.  For a brief stretch she and I were the only two runners maintaining a jogging pace, as I trailed roughly ten yards behind her all the way to the top of that first hill.  Just before the mile 2 marker we crested, the trail began its first extended downhill and she kicked off the parking brake and left me in her dust.  Literally.  Oh downhills, why must you insist on following uphills?

If I told you that miles 2-6 of Rocky Ridge were predominantly downhill, you may be misled into thinking the course can’t be that tough.  And if I then copped to the fact that the final 2.5 miles are mostly downhill as well… well, you may conclude that for a grown man who seems to enjoy punishing his body, I sure do whine a lot.  But Newton wasn’t kidding: what comes down must first go up.  And Rocky Ridge earns its stripes as the most challenging of all Brazen races for five reasons: miles 7-11.

As Hall of Fame golfer Bobby Locke once remarked, “Drive for show, putt for dough.”  By analogy, if the other 8+ miles are for show, then miles 7-11 are for dough (literally, for those runners vying for a share of the prize purse).  Those five life-affirming miles are the reason I didn’t give in to early adrenaline and attack that first downhill more aggressively.  The experience of 2011 had taught me that my real race would begin at mile 7, and that the strategic (i.e. gravitationally challenged) runner tries not to do anything too heroic, too soon.

RUNSTRONG? I sense a sponsorship opportunity! (photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

Further complicating this initial descent was the muscle on the medial/inner aspect of my left arch (abductor hallucis, I presume?), which suddenly and sharply began to feel over-stretched.  After a quick on-the-move assessment, I concluded that the pain was limited to my arch and excluded from my previously injured tendon, and I self-diagnosed that I wouldn’t risk further injury by continuing to run.  Based on my experience with other Merrell footwear, I attributed the pain to the new Merrell Mix Master 2 shoes I was wearing for only the second time.  The twinge in my foot came and went over the next several miles, though fortunately it never evolved from fleeting discomfort into full-blown “your body’s trying to tell you something” pain.  So on I ran… it wasn’t as though I’d been expecting a comfortable morning in the best of circumstances.

As the trail widened a bit in its descent through mile 3, a shorter gray-haired fellow asked me in a Russian accent, “Excuse me, how many more hills are there?”  I contemplated this for a second, not sure how to break the news to him.  “Two long ones, really,” I breathed roughly. “But miles 7 through 11 feel like one long extended hill.”  He nodded forcefully twice.  “So then one more hill? Thank you!” he replied, and accelerated down the hill.  I was pretty sure I’d be seeing him again before the finish line.

Over the next four miles I maintained a steady pace of ~8:15/mile on the downhill sections, as my foot continued to protest intermittently.  The downhill momentum of the course was briefly interrupted by a short-but-strenuous uphill jag near the mile 4 marker, before continuing its rolling descent through miles 5 and 6.  The final 0.1 miles of this descent were particularly steep, and I kept my own momentum in check to ensure I didn’t stumble over a root and slide the rest of the way down on my face.

Mike Sohaskey on Rocky Ridge Half Marathon singletrack

Leader of the pack on the singletrack (photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

The trail then bottomed out at what appeared to be a dry stream bed.  By that time, the downward momentum I’d gained made it that much harder to switch gears as the course abruptly began its grueling climb up to mile 10.5 and a peak elevation of 1,950ft.  But switch gears I did, forcing myself to maintain whatever semblance of a jogging pace I could as slowly, with tortoise-like efficiency, I caught and passed many of the speedy downhill folks who had passed me in the previous four miles.  Among these folks was the older Russian fellow, whom I quickly passed, this time for good.  I never got to ask him what he thought of that one more hill.

Having experienced Rocky Ridge before, the anticipation of miles 7 to 11 initially triggered in me the same sort of anxiety a child might feel on hearing his agitated mother promise “Just wait until your father gets home!”  Sure the reality would probably be unpleasant, but the psychological distress inflicted by the anticipation itself would always be worse.  What I needed was a more productive strategy.  So I channeled my own anxiety into a respectful appreciation for what lay ahead of me, and resolved to maintain as fast a pace as possible for as long as possible.

Like most of the course, miles 7-9 featured plenty of soft dirt and prominent roots along singletrack trail.  This kept me on my toes knowing, as I’d slide past someone walking uphill, that he or she would likely be right on my heels trying to pass me once the trail leveled out or headed back downhill.

One of my greatest triumphs at Rocky Ridge was that only twice did I have to slow to a true hiking pace: once during an infuriatingly steep stretch just before the mile 7 marker, when I felt like a bowling ball on legs; and again during mile 8, when my legs refused to turn over and the sand-like quality of the dirt rewarded maximum effort with minimal progress.  Understanding the dangers of inertia, though, I kept my hiking to a minimum (less than 0.1 miles in each instance) and picked up the pace again as soon as possible.

During the uphill portion of mile 8 I also encountered a Brazen first for me: a fellow runner’s stomach reversing gears (i.e. vomiting) on the side of the trail.  Assuming he would be fine I soldiered on, which turned out to be a good call since he passed me on the next downhill.  We then switched places again as I caught and passed him for good on the next uphill.  After the race I found him sitting near the finish line and congratulated him on a strong showing… though now that I think about it, I probably shouldn’t have shaken his hand.  Purell, anyone?

Unlike the two miles on either side of it, mile 9 is largely downhill and a welcome reprieve from the uphill grind.  Which may explain why I’d forgotten one of the more sadistic aspects of the course layout.  As I reached the mile 9 marker, I could clearly hear Sam’s disembodied voice booming from the PA system at the nearby finish line, a finish line I wouldn’t be seeing for another 50 minutes.  Adding insult to injury, I was just in time to hear him announce the men’s half marathon winner across the finish line.  The trail then turned away from the finish line, Sam’s voice was engulfed by fog, and I transitioned on to the paved section of the course at aid station #3 – the gateway to mile 10 and the most relentless uphill yet.

Heading up, up and away into the fog on mile 10 (photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

Around this time I had an epiphany of sorts, as I realized that the beastly beauty of Rocky Ridge lay not just in the severity of its hills, but in their strategic positioning as well.  The most lung-busting, gut-churning and soul-squelching uphills on the course – those beginning at miles 7 and 10 – immediately follow steep extended downhills.  And if you haven’t experienced it for yourself, this abrupt shift in both momentum and muscle groups can be exhausting.  In effect it’s this transition from downhill to uphill, and the stark contrast between the two, that deadens the legs and makes the uphills seem even nastier than they are.  It’s also a major reason why strength training for trail runners typically emphasizes the gluteal (butt) and core (abdominals, back, hips) muscle groups.  I’d reached the same conclusion about hill placement and this “roller coaster effect” as I’d struggled up and down the Marin Headlands during the 2008 and 2009 North Face Endurance Challenge half marathon.

Now, with mile 10 and Rocky Ridge itself looming ahead of me, I recalled vividly the critical first-timer’s mistake I’d made here last year – allowing myself to look ahead at the paved trail stretching out in front of me, winding its way up, and up, and up some more, until it seemed to disappear into the clouds like Jack’s beanstalk.  And in that same moment I’d seen all the other runners painstakingly hiking their way up toward the ridge like a caravan of snails.  Understandably, my glimpse into the future had been demoralizing.  The gut-wrenching promise of another punishing ascent, coupled with the heat and the crippling power of suggestion conveyed by so many others walking, had taken their toll on my psyche and led to a less-than-stellar performance the rest of the way.

So with the tough-love lessons of 2011 in mind, I hit the asphalt with my head down this time, only glancing up to thank the aid station volunteer as he pointed straight ahead and said, “That way!  That’s all I’m going to say.”  Staring at the ground two feet ahead of me, I plowed straight ahead at a labored but consistent jog.  With this strategy I passed three more people on my way to the top, and before I knew it asphalt was once again yielding to more forgiving dirt.  Which of course makes for more difficult footing… but still I kept my head down and stuck with the game plan.

View from the curiously stationed mile 10 “flatter cam”
(photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

During this stretch I also comforted myself by deploying one of my favorite mental pick-me-ups during a race, asking: If I’m feeling this ugh, how must the runners behind me be feeling?  That thought usually helps me to wrestle aside fatigue and renew my focus on chasing down runners ahead of me.

And then, around mile 10.5, something glorious happened: the running gods smiled down, tiny angels danced on the heads of the safety pins holding my racing bib in place, and the course started… to level… out.  Finally, I’d reached Rocky Ridge.  And finally I started to enjoy myself.  Unfortunately the view from on high was minimal thanks to the dense fog, but I’d gladly trade last year’s heat for this year’s cool.  With the trail shrouded in fog and visibility at times limited to no more than 20ft, I half-expected the Black Pearl to emerge from the fog bank ahead of me.  Eerie.  The scene reminded me of running in the Marin Headlands, a favorite hangout for Bay Area fog.

Mike Sohaskey running Rocky Ridge Half Marathon in fog

Looks like the scenery wasn’t the only thing in a fog
(photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

Up on the ridge I could again hear Sam’s PA-amplified voice, though I still couldn’t see him or the surrounding scenery.  Moisture from the saturated air began to soak my hair and drip into my face.  As I approached the end of the ridge and one final uphill jag, a chilly headwind blasted me in the face.  I hate running into a headwind – I’ll take heat, cold, rain, snow or a plague of locusts over a stiff headwind – and as I labored forward, I briefly toyed with the idea of hiking that short uncomfortable stretch.  But I kept my head down and plowed on, knowing that significant downhillage (and soon after, the finish line) awaited me on the other side.

As I passed the mile 12 marker, the course turned off Rocky Ridge and on to Elderberry Trail for the home stretch.  At that point my foot stopped whining and I was able to stretch my legs, lengthen my stride and actually run for a change.  Although Las Trampas wasn’t about to go down quietly, as confirmed by a couple more short-but-sweet uphill jags en route to the finish line.

The Pearly Gates, seen through the eyes of a trail-running atheist (complete with Saint Katie in purple fleece)

I ran more or less by myself for the last 4+ miles.  And as I made one last downhill turn and saw the finish line laid out beautifully ahead of me, I had that all to myself as well.  Basking in the last 10 yards between me and the finish, I could hear Katie and a few other spectators cheering, and the official clock welcomed me back with a reading of 2:29:14 (chip time 2:29:11).

When I say I ran by myself, I’m not kidding… I finished over three minutes behind the runner ahead of me, and one minute ahead of my closest competition.

Mike Sohaskey crossing finish line at Rocky Ridge Half Marathon

In stark contrast to Chicago, I had the finish line all to myself at Rocky Ridge
(photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

As I thanked the volunteer who cheerfully handed me my finisher’s medal, I flashed back to last year’s finish line.  There I’d been greeted with a look of horror from a fellow finisher, who’d handed me a cup of water and proclaimed “Dude, you need a salt tablet!”  Apparently sunscreen mixed with sweat on a hot day had left my face streaked with a white residue that Mr. Well-Meaning had mistaken for my body’s weight in salt.  This time I gulped down my remaining bottle of coconut water, which I’d carried the entire race but had only felt the need to sip from in the final two miles.  Without the heat, my thirst had been minimal… that, and it’s tough to swallow when you’re using your mouth as an extra breathing orifice on uphills.

And though I’d carried my own bottle and bypassed the well-stocked aid stations, I’d made sure to gasp out my thanks to the volunteers at all four stations.  They’d offered plenty of smiles and encouragement to supplement their selection of GU, Ultima and M&Ms.

I reunited with Katie and we made our way toward the one table set up for just this occasion, where qualifying runners could claim their hard-earned coaster as a (say it loud! say it proud!) Ultra-Half Series finisher.  And though admittedly I’d been dubious about the idea of a coaster rather than another hangable medal, Brazen’s artwork does not disappoint… it’s an impressive piece of die-cast craftsmanship with significant heft.  In the event that a Wizard of Oz-style tornado hits Berkeley anytime soon, I’ll be perfectly confident dropping this anchor in my pocket and waiting out the twister in my living room.

Mike Sohaskey with finisher's & Ultra-Half Series medals at Rocky Ridge Half Marathon

Forget the Shake Weight®… hoisting the Ultra-Half Series finisher’s coaster is the ultimate forearm workout

As for the final Ultra-Half Series standings (for which you’ll recall I didn’t qualify): not that I’m keeping track, but in this the Series finale I finished nearly seven minutes ahead of the eventual Series 4th-place finisher.  Fourth place, as in one spot out of the prize money.  I can live with that.

As I helped myself to the always excellent post-race spread and exhausted finishers continued to trickle in, Sam played the role of trail racing’s Ed McMahon and presented oversized sweepstakes-style checks to the first- ($1,000), second- ($500) and third- ($250) place men’s and women’s finishers for both this race and the Ultra-Half Series.  CONGRATULATIONS to all the winners, it’s a kick to race alongside (ok, behind) some amazing trail runners.

Sam (in blue) presents the winner’s checks to the men’s and women’s Rocky Ridge champions…

and to the men’s and women’s Ultra-Half Series champions

Also saw hardcore Brazen-ophile Isak, wearing his familiar black skullcap, cross the finish line in just over 3½ hours. True to what he’d told us at Drag-N-Fly, he apparently hadn’t looked at the course elevation map before Rocky Ridge.  Honestly, I’m not sure whether to label that decision “ballsy” or “reckless.”  But I have to admire his attitude and respect his reasoning: to his mind, he’d already registered for all of Brazen’s races this year anyway, and he intends to run every step of every race as well as he can, regardless of what the course he can’t see looks like.  At any rate, he survived Rocky Ridge and received his own well-deserved coaster.  Having had the opportunity to chat with Isak at several Brazen races, I’ve no doubt that if it’s up to him, he’ll be back at Las Trampas next October to do it all over again.  And I’ll be lining up next to him.

Isak Saad and Mike Sohaskey after finishing Rocky Ridge Half Marathon

No Brazen race feels official until the finish line debriefing with Isak

Before I finished my race Katie witnessed a 4-year-old and his father, each wearing a 5K bib, cross the finish line… almost.  Apparently the father crossed first, then retraced his steps to retrieve his tiny son, who had stopped juuuust short of the finisher’s mat and stood rooted to that spot, hugging his stuffed animal.  “We’re pretty sure he won his age group,” Jasmin offered over the PA.

Brazen’s littlest Rocky Ridge finisher, 3 steps from glory

As the finish area filled with tired but triumphant runners, Sam urged everyone to chow down on the IT’S-ITs, challenging each person to eat two.  I limited myself to one, never being sure how and when my stomach will respond to post-race snacking.  But that one was frozen perfection as usual… and hopefully my frugality allowed someone else to enjoy three of their own.

Making our way toward the parking lot, I shook hands with Sam (not to worry Sam, I found the Purell) and thanked him for another great outing.  Jasmin was still moving quickly and purposefully around the finish area so I didn’t want to bother her, but now I can take this opportunity to say… if you’re reading, thanks again Jasmin!  Look forward to seeing you both at another Brazen start line soon.

After the race Chuck texted me to ask how it went, and I texted back: “3 words: brutal. brutal. over.”

Mike Sohaskey and Katie Ho at Rocky Ridge Half Marathon

All smiles on the happy side of the finish line

But again, I learned (and re-learned) a lot from Rocky Ridge.  I learned that although I’ll never be a mountain goat, it won’t be for lack of trying.  I learned that those Bay Area folks who don’t know about Las Trampas are missing out.  I learned that Brazen’s championship race may be brutal and grueling, but it’s precisely that brutality and, um, gruel that keep me dragging my uncooperative body out of bed on race mornings.  If 4-year-old legs can conquer Rocky Ridge, then I have no excuses.  And I learned that no matter how many times I see ’em, giant prize checks will always be cool… and presumably even more so if one has your name on it.

Most of all, I was reminded that although huge, adrenalizing road races like Chicago certainly have their place in my racing schedule, nothing beats the cathartic solitude of lacing up my trail shoes and hitting the dirt.  What some would call the middle of nowhere, I call the middle of nowhere-I’d-rather-be.  No concrete.  No traffic.  No road (or trail) rage. No 7-Elevens to spoil miles 7-11.  And… no way, is that another steep uphill ahead?

In the final analysis Rocky Ridge 2011 was a valuable learning experience, based on which I reworked my strategy and expectations for 2012, and cut 4½ minutes off my finish time.  Nothing mind-blowing, but certainly better than adding 4½ minutes.  Along the way I extracted some beauty from that beast, and ultimately had myself a successful morning in Las Trampas.  And really, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

After all, I had the best teacher.

Rocky Ridge Half Marathon medals

PRODUCTION:  With each race of theirs I run, I find another reason to pat the Brazen crew on the back.  During Rocky Ridge I had plenty of time to think, albeit not particularly deep thoughts, and it struck me that for the Brazen trail races I’ve run, each course has many potential turnoffs where trails converge and diverge.  Meaning many potential race courses.  Yet Sam and Jasmin do a terrific job of mapping out some of the most challenging and scenic half marathon courses (or a 50K course, in the case of Mount Diablo) in the Bay Area, while always keeping them within limping distance of 13.1 miles.  Amazingly, my Garmin after the Diablo 50K (= 31.1 miles) read 31.4 miles.  At the same time, none of these courses consists of three flat loops around a marshy duck pond, or four out-and-backs along a single trail so you see way too much of your fellow runners… they’re well-designed loop courses (the Diablo 50K is point-to-point) that typically incorporate the steepest hills in the area.  Kick-ass (literally and figuratively) courses like these don’t design themselves, and I don’t imagine they happen without some serious planning and execution.  I might not be singing their praises so loudly if the Brazen crew held their events in the Marin Headlands, or in other well-worn trail-running hot spots as do other race organizers in the Bay Area.  Instead, Brazen has carved out an impressive niche among local racing companies by doing their research and taking advantage of less-appreciated parks (or wilderness, in the case of Las Trampas) in both the East Bay and South Bay.

If race attendance is any indication, it’s clear that Brazen’s star is on the rise.  And I hope Sam and Jasmin continue to grow and expand their operation to become the premier racing company in the Bay Area, if that’s their long-term goal.  Fortunately, one of the (many) positives of a Brazen trail race is that they tend to be held in smaller regional parks where park guidelines restrict the number of runners.  So Brazen aficionados can rest assured that the singletrack sections of Rocky Ridge won’t ever end up looking like the sidewalks outside the Apple store on the eve of a new iPhone release, with runners holding spots in line for other runners.

If Apple buys out Brazen, they should rebrand Rocky Ridge the “iPlod Half”
(photo courtesy of tuaw.com)

GEAR:  My Merrell Mix Master 2 trail shoes, which I wore for the first time in race conditions, performed admirably with regard to grip and traction.  They’re comfortably light but have enough of a heel to provide some braking capacity on steep descents.  On the downside, I tend to think the pain in my arch during the race was due in part to the Mix Master 2’s minimal support on downhills… I’ve experienced a similar ache only once before while running in my Sonic Gloves, so I attribute it to the shape of the shoe last in these models.  Admittedly I want to like the Mix Master 2’s because I think they’re a well-conceived, not-quite-minimalist trail shoe (and because I invested in them), and I’ll log a few more miles in ’em before making a decision.  But at this point I prefer my more minimalist Road Gloves, based on how they contour to and support my midfoot and arch.

Now I know how Pig-Pen feels

And hopefully this is the last time I’ll address this topic… my Injinji Midweight socks, which I wore at Chicago and on one other asphalt 30-miler before Rocky Ridge, survived the ups and downs of the trails better than the Injinjis I’ve worn in past Brazen races.  The only obvious casualty is a very small hole developing in the middle toe of my right foot.  So the Midweight toesocks do seem to hold together better than their more lightweight counterparts, but it may simply be the case that toesocks of any weight are more vulnerable than normal socks to the stresses of trail running. I’ll probably stick with them for races because even though I dislike their short lifespan, I dislike blisters caused by running on uneven terrain even more.

FINAL STATS:
October 20, 2012
13.6 miles in Las Trampas Regional Wilderness
Finish time & pace: 2:33:11 (4:35 improvement over 2011), 10:58/mile
Finish place: 38/170 overall, 4/20 in M(40-44) age group
Race weather: foggy and cool, mid-50s
Elevation change (Garmin Connect software): 3,577ft ascent, 3,558ft descent
(Garmin Training Center software): 4,426ft ascent, 4,303ft descent

Success at Rocky Ridge means never
having to say you ran a 17-minute mile

The 35th Chicago Marathon (IL)

Posted: October 15, 2012 in 50 States, Marathons, RACE REPORTS, World Marathon Majors
Tags: , , , , , ,
16

Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right.
– Henry Ford

“I predict sub 3 30.”

My brother sent his text the week before I’d be running the Chicago Marathon, and at the time I thought little of it. Why should I?  My previous two marathons, the California International Marathon in December 2011 and the L.A. Marathon earlier this year, had yielded successive personal records (PRs) of 3:39:15 and 3:37:53 respectively, a not-so-whopping improvement of one minute, 22 seconds.  And both courses had been relatively flat.  Not only that, but Chicago Marathoners had experienced/endured unseasonably hot temperatures in four of the past five years (by contrast, the 2009 race saw temperatures dip below freezing).  So I’d automatically – and wisely, I thought – adjusted my mindset to expect hot temperatures on race day, and to deal with them as best I could.  When possible I’d even trained under the East Bay sun, with the pace for my most recent long run – 15 miles in 86°F heat – projecting to a sub-3:35 marathon pace.  But regardless of conditions, 15 miles is not 26.2.  And with all that in mind, the thought of somehow shaving another eight minutes off my PR seemed, well, not happenable.

So I was pleasantly surprised when, five days before the race, I received an email from Marathon organizers telling us that “the weather on race day is projected to be partly cloudy, with low temperatures in the upper 30s to low 40s, and high temperatures in the low to mid 50s (degrees F).”  This corresponded to an Event Alert Level of “Green” (Low), which promised favorable conditions for marathon running.  At that point I remembered Chuck’s text, and my mental gears began to turn.  Slowly, to be sure, but the seed had been planted.

Mike Sohaskey after running 2012 Chicago Marathon

To complement the race itself, I’d decided 2½ weeks before race day to run Chicago as a member of Team LIVESTRONG.  Originally established as the Lance Armstrong Foundation, LIVESTRONG is a non-profit organization whose mission is to provide one-on-one support for cancer survivors and their families, to empower them and help them face the challenges of cancer head-on.  Unfortunately Armstrong’s ban by the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency, and U.S.A. Track and Field’s weak-willed agreement to recognize the ban, extended to his running in this year’s Chicago Marathon.  Because Armstrong’s inability to run threatened to weaken LIVESTRONG’s fundraising efforts, I’d decided to help raise funds and awareness to support their cause.  After which many incredibly generous and supportive friends and family, in turn, stepped up to help me achieve this goal in a relatively short amount of time.

So then Chicago would be about more than setting a new PR or hitting a specific time goal… I’d also be motivated and inspired by Team LIVESTRONG and all those who supported my cause.  Particularly gratifying were the individual shout-outs of support that accompanied each donation, shout-outs ranging from sincere (“RunSTRONG, Mike!” and “We support your every step”) to painfully sincere (“Will look for your final time if my browser manages to scroll that far down”).

More on my LIVESTRONG experience, and those who made it possible, later in this post.

Thanks, Chicago… “We’re glad we’re here” too!

On THURSDAY Katie and I flew from Oakland to Chicago Midway, giving us two full days to acclimate our sleep schedules to the two-hour time change.  We’d be staying with close friends Pete and Faby (and their unflappable feline boss Chloe) in the threesome’s comfy and conveniently located 18th-floor high-rise apartment at the corner of Michigan Avenue and East Roosevelt Road, within a mile of both the start and finish lines of the marathon.  As an added bonus, their living space faces directly north overlooking Grant Park, the central hub of Marathon goings-on where the start line, finish line and post-race party would all convene.  With effectively zero planning on our part, this was a strong start to the weekend.

Race-day view facing north from Pete and Faby’s place: Michigan Ave. borders Grant Park on the west, while
E. Roosevelt Rd. (“the hill”) borders Grant Park to the south and is flanked along its length by red banners.  Marathoners can be seen on E. Roosevelt approaching the finish line.  Lake Michigan can be seen at right.

FRIDAY for us was Expo Day, the ritual pre-race boot camp where runners assemble to claim their registration materials, racing bib (i.e. number) and timing chip.  In a kinder, gentler age of running back when my brother was the sole (no pun intended) runner in our family, race officials would actually mail each runner’s materials to him/her before the race.  At some point in the past decade, however, race organizers (and their influential sponsors) must have realized they were missing out on a gem of a retail opportunity: a captive audience of adrenalized runners with racing on the brain and a magnetic attraction to any running-related paraphernalia promising them that elusive “edge”.  And with that, the mandatory pre-race expo was born.

No matter what your expectations for the pre-race expo, this year’s “Health & Fitness Expo” at McCormick Place in downtown Chicago did not disappoint.  It was among the largest expos I’ve attended, with Long Beach, L.A. and San Francisco being the other contenders.  After our shuttle bus dropped us off between Gates 26 and 27 (maybe, say, 26.2?), we followed the signs through the cavernous hallways and up the escalators to where fit-looking folks by the thousands – the vast majority of them reflective white like me – filled one enormous bustling hall.  Nearly all of these marathoners-to-be carried unwieldy Bank Of America-sanctioned swag bags while eliciting glances of (was that envy or scorn?) from the buttoned-up suits filing into and out of the “GRAPH Expo” next door.

When the Nike-bots issue an order, you Just Do It.

Some folks tackled the expo with more deliberate mindsets, whereas most behaved instead like human examples of Brownian motion, diffusing semi-randomly between sponsor booths.  Katie and I fell somewhere between these two extremes: not quite overwhelmed enough to diffuse aimlessly, yet in no real hurry to leave.  And as we strolled the aisles, I noticed a distinct difference between this expo and those I’d attended in California, reflecting perhaps the “Midwestern sensibilities” I’ve heard so much about.  Chicago resembled a more straightforward trade show featuring the most reputable names in running – names like Nike, Asics, Brooks, Saucony, Merrell, Clif Bar, PowerBar and Gatorade.  Representatives manning the booths were for the most part helpful without being pushy.  And although an expo’s an expo, and Chicago’s expo still left me restless for the more carefully choreographed chaos of the Marathon itself, it was decidely more positive than my usual expo-rience.

Because in contrast, California running expos are more likely to feature overcaffeinated meatheads and bronzed booth babes loudly hawking the latest in barely digestible energy bars, alkalinized drinking water, unproven nutritional supplements, and even over-the-top gimmickry such as rubber “Power Balance” bracelets that even the parent company admits are a complete sham.  Not to mention (but I will) that the organizers of possibly the state’s most popular marathon, the Big Sur Marathon, insist on having a booth at nearly all California running expos, despite knowing full well that they’ll be peddling an already sold-out event.  Ah, the hardships we endure who live and run on the West Coast.

Friday night we attended a pre-race dinner for Team LIVESTRONG members at Wrigley Field, featuring a few words by Team LIVESTRONG representatives as well as Chicago Cubs first baseman and Hodgkin’s lymphoma survivor Anthony Rizzo.  This was the first time the LIVESTRONG folks had organized a pre-race event, and hopefully it won’t be the last… the evening provided an excellent opportunity to meet fellow fundraisers/runners in a relaxed setting, and to hear more about LIVESTRONG’s mission without the discomforting feeling of being slammed through a propaganda and marketing machine.  We even had a chance to stroll the dugouts and home plate area of Wrigley Field.  This was Katie’s first visit to Wrigley, and I doubt many other first-time (or any-time) visitors can boast a similar on-field experience.  All in all, a well-planned and well-executed event on LIVESTRONG’s part.  If only the bar hadn’t run out of 312 Urban Wheat Ale so early in the evening….

Team LIVESTRONG members at Wrigley Field… together we raised more than $237,000 at the
Chicago Marathon.  Katie and I are in the center, near the back.  (photo © 2012 Stephen Green Photography)

SATURDAY was spent stepping off curbs very carefully, restricting my diet (though not my calories), running a slow 3 miles with Pete along Lake Shore Drive, brunching with former labmate Vivian, visiting the Field Museum, and avoiding the torrent of Coors Light-toting college football fans streaming toward Soldier Field to watch Notre Dame play the University of Miami.  Hey Notre Dame fan: nothing says “Catholic family values” like a t-shirt that reads “Sucks to be U” or “If you don’t bleed blue & gold, take your bitch ass home.”

By the time 5:40am arrived on SUNDAY morning and my alarm began to jangle incessantly, I was good and ready to be good and running.  After all the training, all the tapering, all the expo-sure, and all the anticipation and visualization, it was go time at last.  As Katie and I prepared for our morning, we watched the sky over Grant Park and Lake Michigan likewise wake up and progressively brighten as the nervous, shivering throngs gathered in the park below.  Soon we joined them and headed immediately toward Start Corral “B”, where I’d begin my circuitous running tour of Chicago with the thousands of other Wave 1 runners anxiously awaiting the 7:30am start.  Slower runners would follow in Wave 2 at 8:00am.

The elite runners stretch before the race… they look even leggier in person (Agora sculpture in Grant Park)

7:18am, and the Wave 1 Start Corrals closed promptly at 7:20am.  Katie was radiating her own nervous energy as we said our good-byes at the gate to the corrals.  “Are you sure you don’t want those?” she asked hurriedly as I stripped off my arm warmers.  “Yes, that’s why I’m taking them off,” I assured her.  Despite the chill in the air (temperatures ranged from 40°F at the start to 47°F at 11:00am), the electricity of the day was invigorating, and I had no trouble staying warm as we were herded, like cattle in compression gear, into our designated Start Corral to await the official start.

I excuse-me’d my way between tightly-packed bodies and positioned myself between the 3:30 and 3:35 pace groups. I’d resolved to keep the 3:35 pacers behind me and then decide on the fly whether to pursue the 3:30 group.  I’d rather run the first half too fast and lose steam later, than start too slow to give myself a legitimate shot at a PR and maybe even 3:30.  I didn’t necessarily expect to break 3:30… the thought of running an entire marathon at an 8 minute/mile average pace may sound good in the Start Corral, with the buzz of pre-race adrenaline and 5-Hour Energy coursing through my bloodstream.  But once we hit the streets, the reality of the race could be dramatically different. As always though, I urged myself to trust my training and push it as far as it would take me.

What do you mean you don’t see me??? I’m RIGHT THERE in the gold shirt!
(photo © 2012 Andrew A. Nelles~Sun-Times Media)

With a collective cheer from the teeming masses and Bruce Springsteen’s “Born To Run” blasting from what sounded like a McDonald’s drive-thru speaker (no fries with that, gotta run!), the 35th Bank of America Chicago Marathon was under way.  Pete and Faby, at home watching the local NBC affiliate’s marathon broadcast, caught a glimpse of me staring down at my Garmin as I crossed the start line.  Not exactly prime-time stuff, but still more auspicious than my 1996 television debut on “Good Morning Texas”, something those who know… know.

As the first wave of spectators loudly showcased their lung capacity from the BP Pedestrian Bridge, we exited Grant Park, passed through the Columbus tunnel and made our first of six crossings over the Chicago River.  These bridge crossings over the river would be the only “hills” (more like fat speed bumps) on the course until the final 400m along Roosevelt Road.

Aerial view of the BP Pedestrian Bridge overlooking the Marathon start line on Columbus Drive (photo © 2012 Matt Marton~Sun-Times Media)

I was careful not to let the fired-up mob mentality dictate my early pace… many runners surrender to their adrenaline and fly out of the chute like their hair’s on fire, only to pay for that decision later.  For the first time in a race, I’d set my Garmin to display both my current mile pace and my overall pace, so I’d know my status at all times.  Early in a race when you’re feeling good, it can be tough to gauge your precise pace… at one point between miles 1 and 2, a fellow next to me asked, “How fast are you running?”  I glanced down at my watch – my current pace read 7:01, yow – and quickly backed off the accelerator, as the voice of experience in my head reminded me that every second I ran too fast at the beginning would come back to haunt me several-fold at the end.

I first saw (and heard) Katie with her yellow LIVESTRONG pompom in the raucous crowd at mile 2.  Soon after a physical median created a fork in the road on N. LaSalle… I forked left, ahead of the 3:30 pacers who forked right. Ne’er again would we meet.

Chicago is a stylish city to be sure, and the powerful verticality of its skyline is always breathtaking.  The city’s most imposing glass-and-steel monoliths, the Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower) and John Hancock Center, were both visible at different points along the course.  And we ran through several interesting neighborhoods, most notably Little Italy and Chinatown with its fuzzy, oversized red dragon masks and “Welcome to Chinatown” arch engraved in gold cursive letters.  But for the most part, the neighborhoods we traversed didn’t stand out in my (admittedly tired) mind. And I have to admit… as big-city marathons go, I prefer Los Angeles. Starting at Dodger Stadium and ending next to the ocean on the Santa Monica Pier – with Chinatown, Little Tokyo, Hollywood, Beverly Hills and the legendary nightclubs of the Sunset Strip in between – is a tough act to follow.  And for better or worse, unlike L.A. I saw no barefoot runners at Chicago.

But no matter where we were on the course, the volunteers and assembled spectators were invariably rowdy and incredibly supportive.  Chicagoans, for the most part, genuinely seem to embrace the marathon and its runners, and I’m told that Marathon Sunday in October is practically a city-wide holiday.  Upon seeing my medal, several people on the street afterward were quick to smile and tell me “great job, congratulations!”  That was very cool, and it’s not something I’ve ever felt in California where people tend to be more… well, self-involved.  In the most densely packed areas along the course, spectator enthusiasm – as communicated by the sheer volume of their cheering – provided a brief but welcome distraction from the monotony of step-step-breathe, step-step-breathe….

Race volunteers were fantastic, though a ceramic bowl can be tricky to sip Gatorade out of while running (Inside Ancient Egypt at The Field Museum, Chicago)

On the other hand, whereas the quantity was high, I couldn’t help being disappointed by the quality of spectator signage along the course… the generic (i.e. non-personalized ) messages along the course were for the most part uninspired.  Usually I see at least one sign I haven’t seen before that makes me laugh, and I’m sure that sign (and at least a few other clever messages) were out there on Sunday.  I just missed ’em.  Instead I found myself counting the number of “WORST PARADE EVER” (I stopped at six) and “_____ MILES UNTIL BEER” (I lost count) signs.  The “GO RANDOM RUNNER!” sign was more annoying than anything.  And in my own non-violent way, I always want to punch the idiot holding an “ALMOST THERE!” sign anywhere in the first 20 miles… you’re not clever, you’re not funny, and you’re not the first.

But turning gators into Gatorade, I was able to co-opt the motivation from several “GO MIKE, GO!” signs along the course, as well as briefly running alongside a fellow with “MIKE” written on his shirt who was being cheered by name sometime after mile 20.

And speaking of spectators, none of ’em were more spec(tator)tacular on this day than Katie, who legged out roughly 9 miles of her own so she could see me and take pictures at miles 2, 13, 17, 20 and 26… and who still managed to squeeze in a Starbucks stop between miles 2 and 13.  She’s my performance-enhancing, not-so-secret weapon.  GO KATIE, GO!

Katie and I were both happy to reach the post-race party… we covered more than 35 miles between us!

Consistent with my usual racing strategy I avoided the aid stations, though they seemed to be well laid-out with Gatorade in front and water in back.  Starting at mile 9 and then every other mile or so after that, I forced myself to sip my trusty liquified Cytomax/Gu potion.  I discontinued this ritual at mile 22 for two reasons: 1) I was concerned that my faster-than-usual pace might distress my stomach, and 2) I realized that nutritional considerations wouldn’t be a factor over the final 4.2 miles.

As I waved to Katie at mile 13 and passed the halfway point 0.1 miles later (first half split 1:42:22, 7:49/mile), I understood that the real race was just beginning.  Most marathoners would agree that 26.2 miles feels more than twice as far as 13.1, and although those first 13.1 miles are clearly necessary, that finisher’s medal is unquestionably earned in the second half of the race.  There’s a compelling reason few recreational runners venture beyond 13.1.

Mike Sohaskey at halfway point of 2012 Chicago Marathon

If you notice nothing else in this picture, please do notice that both my feet are off the ground.

Mile 14 was the “Charity Block Party”.  Immediately I spotted the familiar black and gold of the Team LIVESTRONG tent and its members on the right side of the street.  They cheered frenetically as I passed, I clapped for them, and the scene rolled on as I glanced around at all the other worthwhile charities who would benefit today from the masochism of so many runners.

After the Charity Block Party mile 16 arrived fairly quickly, along with the always-sobering realization that the elite runners had already finished their race.  Unfortunately, I’ve yet to watch the elites race in person because I’m always running an hour and a half behind them.  And my hometown San Francisco Marathon, with its significant hillage, is understandably not a race that attracts the top elites.

The elites approach mile 13… realistically, I could run/sprint at their marathon pace for about 200m.

Although there was frequent music along the course, I honestly wasn’t paying attention and don’t remember anything specific other than the obligatory “Eye Of The Tiger” (which was appropriate in this case… Survivor’s a Chicago band). The only other thing I remember about the music was two or three moments when I ran very close to a cranked-up, beyond-distorted LOUDspeaker that, rather than energizing me, hit me with a momentary wave of nausea like I was standing on the deck of the Pequod in high seas.  But on the bright side, at least I didn’t have to hear “Call Me Maybe” for 3½ hours.

When I reached mile 22, The Wall I hit was more subtle and insidious than in previous marathons.  After all, my muscles, joints, tendons and ligaments were still cooperating and (as far as I could tell) working properly, and my effort felt much the same as it had throughout the race.  But I noticed that my mile pace times had begun to creep up into the low 8-minute range, and my lower body just felt more leaden, as though I now had the Pequod’s anchor wrapped around my waist (no idea why the “Moby Dick” references, I haven’t read it since high school).  At that point I felt a fleeting sense of “ugh” pass over me, as I reached back in search of that final wind that would carry me to the finish. Fortunately I knew I could run through this feeling of heaviness – both experience and training runs longer than 26.2 miles told me so.

Mike Sohaskey just past mile 20 of 2012 Chicago Marathon

What is there not to be happy about at mile 20?  It’s another Katie sighting!

But as I focused on maintaining my cadence (leg turnover) and stride, I needed something to motivate and distract. And that’s when I called on all the inspiration I’d reserved for just this moment: inspiration from my LIVESTRONG donors, expecting (and in some cases demanding) my best effort; from cancer survivors I knew personally; from all the cancer survivors I would never know who would benefit from this effort; from all the miles of dedicated training I’d put into this moment; from the thought of my brother running his own 26.2-mile training run in sunny Long Beach at that moment (though not at sub-3:30, the cheeky bastard); and from the now-animated (in my mind) finish line taunting me, questioning my runnerhood while daring me to finish strong.

These were just a few of the more-or-less successful mind games I played with myself over the last 10 miles.  Other mental gymnastics included the standard marathoning strategy of telling myself at the 18-mile mark “It’s just an 8-mile race from here,” or at the 20-mile or 23-mile mark “You’ve got this, just a short 10K/5K to go!”  I was now running with the 3:30-or-bust crowd, and these people clearly knew how to finish a marathon.  I noticed very few people pulling up to walk, though it’s also possible that my brain just refused to acknowledge them.

This poor fellow clearly knows what it feels like to hit The Wall
(Tired Man statue by József Somogyi)

The last 6 miles were made significantly easier – or maybe “possibler” would be a better word – by my decision to shadow a thin blonde woman in a periwinkle tank top sporting an unofficial “3:30” bib on her back.  I fell in step behind her for a short time before cautiously deciding, based on her regular cadence and steady pace slightly faster than my own, that she would be a reliable pacer to lead me through the last 6 miles.  I wasn’t disappointed.  She maintained a solid pace in the low-8 minute/mile range, which was just fast enough that I struggled at times to keep up without being left behind.

And keep up I did until the mile 25 marker, when I stopped tracking her and began to enjoy the process of that final mile up Michigan Avenue.  The sun had finally broken through around mile 24, radiating just the slightest bit of comfortable warmth.  And to ensure that marathoners received the full Windy City experience, a chilly headwind kicked in as we tackled that final stretch up Michigan.  During mile 26 I kept repeating the mantra “Keep doing what you’re doing, just keep doing what you’re doing….” This chant intensified as I passed a fellow runner who was clearly fighting cramps, and whose rigid gait made C-3PO look limber by comparison.  My immediate motivation became the end of Michigan straight ahead, where Katie, Pete and Faby waited outside their towering apartment building to cheer me across the finish.  As I high-fived the three of them and turned on to Roosevelt, I knew this marathon was all but over.

Mile 26 – the happiest mile of them all

But first I had to get over the ~200m stretch of Roosevelt that those who have run Chicago jokingly (or not) refer to as “the hill”.  The power of this ever-so-slightly uphill stretch derives from its location at mile 26, tantalizingly close to the finish.  Coming from the Bay Area where “flat” is often a state of mind, I was mortified to feel my legs protesting as I slogged up Roosevelt.  But once I crested that hump and turned left on to Columbus where this all began, the immediate sight of the “200m” sign to my left and the red-and-white finish line straight ahead was indescribably adrenalizing.  WOW.

In that final 60 seconds, as I drifted right to avoid the main crush of finishers to my left, my mindset was a mental purée of wanting to bask in the moment, to embrace it, to squeeze every last iota of accomplishment out of it, blended with the stark reality of seeing that finish line oh… so… close.

The end in sight: the final straightaway on Columbus Drive (hopefully nobody followed the arrows) 

It’s impossible to articulate the stimulative sensation of the ‘runner’s high’, to do justice to the effect that intense physiological stress has on brain chemistry… you have to experience it for yourself.  It’s why some people take recreational drugs, while others run marathons.  Without hesitation, I’d recommend the experience to anyone who’s mulling over the idea of their first marathon, or who’s never run a huge road marathon like Chicago, New York or even L.A.  It’s not that you have to run the course… as I’ve pointed out, the Chicago course per se is not particularly special or memorable.  It’s that you have to feel the course, on a Sunday in October when 37,000 other runners and 1.7 million spectators are all pushing collectively for the same goal.

As I pumped my fist and crossed the finish line, the official race time on the giant digital clock read 3:31:13.  But I already knew I’d done it, and a glance down at my Garmin confirmed it: 3:28:45.  My first sub-3:30 marathon.  And my giddyup pace of 7:54/mile over the final 0.4 miles equaled my average pace for the marathon.

It’s not easy to time your finish so your head fits through the giant orange “O”
(photo © 2012 – believe it or not – MarathonFoto)

The 27th Mile (i.e. the long walk from the finish line to the post-race party) doubled as my victory lap, and I took my own sweet time moving through it.  Not because I was in pain – I wasn’t – but because I felt aglow with success.  And not that my timing would matter; I’d still arrive at our post-race rendezvous site 15 minutes before Katie, Pete and Faby, who had to painstakingly make their way down Michigan, around the barricades, and back up Michigan to Butler Field in Grant Park.  Unfortunately the distracted thrill of finishing, along with the donning en masse of heat-retaining “space blankets” caused me to lose track of my periwinkle-clad pacer, and I never had a chance to properly congratulate or thank her. But at least I know she also hit her 3:30 target.

In the finishing chute I giddily received my medal, posed for pictures, and eavesdropped on other runners’ accounts of the past 26.2 miles.  One finisher faux-boasted to his running mate, “Think what we could’ve run if we’d trained for this… I’d say 3:20.”  Another beamed with pride and quietly celebrated his first sub-3:30 effort in four tries at Chicago. Still another (admittedly I prompted this one) evangelized in an Irish brogue about how “fuckin’ awesome” his Newton running shoes were and how, after some initial getting used to, they’d taken his running to another level.

Mike Sohaskey with Chicago hosts at 2012 Chicago Marathon

Thanks to Faby and Pete (and Chloe, not pictured), the best hosts in the Midwest… we’ll be back soon!

Turns out the day had been a fast one for the elites as well.  Not only were the top three male finishers from Ethiopia, but all three including the winner Tsegaye Kebede broke the course record set last year with finish times of 2:04:38, 2:04:52 and 2:05:28.  The top American (and the top non-Ethiopian/non-Kenyan) finisher, Dathan Ritzhenhein, placed ninth in an impressive 2:07:47.  The women’s race ended in a dramatic near-photo finish, as the winner from Ethiopia broke the tape in 2:22:03 to hold off the Kenyan runner-up by less than one second (2:23:04).  Russian Liliya Shobukhova, trying to become the first runner (man or woman) to win Chicago four years in a row, finished fourth in 2:22:59.  And the top American woman, Renee Metivier Baillie, crossed the line in 2:27:17 to finish eighth.

And not that marathon training or long distance running in general is taxing on the lower body, but both Ritzhenhein and Metivier Baillie had previously suffered Achilles injuries that required surgery to repair.

Once my post-race levels of adrenaline, endorphins, dopamine, serotonin etc. gradually returned to normal later that day and the next, my own aches and pains would be minimal and in all the “right” places… quads, hamstrings, IT bands.  And Sunday evening would feature the usual unsettled stomach and litany of immunosuppressive symptoms caused by intense physical exertion: mild cough, a few chills, nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.  And certainly nothing that would keep me away from the LIVESTRONG post-race party at the Rockit Bar later that evening.

I lamented the fact that the post-race party didn’t include an ice bath – it’s the single most effective (and uncomfortable) recovery tool I know. After taking the plunge and reaping the benefits following my first marathon in Long Beach in 2010, I was sold. And since then, I’ve been promising myself I’m gonna get me one of them some day.

I had plenty of motivation in Chicago. Certainly there was the selfish internal motivation of all marathon runners, that of wanting to set a PR or qualify for Boston or even, in my case, break an arbitrary time barrier like 3:30.  But unique to this race was the external motivation provided by all the friends and family who supported me and Team LIVESTRONG. When so many people are willing to rise to a challenge, to step up and sacrifice from their own pockets, to say by their actions “I believe in you and your cause”… that’s motivating.  And there’s no doubt that motivation powered me through the streets of Chicago.  Together we raised over $2000 to help those affected by cancer, and I hope I have the opportunity to do it again soon.

Chuck wasted little time in his post-race texts congratulating both of us – me for my accomplishment, and himself for his sub-3:30 prediction.  In effect his prediction had been self-fulfilling: he’s run better and for longer than I have, and if he thought I could run a sub-3:30, well then I couldn’t very well go out there and fall flat.  Now I’m hoping he doesn’t fire up the “Boston qualifier” prediction, which would require that I shave another 13min45sec off my Chicago time.  Then again, maybe that’s just what I need… who knows what I could do with the right training, mindset and motivation?

As I moseyed my way through the finishing chute, a woman manning the 312 Urban Wheat Ale table smiled broadly, held out an invitingly full plastic cup and declared “You need a beer!”

She was absolutely right.

LIVESTRONG provides free, confidential one-on-one support to anyone affected by cancer – whether you have cancer or are a loved one, friend, health care professional or caregiver of someone diagnosed.  To get help, call them toll-free at 1-855-220-7777, or visit them online at http://www.livestrong.org/Get-Help/Get-One-On-One-Support.

FINAL STATS:
October 7, 2012
26.41 miles through the streets of Chicago, IL (state 3 of 50, World Marathon Major 1 of 6)
38,535 starters, 37,476 finishers
Finish time & pace: 3:28:45, 7:54/mile
Finish place: 3,887/37,476 overall; 3,282/20,682 men; 558/3,451 M(40-44) age group
Race weather: mostly cloudy, 40°F (7:30am start) and 47°F (11:00am finish)
Elevation change (Garmin Training Center software): 121ft ascent, 119ft descent
Footwear: Saucony Mirage 2 shoes, Injinji Midweight toesocks

Drag-N-Fly Half Marathon (CA)

Posted: September 17, 2012 in Half Marathons, RACE REPORTS
Tags: , , , ,
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And all the girlies say I’m pretty fly for a white guy.
– The Offspring

I’ve fully bought in to the Brazen Racing ethic and crossed my share of their finish lines since my first Wildcat Half Marathon in April 2011.  And of all the clever names in the Brazen catalog, my favorite is undoubtedly Drag-N-Fly… as in, drag yourself up one side of the hill and fly down the other (never mind that the scarlet letters “DNF” in a race usually stand for “Did Not Finish”).  Now, after my experience at Brazen’s 3rd annual Drag-N-Fly Half Marathon last Saturday, I realize that my favorite of their race names may also be their most honest.

The Drag-N-Fly trail races are staged in the East Bay’s Contra Loma Regional Park and Black Diamond Mines Regional Preserve.  Officially located in Antioch, Contra Loma and Black Diamond Mines comprise nearly 6,876 contiguous acres of largely rolling terrain covered by grassland, chapparal, woodland and mixed evergreen forest.  Black Diamond Mines once played a vital role in transforming California from a rural to an industrial economy, as twelve coal (i.e. “black diamond”) mines and five mining towns thrived in the region from the 1860s to the early 1900s.  Today, preserved evidence of this mining history remains, and the region’s extensive network of former mining trails are now appreciated by hikers, bikers, equestrians, and most importantly… runners.

The Drag-N-Fly Half Marathon course, from Contra Loma to Black Diamond Mines and back

So the region has a compelling history, but to say I absorbed any real evidence of that on Saturday would be a lie.  I was there to run, no time to stop and smell the wildflowers.  Maybe you could say the mines got the shaft?  I wouldn’t say it, but you could.

As we approached the Antioch city limits via Pittsburg I was reminded that this was the East East Bay, thanks to the bumper sticker proudly displayed on the rear windshield of the massive pickup truck ahead of us.  The black-and-white sticker featured silhouettes of several geese to complement its easy-to-remember message: “If It Flies, It Dies!”  And it fries too, I assume?

But what Antioch lacks in profundity, it made up for in this case with its reliable suburban-ness.  Having learned an important lesson about pre-race prep at Bear Creek three weeks earlier, a tactical mini-mart stop shortly before Contra Loma ensured that all (internal) systems were good to go this time around.  That brief stop, though, coupled with a slow start from home, caused us to roll into the overflow parking lot within ten minutes of the scheduled 8:00am half marathon start.  We parked and hustled to the Locust Grove picnic area, which on this day doubled as the Drag-N-Fly staging area.

Fortunately the start time had been pushed back five minutes, so I quickly cycled through my warmup routine and headed for the start corral.  As Sam announced that we were about four minutes from the start of the half marathon, I realized that in my hurry I’d left my bottle of coconut water (strategically frozen overnight to keep it cool during the race) in the car.  On the plus side, I’d have (hopefully) still-chilled coconut water after the race.  Turns out I wouldn’t need the bottle on the course, because the day although sunny wouldn’t be overly hot, and as always the aid stations were thoughtfully located and manned by the best volunteers money can’t buy.

Mike Sohaskey, Katie Ho and Tim Crooks before Brazen Drag-N-Fly race

Hangin’ pre-race with the high-achieving Gypsy Runner,
ready to go arm-ageddon on the 10K field (photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

The Locust Grove picnic area lies adjacent to the 80-acre Contra Loma Reservoir.  Both the 5K and 10K courses encircle the reservoir, whereas the 13.5-mile half marathon course heads immediately away from the reservoir toward Black Diamond Mines, before following a loop and returning along the same route.  So unlike most (if not all) Brazen races I’ve run, desperate-to-finish half marathoners and slower 10Kers wouldn’t be sharing the homestretch on this course (would it be rude to cheer here?  what the heck it’s my blog, HIP HIP…).

Game-time temperatures hovered in the mid- to high 60s with an intermittent breeze, and bright sunny skies dotted with sparse cotton ball-like clouds warmly caressed the browned-out rolling hills of Contra Loma.  Similar to Bear Creek three weeks earlier, we’d gotten lucky in that heat (a potentially key variable in determining “drag”) wouldn’t be a major factor today.

Sam’s emails had warned us about the many gopher holes dotting the picnic area around the start line, a fact that – given my history of ankle sprains – caused me more pre-race anxiety than any threat of poison oak or territorial wildlife could have.  And certainly there were a number of gopher-esque holes around the staging area, but more worrisome was that the picnic area, like the desiccated trails we would run in Contra Loma and Black Diamond Mines, consisted of extensive networks of spidery cracks.  It crossed my mind that this might be a more appropriate venue for Brazen’s Trail Quake race.  But turning gophers into gopherade, Sam verbally reminded us at the start line to be ever-vigilant of our footing, so that I had no problems during the race.

Not my most photogenic start, but beats twisting an ankle (photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

With my usual shot of 5-Hour Energy and the familiar blast of the airhorn, we were under way.  Along with ~20-25 runners ahead of me I tentatively jogged the first few yards out of the picnic area with my eyes fixed on the ground. But once we hit the paved park entrance road things opened up, and a quick right turn on to Old Homestead Loop pointed us in the direction of Black Diamond Mines.

Unlike other Brazen trail races, the first 1.7 miles at Drag-N-Fly offer a relatively flat warmup section that allowed me to get my blood flowing and find a comfortable cadence.  I also took the opportunity to ready myself mentally to tackle the first serious uphill of the course, just beyond the first aid station at mile 1.6.

This way to Black Diamond Mines…

I’d read and heard about this first hill, a fully sun-exposed section about a mile long that over the course of its 700ft climb eventually reduces most runners to hikers.  This being the first extended “drag” of the race, I was determined to maintain a non-walking pace.  Fortunately I must be training on the right roads and trails, because I was able to jog the entire ascent at a reasonable pace (sub-11:00/mile).  Given the relative comfort with which I made the ascent, I was somewhat surprised that nearly all of the runners in my pace group ended up walking to some extent.  So ’twas that I was able to pass (for good, as it turned out) roughly ten runners… of those I passed on that first hill, only two leap-frogged me later in the race, including one long-legged rock hopper who bounded by me at a precariously fast clip on a rugged boulder-strewn downhill section of mile 10.

Mike Sohaskey running first hill of Drag 'n Fly Half Marathon

Making hay while the sun shines on the first uphill (photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

Luckily what goes up must come down, especially on this course, and the immediate “fly” down the other side of that first hill was shaded and fast.  I don’t typically cut loose on downhills, but I did a lot more flying down the hills of Black Diamond Mines than on any course in recent memory.  And it was adrenalizing. Even while my legs were pounding downhill in high gear, I never felt out of control.  It helped that despite the extensive cracks, most of Drag-N-Fly’s downhills are well-maintained widetrack trails with firm, even footing.

The course contained a few brief paved stretches – primarily leading into and out of Black Diamond Mines – and three aid stations located at five points along the course.  Two of the aid stations were set up along the out-and-back section of the course (miles 1.6 and 3.7 on the way out, miles 9.9 and 11.9 on the way back).  The unique third aid station served runners at mile 7 of the Black Diamond Mines loop.

The elevation profile of the hills is accurate, even if their vibrant color isn’t.

Unlike that first ascent, the second (starting at ~mile 3.6) and third (starting at ~mile 5.5) uphills comprised a lot of gnarly, more technical single-track with a few switchback-type turns.  On the plus side, both ascents were largely shaded. The second uphill began immediately after entering the loop of Black Diamond Mines and passing the second aid station.  As I worked my way up the twisty, root-riddled trail, the two female runners immediately ahead of me vanished from view, and I found myself running alone.  Things stayed that way for much of the next 5 miles, and I negotiated/appreciated the tranquil wilderness of Black Diamond Mines at my own pace.  At one point it struck me, that after focusing on the winding singletrack terrain for some time, I couldn’t really judge whether I was going up or down anymore.

Shortly after mile 4.5 the trail forked left and right, and I experienced a first for me on a Brazen course… I took a wrong turn.  Fortunately the damage was negligible – less than 0.1 miles and nobody passed me – as I realized and corrected my mistake almost immediately after not seeing any red ribbons marking the route.  Turns out the correct route leading up and to the right was clearly red-ribboned, if I’d taken the time to glance in that direction.  But in retrospect I chose the left fork because the trail in that direction wasn’t clearly blocked off by the usual flour-drawn barrier in the dirt – a key indicator my brain looks for when operating on low power.

In my defense, my Garmin didn’t give me 500ft of advance warning
(© 2011 Mick Stevens, published in The New Yorker)

For the most part the course was well marked with red ribbons and flour, but this was admittedly the first time I’d thrown a wrong turn on a Brazen course.  I hesitated momentarily on a couple of more technical single-track sections as well, where the red ribbons were widely spaced.  My hesitation in these sections was due in part to the uncertainty of running alone: am I alone because I’m way ahead/behind, or because I took a wrong turn somewhere?  As a directionally challenged type, I’m a handy canary in the coal mine for potential course-marking mishaps.

The third extended uphill included the only segment of the course I walk-hiked: two or three short (less than 50yd each) singletrack stretches around mile 6 that required high-stepping over large rocks or wading through soft sand.  I quickly decided the energy expended to pseudo-jog these sections would have exceeded the payoff.

I also found myself pulling my sunglasses on and off several times during both Drag-N-Fly and Bear Creek, since the shaded sections of each course featured stretches of mottled sunlight that made it tough to track my footing.

Mike Sohaskey running Drag 'n Fly Half Marathon

Homeward bound: exiting the loop of Black Diamond Mines
(photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

At mile 10 we exited the loop of Black Diamond Mines and passed the fourth aid station. After a gradual ¾-mile climb back up the first shaded downhill, the planet tilted one last time, and the next mile was spent blissfully flying down (at a 7:50 pace) what had been the first uphill of the course.  As another runner passed me I fell in step behind him and nearly kept pace, so that I probably got back down faster than I would have otherwise.  During my flight I even had a chance to glance around and soak in the wide-open, sun-bleached expanse of mining country.  Then I bid farewell to Black Diamond Mines and set my sights toward Contra Loma.

Reaching the bottom, I gratefully accepted a cup of water from a volunteer at the fifth and final aid station, drooled most of it carelessly down the front of my shirt (what, no photographer to capture that?), and focused on getting back to Contra Loma as speedily as possible.  The thought of another runner overtaking me at the finish as I gingerly side-stepped gopher holes was motivating.  As were the distant strains of Tool’s “Sober” calling to me from the Brazen PA system (“I am just an imbecile…”).

Mike Sohaskey finishing Drag 'n Fly Half Marathon

Victory over the gophers and their holes… I particularly like the logo on the Drag-N-Fly banner.

By crossing the finish line in 2:10:54, I failed to break the one-hour mark or set a new course record like my running buddy Paul Ryan (R-Wisc.) did so effortlessly last year.  Nevertheless, I did manage to place second in my age group, albeit a whopping 12+ minutes behind the top male 40-44er.  Overall I’d characterize Drag-N-Fly as a strong effort, particularly for my first shot at a challenging course.

Katie’s 5k was also a success, having finished 16 seconds under her time goal of 35:00.  So she was good-N-ready to hit the IT’S-ITs by the time I reached my own finish line.

Congrats as well to Jen and Tim (aka the Gypsy Runner), who each won their age group in the 10K race, with Tim finishing an impressive 3rd overall.  Somehow his Merrell Road Gloves seem to run a lot faster than mine; I can only assume they’re a newer model.  Jen joked that maybe it wasn’t the shoes, but that if I’d just cut my shirt sleeves off like him….

As I diffused around the finish area in cooldown mode, I listened in amusement as Jasmin greeted incoming finishers over the PA system with pronouncements like “I think you beat your wife, mate.”  I approached Sam to congratulate him on another uniquely Brazen experience, and to my surprise he recognized me and told me he’d just recently discovered the blog.  That was cool to hear, and reassuring to know I’m not writing entirely for myself here. Hopefully, if I can keep this up, I’ll be worth bribing in another 5 years or so.  Thanks again to you and Jasmin for another fantastic Saturday morning, Sam.

So in summary: I dragged, I flew, it was better than Cats.  Which coincidentally is the mascot for the upcoming Brazen Half Marathon Championship race at Rocky Ridge in less than 5 weeks.  To be continued….

For comparison, my Bear Creek (left) vs. Drag-N-Fly (right) pacing…
though I inadvertently left my Garmin running for ~3min after my Drag-N-Fly finish.

MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS:
So how does Drag-N-Fly rate among Brazen trail races?  Is it tougher than Bear Creek?  The two courses are similar in their amount of elevation gain/loss, at least according to my Garmin Training Center software.  Drag-N-Fly, though, felt like we were running along a stegosaurus’s back, with more of a “hill goes up, hill goes down, hill goes up, hill goes down” feeling than Bear Creek.  The consensus around the finish area seemed to be that Drag-N-Fly is second only to Rocky Ridge for sheer masochistic potential.  I’d certainly agree that Rocky Ridge is The Big One (that’s why it’s Brazen’s championship race), and I reckon my faster overall pace at Bear Creek (9:21/mile vs. 9:39/mile) would suggest that Drag-N-Fly is the more challenging course.

But at the same time I’d say I enjoyed Drag-N-Fly more than Bear Creek… the Drag-N-Fly course felt more wide open, and true to its name I was able to cut loose on downhills without the knife’s-edge-of-control-in-a-cloud-of-dust feeling that I had in several places at Bear Creek, and even on the final descent at Wildcat.  And unlike Bear Creek, Drag-N-Fly left me with no residual calf soreness the next day… although my 23- and 22-mile runs along the Bay Area Ridge Trail the past two weekends no doubt helped to get my legs in better trail-running shape than they were three weeks ago.

Brazen Racing Drag-N-Fly medals

Peace? or second place? The perfect age-group medal for the Berkeley runner

GEAR:  My Merrell Road Gloves performed like champs again, handling the varied terrain with relative ease.  I realize that unlike other trail shoes the Road Gloves don’t have a built-in rock plate to protect against sharp rocks underfoot, but in four Brazen trail races so far (including the Diablo 50K) I have yet to notice its absence.  Occasionally on longer training runs, but never during races.

I also blew through another brand-new, ne’er-worn pair of Injinji toesocks (Original Weight).  By “blew through,” I mean this pair suffered the same fate as the pair I wore at Bear Creek… 10 toes, 3 holes.  In response to my concerned inquiry after Bear Creek, a marketing coordinator at Injinji responded that they “typically recommend the Midweight sock for longer trail distance running.  The extra padding in the heel and mesh compression top create a much more durable build for logging those extra miles.”  I received a complimentary pair to try out this week, so I hope she’s right.

PRODUCTION:  Certainly large road races and smaller trail races each have their own distinct production challenges, but given my druthers I’d put Sam and Jasmin’s crew in charge of every race I run.  Brazen’s low-key yet ultra-organized approach once again carried the day at Drag-N-Fly. Even though we pulled into Contra Loma overflow parking even later than usual, Brazen volunteers quickly and efficiently directed us to a makeshift parking space, and less than 5 minutes later we’d followed the streams of arriving 5K and 10K runners to the Locust Grove picnic area.  Luckily we’d picked up our race bibs and timing chips at RoadRunner Sports two days earlier, but even with a race-day pickup (our norm) we typically arrive no more than 30 minutes before race start.  Almost too easy.

Which reminds me of another reason I prefer Brazen races… they’re Saturday events, unlike many races held on Sundays that require you to waste part of your pre-race Friday or Saturday driving to pick up race materials at some inconveniently located and bloated expo.  Sadly gone are the days of race directors mailing out bibs, timing chips and schwag bags.  Fortunately the Brazen folks do pre-race prep right.

Although speaking of schwag bags, I guess I’ll deduct half a point from Brazen’s Drag-N-Fly score for printing up t-shirts that read “Conta [sic] Loma & Black Diamond Mines” on the front.

Brazen’s practice of staging memorable races in scenic places has paid off in its almost cult-like following among some Bay Area trail runners; this includes fellow Brazen-ophile Isak, who after this race informed me that he’d already registered for every Brazen race remaining on the 2012 schedule.  At the same time Brazen continues to attract and encourage the more casual trail runner, as suggested by their ever-increasing race attendance: for example, 72 runners finished the Drag-N-Fly Half last year vs. 149 this year, while 139 finished Bear Creek last year vs. 161 this year.

As both Brazen and the sport of trail running continue to grow, who knows how much longer we in the East Bay will be able to claim them as our dusty little secret.

FINAL STATS:
September 8, 2012
13.5 miles in Contra Loma Regional Park and Black Diamond Mines Regional Preserve
Finish time & pace: 2:10:54, 9:39/mile (first time running Drag-N-Fly)
Finish place: 13/150 overall, 2/14 in M(40-44) age group
Race weather: sunny and breezy, mid- to high 60s
Elevation change (Garmin Training Center software): 3689ft ascent, 3772ft descent
(Garmin Connect software): 3125ft ascent, 3121ft descent

NOTE:  The Garmin Training Center software, which I’ve used to calculate elevation gain/loss for my earlier races, reportedly overestimates this parameter compared to other algorithms.

Free Lance: The Curious Case of the U.S. ‘Anti-Data’ Agency

Posted: September 1, 2012 in CATCH-ALL
Tags: , , , , ,
0

Sports don’t build character, they reveal it.
– John Wooden

(Image courtesy of www.reuters.com)

Lance Armstrong is arguably the greatest endurance athlete who’s ever lived.

Last week the United States Anti-Doping Agency (USADA) unilaterally declared Armstrong, the 7-time Tour de France winner, guilty of using performance-enhancing drugs during his professional cycling career.  As a result, USADA issued Armstrong a lifetime ban from any sport that follows the World Anti-Doping Code, and officially stripped him of his seven Tour de France titles.

We each have our personal machines to rage against, and I guess this one is mine (you might say it makes me want to… heave).  But why?  In the interest of full disclosure: Lance is a fellow Texan, having been born and grown up in my hometown just north of Dallas… we attended rival high schools on opposite sides of the city at the same time, though to my knowledge we’ve never met.  Like everyone else, and perhaps with some deeper sense of understanding thanks to my PhD in Cancer Biology, I admire and respect everything he’s accomplished – from beating stage III testicular cancer, to winning an Olympic bronze medal (2000) and seven Tour titles (1999-2005), to tirelessly growing his Foundation into one of the nation’s leading non-profits in the fight against cancer.

And given such a chock-a-block trophy case, what runner can’t appreciate/sympathize with his admission that his sub-3 hour New York City Marathon in 2006 “was without a doubt the hardest physical thing I have ever done”?

Armstrong running in (left) and getting finished by (right) the 2006 NYC Marathon (images courtesy of www.celebrity-sunglasses-finder.com and www.cyclismas.com)

So do these factors play into my disdain for USADA and its official censure of Armstrong’s career?  Maybe… but my disdain goes beyond considerations of Armstrong’s lineage or individual accomplishments.  Because more important than the cyclist, what’s been blatantly violated is a fundamental ideology that’s done civilization proud for centuries:

The scientific method.  A major reason we’re not all still living in caves and eating dirt.

I’m a scientist, not a lawyer.  So rather than argue against USADA’s competence using esoteric legal terms in a dead language, I’ll argue for the basic steps of the scientific method that we all learned in elementary school.  I can only assume USADA CEO Travis Tygart was confined to the corner eating paste on the day these were taught:

1) Ask a question
2) Formulate a hypothesis
3) Test your hypothesis
4) Analyze, interpret and report your results
5) Refine your hypothesis accordingly

USADA asked its question, namely “How did Lance Armstrong overcome stage-three cancer to become arguably the most successful and decorated cyclist in history?”  It then formulated the hypothesis that Armstrong’s accomplishments resulted from his use of performance-enhancing drugs, including steroids and the red blood cell-inducing protein erythropoietin (EPO).  USADA and its partner anti-doping agencies even tested their hypothesis in a seemingly rigorous scientific manner by administering (literally) hundreds of random blood and urine tests over the course of Armstrong’s professional career.

So far, so good…

But here, where USADA is obliged to analyze, interpret and report its results, is where the anti-doping agency’s credibility begins to crumble like a bike seat made of Saltines.  Because of those hundreds of tests he took for illegal substances over the course of his cycling career, Armstrong failed… none of them.  Not one.  Ever.  Zeros across the board.

True, there have been occasional reports of a positive test, though such reports were never substantiated.  After a positive corticosteroid test at the 1999 Tour de France, Armstrong’s doctor told officials that the drug had been prescribed for topical treatment of saddle sores.  And the New York Times recently reported that USADA’s evidence includes “blood profiles from 2009 and 2010 that were consistent with doping,” a finding which apparently led the head of one anti-doping lab to declare “This is not an adverse finding, but this is certainly a sufficient equivalent to testing positive.”

Granted I’ve never been a professional athlete, but I would tend to think that from the athlete’s point of view, testing positive might be considered an “adverse finding”.

USADA, however, refuses to act responsibly and conclude, based on hundreds of agency-sanctioned negative drug tests, that they lack the scientific evidence to support their contention that Armstrong used performance-enhancing drugs.  No, with their hypothesis discredited, the frustrated higher-ups at USADA have chosen… to ignore all the silly bothersome data that refute their claims.  Instead, they apparently subscribe to the theory, cynically voiced by one local sportscaster here in the Bay Area last week, that “The only thing a negative test shows is that you can mask.” (We’ve had some issues with pro athletes and steroids around here in the past couple of weeks…)

So with little apparent regard for its own credibility, USADA tried to shift the burden of proof on to Armstrong himself, by relying on a far less powerful, less ethical, and less lawful ally: hearsay.  USADA’s case against Armstrong now rests heavily, if not entirely, on oft-contradicated testimony from Armstrong’s former, less talented teammates.  These teammates include Floyd Landis, who had his own 2006 Tour de France title stripped after he failed a drug test during the race, and who was recently convicted of defrauding his supporters; Tyler Hamilton, who failed multiple drug tests during his own career and who just happens to have a well-timed autobiography scheduled for release next month; and George Hincapie, who reportedly admitted to doping in his 2011 testimony to a federal grand jury.

Based on what USADA has shared with the public, questionable testimonies such as these constitute the crux of its case against Armstrong.  But you don’t need to own the Matlock box set to understand that guilt by association proves nothing, particularly when those associates are acknowledged dopers with – in some cases – a clear conflict of interest (e.g. peddling a book).  In his statement last week, Armstrong also asserted that “USADA has allegedly made deals with other riders that circumvent their own rules as long as they said I cheated.”

True or not, the possibility raises more than a reasonable doubt as to the integrity and motives of USADA’s key eyewitnesses.

So rather than refine its hypothesis in the absence of corroborating data, USADA has chosen the time-honored standard of the playground bully: deploy headlock and squeeze until victim cries “uncle” or faints from lack of oxygen.

Travis Tygart, USADA CEO and data-despising ty-rant
(image courtesy of www.zimbio.com)

Now even Armstrong, arguably the greatest endurance athlete who’s ever lived, has finally reached his breaking point.  Saying “enough is enough,” he has declared that he’s “finished with this nonsense” and will no longer dedicate his time and resources to fight USADA’s charges.  Some detractors have seen this as an admission of guilt… after all, isn’t that how Lance became Lance, by overcoming insurmountable odds and outlasting the competition when the stakes were highest?

But for better or worse, the Tour de France and even cancer have something very important in common that USADA’s doping allegations lack… an endgame.  Because although Armstrong no doubt has the financial means to continue the battle, USADA has made it clear that its only objective at this point is to find him guilty, and that it intends to make his battle unwinnable by any means necessary.  So sure, Armstrong (like USADA) could continue to throw money, resources and life-hours at these allegations in a futile effort to clear his name, but honestly… how, in the face of Tygart’s “Damn the data, full speed ahead!” mentality, will he ever prove his innocence to USADA’s satisfaction?  Have you ever tried to prove a negative, say for example that you didn’t eat the last donut hole?  Good luck with that.

It’s easy to have a high threshold for someone else’s pain, and that’s the case here with those who see Armstrong’s turn-the-page mindset as slam-dunk evidence of his guilt.  I’ve heard members of the sporting media declare with fire and brimstone how THEY would defend their honor to the bitter end if THEY were ever falsely accused of such vile wrongdoing.  And they’d probably be right the first, second, third or maybe even the tenth time they were confronted with the same unsupported allegations.  But eventually, as the process evolved into (as Armstrong’s lawyer described it) “an endless game of whack-a-mole,” one that farcically shifted the burden of proof on to the shoulders of the accused, well… be honest now… what would you do?  Take your bike and go home, maybe?

And the fallout from USADA’s denunciation of Armstrong’s career?  Unsolicited donations to his Foundation were up nearly 25-fold (from $3,200 to $78,000) the day after USADA’s announcement, while the number of individual donors was up 9-fold.  And according to ESPN.com Sports Business reporter Darren Rovell, Armstrong’s corporate sponsors – including Nike, Oakley and FRS – have responded by reaffirming their support for both Armstrong and his foundation.  So clearly, both the general public and some pretty powerful sports brands with a lot at stake have serious misgivings about USADA’s tactics and conclusions.

Any legitimate scientist who chose to navigate the treacherous waters of loose standards mapped out by USADA would be set adrift in his chosen field.  And given that USADA is largely funded by a federal grant, it too should be held accountable for its deliberate misappropriation of tax dollars and resources.  Even the U.S Attorney’s Office, led by Jeff Novitzky, recently dropped all charges against Armstrong for lack of evidence.  Novitzky is the steroid-centric FDA agent who has shown a stubborn if inept willingness to misappropriate federal funds in the name of his own brand of nebulous anti-doping justice.

I nominate, as the next CEO of USADA…
(image courtesy of www.crazyabouttv.com)

“Science can’t decide everything,” according to David Howman, director general of the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA).  But Howman is wrong.  His uninformed statement might be more accurately expressed as “Our science can’t decide everything.”  If the scientific tools available to athletes for masking a positive drug test happen to be more advanced than the tests used by the world’s foremost anti-doping agencies… well then, what does that say about the value of those agencies as watchdogs of integrity, anyway?

Small wonder, then, that its failure to discredit Armstrong has clearly left USADA as a frustrated and defeated agency.  But its frustration shouldn’t have been allowed to escalate into full-scale harassment.  In any case, it’s not even clear that USADA has the jurisdiction to bring charges against Armstrong, much less strip him of his Tour de France titles.

I’m not naïve, nor am I in denial; I acknowledge that Armstrong may very well have taken performance-enhancing drugs during his career.  I’m also not a Lance apologist; unlike the many people whose lives have been positively impacted by the tremendous works of his Foundation, I have no reason to invest my hope and faith in Armstrong as a personal savior.  Heck, I don’t even blame him for the fact that the 2011 LIVESTRONG Austin Half Marathon featured the most shoddily crafted race t-shirt I’ve ever received (thanks, Nike).

No, the only dog I have in this fight is the overwrought poodle named science that USADA has nonchalantly tossed into its ring of frustrated and ravenous pit bulls.

(Image courtesy of www.washingtonpost.com)

Armstrong has characterized USADA’s cranky-poodle-on-the-pantleg mentality as an “unconstitutional witch hunt.”  He’s not far off.  And in a time of unsettling intellectual laziness, when many Americans equate “truth” with their own personal belief system (creationism? intelligent design? “legitimate” rape?), this sets a dangerous precedent.  Hey, if our federally funded agencies are shamelessly willing to play outside the lines and run roughshod over the rules of engagement, well then why should we be expected to do any different?

In his arrogant refusal to abide by the principles set forth by cycling’s governing bodies (including his own), Travis Tygart has made himself and his agency the center of attention in this sordid saga.  USADA’s self-appointed stance as judge, jury and executioner even led U.S. District Judge Sam Sparks to write that “USADA’s conduct raises serious questions about whether its real interest in charging Armstrong is to combat doping, or if it is acting according to less noble motives.”  Sparks also warned that “The deficiency of USADA’s charging document is of serious constitutional concern”.

So then based on the taxpayer dollars, federal resources, man-hours, and professional credibility he’s wasted for himself, his agency and the sport of cycling… based on all that he’s willfully squandered in his ego-driven pursuit of Lance Armstrong, if I could ask Travis Tygart one question it would be this:

Who’s the real cheater here?

Bear Creek Half Marathon (CA)

Posted: August 28, 2012 in Half Marathons, RACE REPORTS
Tags: , , , , ,
3

Just win, baby.
– Al Davis, former Oakland Raiders owner

Bear Creek… a name that evokes nature’s power! beauty! and grace! in mental images such as:

Six bears fishing for salmon at Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park

Katmai National Park would make a lousy venue for a foot race.

But the East Bay isn’t southern Alaska, and Briones Regional Park isn’t a likely place to find a hungry gathering of grizzly bears enjoying the final salmon run of the season.  Fortunately though, what Briones is is a wide-open area for trail running sans bear bells.  So I had a pretty good idea of what I’d signed up for on Saturday, as race volunteers directed us into the makeshift grass-&-dirt parking area at the intersection of Bear Creek and Briones Valley Roads – the staging area for Brazen Racing’s Bear Creek Half Marathon.

As the sun struggled to break through the sparse, puffy Simpsons-esque clouds that weakly held it at bay, I realized with relief that heat – although poised to play a role – wouldn’t be the deciding factor today.  Race-start temperatures hovered in the high-60s, a far cry from the 100°F heat that according to Sam had plagued a previous year’s race.  The dry dusty landscape and sun-baked rolling hills around us appropriately punctuated the end of his sentence.

Sun sun, go away, shine instead on the 10K…

Cycling through my pre-race routine, it struck me again that this would be an atypical race for me; it’d been several years since I’d gone this long (3 months) between races.  A post-Wildcat bout of posterior tibial tendon dysfunction (cause unclear) had forced me to scrap my racing plans for the Brazen Trail Quake half marathon and, more disappointingly, the Leadville Heavy Half Marathon in Colorado.  Fortunately I’d realized in short order that this wasn’t a simple run-through-it type of injury… and from the moment of that epiphany to the time I was running pain-free again (thanks in part to Neil, my physical therapist at the St. Francis Center for Sports Medicine), I’d lost roughly 5 weeks of training.  Granted not a huge loss in the grand scheme of my running career, and it probably felt more like 5 years to Katie and a few others who absorbed my daily anxiety and frustration.  But add on to those 5 weeks the extra time needed to 1) regain full confidence in my stride, 2) safely ramp up my mileage and 3) regain racing form, and you’ll understand why Bear Creek was more than just another 13.1-mile romp in the dirt.

Being in the midst of marathon training, I’d also run a hilly 20-miler and a hard 6x800m track workout in the previous six days, so it was unclear whether training fatigue would affect my performance (or whether I’d even notice if it did).  So my pre-race goals for Bear Creek were twofold: 1) most importantly, to survive and advance, injury-free; 2) to finish in under two hours.  I based this second goal on the fact that – crazy factoid ahead – the winning time in this year’s Wildcat half (1:36:42), which I finished in 1:59:19, was exactly the same as the winning time for last year’s Bear Creek half.  And both times were posted by the same runner, Lon Freeman.  So I figured I’d have a strong shot at the two-hour mark today.  Cue my GI tract’s offbeat sense of humor, as my stomach started to act up less than ten minutes before race start.  Surprisingly given all the races I’ve run, I’d only once had any real GI issues during a race.  So with no time to ensure my stomach’s comfort, I had no choice but to trust that today wouldn’t be twice.

The well-prepared (some might say… obsessive?) runner does all he/she can to account for and control as many race-day variables as possible.  But no matter how well-prepared you are, two variables that can spoil the best-laid plans are 1) weather and 2) your own physiology.  And sometimes both.

As I trotted back from a final attempt to calm my innards, one mighty airhorn blast signalled the offical start of the race, and I ducked under the starting-line flags and into the starting corral a bit farther back in the pack than I would have liked.  Luckily I was able to make up the deficit quickly by passing several runners on the initial stretch of fire road.  Unfortunately, as I did so, I quickly realized that due to my distracted start, I’d stupidly forgotten to pull up the compression sleeves on my calves.  Still trying to free myself from a fairly dense pack of runners, and with no desire to surrender the position I’d worked so far to gain, I decided to leave them tightly wound around my lower shins, which would hopefully be enough to combat the Briones poison oak that was the real reason I’d worn them in the first place.  Besides, I figured, there’d be plenty of time for them to work their magic during the post-race recovery phase…

Brazen Racing Bear Creek start line

Admit it, you’re totally humming “Chariots Of Fire” right now (photos courtesy of Brazen Racing)

As I diligently tackled the first extended hill up to mile 3 at an ~8:30/mile pace, my goal for this first stretch set itself: get to the top of the hill before the sun broke through.  Though not a blisteringly hot day, the temperature difference between sun and shade was noticeable, and with almost cinematic timing (where was that John Williams soundtrack when I needed it?) I crested the first hill at mile 3 just as the sun burned off its cloud cover.  This first ascent reminded me at times of the Marin Headlands, but the better comparison on several levels was of a mini-Mount Diablo.  Not as hot to be sure, but still the same sense of arid hill country around us.  My initial impression of sun-parched hills and dusty, rolling landscape was borne out as I pushed along, and one brief stretch of hard-baked terrain late in the race showed wide, tendril-like cracks that struck me as more Texas than California.  I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a rattlesnake sprawled out across a trail sunning itself.  Distressed yes, but surprised no.

Also reminiscent of Diablo were the many cattle gates we passed through.  Having learned my lesson during the Mount Diablo Trails Challenge 50K, I paid closer attention this time to the runners ahead of me so that 1) I’d know in advance whether each gate opened in or out; and 2) where possible, I’d save time and energy by accelerating and quickly sidling through an opened gate before it slammed shut.

Who woulda knew, as I crested that first hill at mile 3, that the easy part of this race was behind me.  Because I’ll remember Bear Creek more for its downs than its ups… to my mind, the ascents were oddly unremarkable compared to the descents.  With its relentlessly rolling terrain and uneven footing , the course provided a sink-or-swim testing ground for my recently healed foot.  I kept close tabs on the foot’s status and tempered my desire to attack many of the downhills more aggressively, since I didn’t want to do something stupid that might cause me to re-aggravate the foot, twist my ankle or bonk later in the race.  And it struck me during one descent, as I kicked up a Pigpen-like cloud of dust around me, just how much energy I was expending in downhill braking.  Greater familiarity with this course would have helped to optimize my racing strategy… and if I have the opportunity to race Bear Creek again next year, I’ll benefit from this year’s trail trial run.

Soon after the 3-mile mark I found myself running mostly by myself.  The next 10+ miles I’d spend chasing (with limited success) a blonde ponytail attached to a runner in a pink tanktop who showed consistently strong form, particularly on the downhills.  In keeping with my usual Brazen M.O., I’d catch and momentarily pass her on uphills early in the race, only to have her fly by me on the downhills.  “Nice job,” she’d puff as she passed me on the downhills, and I’d return the sentiment as I overtook her on uphills.  Her foot-on-the-gas pacing definitely helped me maintain focus as I struggled to keep her in sight on long downhill stretches.

I reached the slowest section of the course, a dusty and root-riddled single-track ascent roughly 50 yards in length, just after mile 7.  I might not have thought twice about this short stretch if it weren’t for the fact that I slowed to a literal craaaaaaawl, with the runner in front of me painstakingly working his way uphill Spider-Man-style on his hands and knees using the roots as handholds, while simultaneously trying to squeeze past two walkers who (amazingly) were moving even slower than he was.  At that moment my goal of finishing in under two hours seemed laughable, and I really just wanted to escape this clusterf@*# as quickly as possible.

That brief pacing blip right after mile 7 was my “Spider-Man meets single-track” moment

Overall the course was probably more shaded than exposed, and despite recent heat-training runs I could feel the sun-exposed sections sapping a bit of energy.  So I slowed my pace through the middle two aid stations (miles 6 and 10) to quickly catch my breath and grab a few sips of water, something I rarely do in half marathons.  Of course, other half marathons are more forgiving.

Throughout the race my mind encouraged me as always to trust your training, though in this case that was easier thought than done.  Because truthfully I couldn’t be confident that I had trained enough since my injury to attack this course the way I wanted to.  Adding to that uncertainty were others: would my quads keep pace for 13+ miles after my mid-week track workout?  Would my now-unpredictable stomach hold up its end of the bargain?  Although I felt myself fading a bit in the second half of the race, I was heartened to catch and pass several runners as the course began its final extended ascent around mile 9.  Misery does love it some company.

At the mile-10 aid station I once again pulled up alongside the pink ponytail in the blonde tanktop (or was that the pink blonde in the tanktop ponytail? I was getting a bit hazy…).  I followed her closely up the final extended ascent, only to lose ground predictably after mile 11 as the course crested one last time and headed back downhill toward the finish.  She seemed to have a sense of familiarity with this course, so when (after speed-walking several of the previous uphills) she barely slowed her pace on the next uphill jag between miles 11 and 12, I trusted my instincts about her instincts and attacked the uphill myself.  Luckily I didn’t regret that decision, as plenty of downhill awaited on the other side of what turned out to be a short-lived ascent.

I took the opportunity between miles 11 and 12 to glance up from my shoetops briefly and appreciate the rugged, burned-out beauty of Briones.  As we headed downhill toward home, my quads and calves continued to do yeoman’s work on the uneven and variable terrain, my toes slammed repeatedly into the front of my Road Gloves (name! that! blister!), and my pink pacer pulled away on the final steep descent just before mile 12.  Fortunately, the predominantly downhill final mile featured some brief uphill jags, which allowed me to shake any pursuers who might have made up ground during the mile-12 descent.

As with other Brazen trail races, we shared the final 2-3 miles with the 10K runners… gotta thank the many heads-up 10Kers who remained aware of their surroundings and stepped aside to allow faster runners to pass.  I always appreciate not having to mumble a woozy “skooz me” at every energetic walker over the last 3 miles of a race.

Winding my way past the mile 13 marker and along the final tree- and root-lined stretch, I felt one last surge of adrenaline on hearing Jasmin’s voice projecting over the finish line PA system.  “Just up the hill!” yelled the last course photographer as I weakly waved and passed.  Huh?  Based on a cursory glance at the elevation profile I’d mentally prepped myself for a downhill finish, but the Brazen folks are nothing if not shiny happy sadists.  One reason their races are addictive.  And so, after descending several steps and hop-stepping a still-wet-but-just-bearly creek, I pounded up several more steps built into the trail, turned the corner and heard Jasmin announce my name as I crossed the finish line with well-compressed shins and fidgety stomach in 2:04:36.

Mike Sohaskey hitting home stretch of Bear Creek Half Marathon

Bear Creek? Bare Creek? Bear-ly creek? (photo courtesy of Brazen Racing)

With its 3,700ft of net elevation gain (and loss), the Bear Creek course epitomizes the now-familiar ethic of all Brazen trail races:  what doesn’t kill you makes the post-race IT’S-IT that much sweeter.  On road or trail, the half marathon distance usually breaks down mentally for me into three logical stages: beginning (miles 1-4), middle (miles 5-9) and end (miles 10-13.1).  But Bear Creek felt more like 13 smaller races, probably due to the mental and physical demands of the rolling terrain as well as my being out of normal racing rhythm.  Fortunately my stomach held up well, its own race having played out in three distinct stages: a comfortable beginning stage (miles 1-4), a more unsettled Clash tribute stage (“should I stay or should I go?”; miles 5-10), and a comfortably triumphant end stage (mile 11 to the finish).

And though we’d been made aware in pre-race emails of the possibility of poison oak, bees (15-20 runners reported being stung during the 2011 race) and other potentially fun-retardant wildlife (i.e. rattlesnakes) out on the trails, my own encounters were limited to one very bored-looking cow that easily could have doubled as the mile 12 marker.

Soon after finishing I sought out the now-familiar blonde ponytail/pink tanktop combo (she had indeed run Bear Creek before), and we congratulated each other on a race well run.  And speaking of fellow finishers, kudos to the aptly named runner of the day, Michael Payne.

I also bumped into fellow finisher Isak as I was diffusing around the post-race spread… first met Isak last month when Katie and I volunteered at the Bad Bass Half Marathon at Lake Chabot.  Maybe it was his exhaustion talking, or his clear frustration with the trail shoes he’d removed and was now carrying, but he declared Bear Creek to be Brazen’s toughest half marathon so far this year, tougher even than Diablo.  Isak is an interesting fellow and a hardcore Brazen-ite, so I look forward to comparing notes with him at future races.

Re: my pre-race goals, I did fail to break the two-hour barrier.  But given the warm weather and the fact that Bear Creek’s elevation profile exceeded Wildcat’s by roughly 500 feet, I was neither surprised nor necessarily disappointed.  So why the brash quote at the top of this post?  Because although I placed 12th overall, I did finish ahead of the 20 other finishers in the male 40-44 age group, nearly 12 minutes ahead of the runner-up.  First time I’ve won my age group since the Malibu Half Marathon last November, and first Brazen race I’ve accomplished that since the Nitro Trail Half Marathon in 2011.  In fact I was the only over-40 finisher in the top 20, male or female.  The older lady behind the counter at the age-group awards booth looked up my name, smiled and cheerily proclaimed “Ooh, you get a finger!”  I was all set to defend my honor when she handed me a shiny medal emblazoned with the Brazen Racing logo and a hand holding up a single index finger:

Brazen Racing Bear Creek medals

But the runaway victory of this day was that my foot not only held up pain-free after 13+ miles of sustained pounding over hilly uneven terrain, but still felt great the next day.  Unfortunately my calves weren’t so lucky… having not raced any trails (much less hills like these) in my Road Gloves for 3 months, they tightened up after the race and remained pretty shredded for several days.  But at least my lower shins felt great in the aftermath, so clearly the compression sleeves did the trick.

The real bummer in having missed Brazen’s Trail Quake and Bad Bass half marathons due to injury is that I’m no longer eligible (not having run enough trail races, since ironically the Diablo 50K doesn’t count) for the Brazen half marathon championship at Rocky Ridge in October.  Never mind that I’d have as much chance to win Rocky Ridge on a pogo stick as I would running… but I’m pretty certain the “Brazen Ultra Half Coaster” that Ultra Half Series finishers receive will be just as eye-catching, cleverly conceived and artistically rendered as their other race medals.

So Bear Creek, like all the Brazen trail races I’ve run, comes highly recommended.  And if Sam and Jasmin are looking for a company motto, I’d recommend the thought that seems to flash through my mind at the finish line of all Brazen races…

I think I’ll take tomorrow off.

GEAR:  Despite the whoopin’ my toes took from pounding down hills, my Merrell Road Gloves felt good and performed well on what were probably the most demanding set of trails (based on both elevation and pacing) they’ve raced yet.  With one reservation: given the considerable amount of downhill braking I did at Bear Creek, I’m now contemplating a part-time switch to a slightly raised heel (4mm heel-to-toe drop; the Road Gloves have a 0mm drop i.e. no raised heel), which should allow just enough braking to help slow my momentum on fast/precarious downhills.

On the other hand, my “Lightweight” Injinji toesocks badly underperformed.  I’d worn this particular pair on only one shorter run before Bear Creek, so I was disappointed to pull off my shoes after the race and see three pink toes peeking up at me.  Not necessarily surprised though, since I’d recently had the same experience with another pair, so evidently I couldn’t chalk this up to bad luck.  I don’t have much in the way of toenails, and I’ve never had this problem with regular socks, so it’s not owner neglect.  And I’ve been pleased with the “Original Weight” Injinjis I regularly wear on training runs and which I wore in the Diablo 50K, so this issue would seem to be restricted to their “Lightweight” toesocks.  Hopefully they listen to their customers and correct this defect soon.

Talk about a wardrobe malfunction… Janet Jackson ain’t got nothin’ on me!

PRODUCTION:  At the risk of repeating myself and sounding like Porky Pig, th-th-th-the Brazen Racing folks are the best.  Briones is the perfect place to stage a trail race, and Brazen is the perfect crew to stage it.  In previous posts I’ve expressed my enthusiasm for their pre-race preparations, volunteers (having been one at Bad Bass, I now have a better understanding of what that entails), photographers, sponsors (thanks Naked Juice, for the coconut water), course markings (ribbons, flour and mile markers), aid stations, post-race buffet, t-shirts and medals, and most importantly their choice of race courses.  So given my own experiences, I was surprised to read in Sam’s post-race e-mail that “a few people took a wrong turn and got bonus mileage”.  I’m navigationally challenged to say the least (I once turned the Muir Woods 25K race into more of a 30K), yet I’ve never to my memory had a moment of directional uncertainty on a Brazen course.  But then again, that’s why Sam warns us to always carry a map….

FINAL STATS:
August 18, 2012
13.3 miles in Briones Regional Park
Finish time & pace: 2:04:36, 9:21/mile (first time running Bear Creek)
Finish place: 12/161 overall, 1/21 in M(40-44) age group
Race weather: sunny, high-60s to low-70s
Elevation change (Garmin Training Center software): 3765ft ascent, 3736ft descent

UPDATE (30 August 2012): Brazen announced on their Facebook page yesterday that the Mount Diablo Trails Challenge 50K would in fact count toward qualifying as an Ultra Half Series finisher.  T-minus 51 days and counting until Rocky Ridge…

The Blog Post I Wish I’d Written

Posted: August 15, 2012 in CATCH-ALL
Tags: , ,
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Good artists copy, great artists steal.
– Steve Jobs (attributed to and stolen from Pablo Picasso)

Without reservation I’ve always thought of myself as a great artist, and now I offer proof… I stole today’s blog post. Shamelessly, in fact.  Hopefully every current/one-time/future runner out there is familiar with The Onion (“America’s Finest News Source”) and has already read what follows, but if not I’m happy to provide a public service.  As happens with the best humor – a disproportionate amount of which is found in The Onion – there’s plenty of absurd truth in the next 800+ words.  I’m just glad they’re not talking about me… after all, my race reports MATTER.

And hopefully the folks at The Onion aren’t done yet, since I’m looking forward to the sequels, “I’m Truly Sorry For This, But You’re About To Hear All About The Last Round Of Golf I Played” and “I’m Truly Sorry For This, But You’re About To Hear All About My Children’s Tiresome Exploits.”

The original article can be found here.

I’m Truly Sorry For This, But You’re About To Hear All About The Last Marathon I Ran

BY MICHAEL COWIE
JULY 31, 2012 | ISSUE 48•31

Listen, it’s great catching up with you, and believe me, I’m really enjoying this conversation we’re having, but I’m afraid I now have to do something that will make this exchange very awkward and unpleasant for you. I feel absolutely terrible about it, and so I want to give you fair warning: You’re about to hear all about the marathon I just ran.

I’m truly sorry, but I’m going to have to go pretty in depth about my months of preparation, talk all about the encouragement and support I received from friends and family, and give you a mile-by-mile assessment of my state of mind and physical condition during the race. I hate to say it, but it’s going to take quite a bit of your time.

Mile split times, cramping, hydration levels, chafing—you’re about to hear all of that. Plus, I’ll be dwelling on one point around mile 17 when I considered stopping but then decided to keep going because I’d already come so far. There’s a lot to cover, so I want to be upfront and apologize right off the bat.

This is going to be pretty unbearable.

I’ll inevitably start with how I carbo-loaded the night before the race, which by itself will not be a particularly long or objectionable story, but let me assure you it will segue right into an excruciatingly detailed explanation of the diet I maintain to stay in peak physical shape. And that, in turn, will lead into my training regimen, my special lightweight marathon gear, and, unfortunately for you, a lengthy period during which I expound upon the health benefits of distance running.

I know this isn’t the kind of thing you want to listen to—hey, no one does—but I’m going to include several anecdotes about my running partner Erik, a person you don’t know and couldn’t possibly be interested in hearing about. You’ll learn that he’s an attorney and a rock climber and that we’re part of a team that does the Run for Leukemia 10k every year, which will be another whole five-minute aside right there. Sorry.

Believe me, if I could stop myself from talking about this, I would. But I can’t, and so I’m going to tell you all about my personal best time, and you’re going to think to yourself, “This guy’s the fucking worst.” But here’s the truly awful part: Out of politeness, you will have to pretend to be impressed by that number, even though to you it will seem completely arbitrary and hold no meaning at all.

You’ll also be hearing quite a bit about the sense of accomplishment I felt upon finishing the race. You’re going to hate that, trust me. There will be detestable phrases like “I never thought I could do it, but I did” and “It truly was a life-changing experience” and “It’s a huge commitment, but definitely worth it.” I’ll be repeating the number 26.2 an infuriating number of times.

My God, I can barely express how insufferable I’m going to be.

I’m so sorry, I know you’ve done nothing to deserve this, but right when you think I’m finished talking—just when you get your hopes up—I’ll mention how this wasn’t my first marathon, and then you’re going to hear details of my three other full marathons, as well as a half marathon and a couple marathon relays I did. I can’t even imagine how horrible it will be for you to hear how I believe I’ve progressed as a runner, but by that point in, there just won’t be any getting around it.

And while it is at best tangentially related, I may at any moment during the conversation launch into an agonizing digression on the merits of five-day juice cleanses. I beg your forgiveness.

Worst of all, though, I’m definitely going to run other marathons in the future, so I’ll have to tell you all about the various races I’m thinking about entering and the pros and cons of each course. Please, accept my deepest apologies in advance, because as excruciating as today’s discussion is, it won’t end here. Every single day during my weeks of preparation leading up to the next race, I’m going to make you stop whatever you’re doing to tell you the number of miles I ran the previous evening. Isn’t that awful? No one should have to listen to that.

I’ll also have to tell you that you should run one of these things, too. I honestly can’t convey how intensely sorry I feel that these words will soon be coming out of my mouth, but I will actually say to you that if I can run a marathon, so can you.

Wow, I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know how you’ll be able to tolerate this.

But anyway, here goes.

These Hills Have “Ayes” (Part II: Trails)

Posted: August 9, 2012 in Trails, TRAINING
Tags: , , , , , , , ,
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I know it’s important… I do, I honestly do.  But we talkin’ about practice, man.  What are we talkin’ about?  Practice?
– Allen Iverson, breathing new life into the typically banal press conference of the professional athlete

Picking up where I left off… it’s all uphill from here!  As I run down five of my favorite trails for hill training (i.e. practice) in the East Bay and beyond.  Again, these are listed in no particular order:

TRAILS:

1. Marincello Trail in the Marin Headlands/Golden Gate National Recreation Area, from Tennessee Valley
(total ascent 860ft, net ascent 680ft over 1.44 miles)
Bordered by the Pacific Ocean and contiguous with both Muir Woods and Mt. Tamalpais State Park, the GGNRA boasts the finest network of running trails and stunning views in the Bay Area.  As such I could easily have pulled any five of them for this list, but instead decided to focus on my favorite, the Marincello Trail.  Beginning by the Miwok Livery Stables at Tennessee Valley, the well-maintained Marincello is right in the heart of the action here, as it stands at the nexus of several other popular running trails.  Professionally organized races in the GGNRA often include the Marincello for its uphill challenge and for the simple fact that its strategic positioning makes it difficult to avoid. Among them is one of my favorite Bay Area racing events, The North Face Endurance Challenge Championship.

Thanks to the coastal fog, sometimes there’s nothing to see on the GGNRA trails but your next step.

The Marincello demands a steady and dogged persistence, which doesn’t seem to deter the other runners, cyclists and even deer that I often meet on the way up.  During long training runs or races in the GGNRA, the Marincello’s challenge is amplified by the physical and mental energy expended in switching back to an uphill mindset after coasting downhill for several minutes.  However, being on the Marincello always seems to put me in a good mood.  And the panoramic aerial vistas of Marin City and Richardson Bay that greet me at the top don’t hurt that mood one bit.

2. The “Separator” hill on the fire trail above UC Berkeley
(total ascent 150ft over 0.1 miles)
Presumably named because it separates the upper and lower fire trails, the Separator’s name might just as easily derive from the fact that it separates the men from the boys, the women from the girls, and the champs from the chumps. Okay so maybe that’s some false machismo, but anyone who’s run it will tell you the Separator deserves its rightful spot on this list, despite being only a tenth of a mile long.  Footing on this usually dusty hill always seems difficult, and two “speed bumps” along the way add to its swagger and help you gauge your progress without having to look up from your shoetops.

Occasionally I’ll run repeats on the Separator as a training workout, and though this might seem counterintuitive, I find that the initial ascent is always more strenuous than the next few repeats.  I now use this understanding that “the first is the worst” to make Separator repeats more palatable, though of course this philosophy breaks down after about 5 repeats.  Ten is my current PR for continuous repeats without stopping… after hitting double-digits I decided not to further provoke the low-level, Separator-induced ache that threatened to spread through my groin and abdomen.

View of SF Bay from Berkeley Fire Trail

The “Separator” also separates sedentary types from this dramatic vista of the Berkeley campus & marina.

3. Live Oak/Towhee Trail in Lake Chabot Regional Park, Castro Valley
(total ascent ~670ft over 1.2 miles)
The Live Oak/Towhee Trail flexes its muscle as the wickedest section of the trail system that circumnavigates Lake Chabot.  It was also responsible for the quote – whooped out cheerily by a fellow runner during last year’s Brazen Bad Bass half marathon – that introduces my previous blog post.  For some reason I always seem to forgot how hilly the Lake Chabot course can be (denial?), and the Live Oak/Towhee Trail is always there to offer a graphic reminder.  On the plus side the trail is shaded… but it is steep and it is dusty, and if you subscribe to schadenfreude I’d suggest running it as part of a race.  Then at least you’ll be able to take some solace in the fact that your misery has plenty of company.

Don’t believe me? Feel free to get a second opinion… I’d recommend Jen’s recent experience at the Lake Chabot Trail Challenge.

4. Mount Diablo State Park, spanning Clayton, Danville and Walnut Creek
What more can I say that I haven’t already expounded on here?  Mount Diablo is the all-terrain, sun-scorched, rattlesnake-strewn crown jewel of the East Bay running scene.  Pick a trail, any trail in the park – Miwok, Highland Ridge, Oyster Point, Stage Road – and some section of it will likely require that you dig in your heels and grind up a steep ascent.  Between punishing hills and seemingly year-round heat, Diablo is the local trail running equivalent of Bane, Batman’s nemesis in “The Dark Knight Rises”: you may eventually come out on top, but along the way it may just break your back.

5. Coastal Trail in the Marin Headlands/Golden Gate National Recreation Area
Okay, so I couldn’t help myself… I had to include one more trail in the Marin Headlands, especially one with a name that promises (and delivers) so much.  Many detailed descriptions of the Coastal Trail can be found online, accompanied by eye-popping photographs.  In fact, if you’re unable to take a picturesque photo from the Coastal Trail in less than two tries, you probably shouldn’t be using a camera.

Golden Gate Bridge from Marin Headlands

Actually, I didn’t write this post just so I could use this photo, taken during a run in the Marin Headlands.

According to signs posted along the trail, the Coastal Trail extends from the Marin Headlands all the way to the Oregon border; unfortunately, I can only speak to (and recommend) the approximately 8-mile stretch running from Rodeo Beach to Tennessee Valley to Muir Beach.  Here the route consists of a well-maintained dirt trail featuring at least two steep and sustained (longer than half a mile) uphill climbs, coupled with those same eye-popping views of the West-est Coast in the continental U.S.  On a clear day I like to convince myself I can see the Farallon Islands 27 miles to the west, a favorite sanctuary for great white sharks who during the autumn months come to dine at their favorite all-you-can-eat sea lion and elephant seal buffet.

One final note: I’ve also run the “Woodmonster” in Joaquin Miller Park in Oakland, and I’ve gotta admit I was unimpressed.  True, I’d prefer not to cross paths with this hill during a race, as it could definitely throw a wrench in your pacing plans.  But with several directional changes (it spans three or four short-lived trails) and some larger rocks to clamber over, the Woodmonster is more suited to deliberate hiking than fleet-footed trail running.  Overall, though, Joaquin Miller itself is lush and woodsy – the redwoods that line the trails, though not as majestic as those in Muir Woods, are nonetheless grand, and the park scores extra points for being an oasis of solitude in the middle of the urban East Bay.  It’s an amazing dichotomy, the sense of feeling like you’re this far out in the sticks without ever leaving Oakland.  Together with its adjacent sister park Redwood Regional, Joaquin Miller offers miles of highly recommended running trails and plenty of open space in which to lose yourself.  Did I mention the Bay Area is a pretty decent place to live and train?

City of Oakland logo


Maybe this isn’t such an absurd logo for the city of Oakland after all.

Of course, I’m always on the hunt for new hills to run – both road and trail – in the East Bay and beyond.  I have my eye on a few candidates, but your questions, comments, suggestions and feedback are always appreciated.

Map of trail hills to run from East Bay to Marin Headlands

All over the map: from the East Bay to the Marin Headlands (click on the map for a magnified view)

These Hills Have “Ayes” (Part I: Roads)

Posted: August 4, 2012 in Roads, TRAINING
Tags: , , , , , ,
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Hills pay the bills!
– Unidentified runner, Brazen Bad Bass Half Marathon, 30 July 2011

Runners lucky enough to live and train here in the Bay Area have it easy.  Most conspicuously, the climate here is notoriously mild year-round: for example, on Stanford’s campus the average high temperature in July is 80°F, the average low in December is 39°F, and the average rainfall in February (the rainiest month of the year) is 3.31″.  Across the bay at UC Berkeley, these numbers are 74°F, 43°F and 5.38″.  And snow?  I once heard a local radio personality remark that snow isn’t treated as weather here as much as it is a toy we take out of the toy box during the winter months (i.e. Lake Tahoe), play with for a while and then put back once we’re done.  Granted it can get a bit gusty at times, particularly close to the coast.  And our iconic coastal fog does tend to roll in at inopportune times (hope you weren’t banking on that prize-winning Golden Gate Bridge photo happening today).  But if you own a windbreaker and some sunscreen, the Bay Area is a comfortable place to train 365 days a year.

Golden Gate Bridge in fog

Shiver me timbers! ‘Tis in truth the Golden Gate Bridge, and not a ghost pirate ship, peeking through the fog. (photograph © 2006 Eric Machleder)

Likewise, you won’t need Denver-caliber hemoglobin to run in these parts.  Since we are by definition at sea level, any runner can step off an airplane at SFO one day and be comfortably racing the next, no acclimation required.  And really, we don’t have any landforms that I’d technically call “mountains”… all the candidates are more like impressive hills.  The highest peak in the Bay Area, Copernicus Peak on Mount Hamilton in Santa Clara County, stretches all the way up to 4,367ft, and even that peak elevation is legally accessible only with special permission.  Similarly, Mount Diablo’s bite is worse than its bark: Diablo tops out at only 3,864ft, but during bouts of hot weather the “mountain” (as Wikipedia labels it) stands tall and lives up to its name, reducing many a confident runner to an overheated, profanity-spewing sweat-and-dust goblin.

So yeah, the San Francisco Bay Area is an easy place to be(come) a runner.  But just as importantly, it’s also an easy place to become a better runner… particularly if you like to train on hills.  Because what the Bay Area lacks in absolute elevation gain, it more than makes up for with its seemingly limitless potential for net elevation gain.  San Francisco may be the most renowned among Bay Area cities for the sometimes dizzying tilt of its streets (see Lombard and Filbert), and in fact Stride Nation recently (and somewhat melodramatically) referred to the 2012 San Francisco Marathon as “Death By A Thousand Hills.”  But the East Bay also features an impressive number of bad-ass urban inclines.  Not so surprising, considering that Berkeley does have the Berkeley Hills, and Oakland, the Oakland Hills.

And I really like hills.

Lombard Street at night

You’ll never witness finer curves than Lombard Street at night (photograph © 2012 David Yu photography)

So after running and training in the Bay Area for over ten years now, I’d say I have – accidentally or purposefully – experienced most of the killer ascents this region has to offer.  And I’ve found that a few notables keep drawing me back… in some cases because they represent the best route to get from point A (where I am) to point B (where I’m going), and in other cases because I think I suffer from a sort of runner’s Stockholm Syndrome when it comes to hills.  Conveniently, there are even a few hills that fall neatly into both categories, e.g. the “Separator” hill on the fire trail above UC Berkeley.

So with that long and winding intro, I (almost) give you my list of the top ten runnable hills in what I’m calling the “East Bay and beyond.”  Since I try to divide my mileage fairly evenly between asphalt and trails, I’ve broken the list down into two lists of five: first roads, then trails.  For me, ascents on asphalt tend to be less taxing than those on dirt, owing to more stable and level footing.  On dirt, particularly loose dirt and uneven terrain, progress typically feels like one step forward and half a step back.

Finally, a few disclaimers: 1) These are not ranked lists; 2) These are not meant to be definitive lists… I haven’t run every hill in the Bay Area (yet), so I’d expect there are plenty of worthwhile lung-busters out there still to be ascended; and 3) I’ve tried to make these functional lists for everyday training purposes, not a “who’s who” of the ass-kickingest hills in the Bay Area.  Accordingly, I’ve emphasized the “runnable” aspect, meaning I’ve reached the point where I can maintain a jogging pace (however slow) on each of these hills without having to walk.  For me that’s the challenge and the real purpose of hill training, to balance that fine physical and psychological line between “Should I keep running?” and “Should I start walking?”  With that in mind, I’ve omitted inclines composed primarily of stairs (sorry Dipsea, though I do appreciate your quirkiness), as well as ridiculously steep ascents on which only a mountain goat or the running 1% could maintain a jogging pace.

I’ll limit this blog post to the roads, and reserve my next post for the trails:

ROADS (in no particular order):

1.  Marin Avenue in Berkeley, from the Marin Circle Fountain to Creston Road
(total ascent 700ft over 0.8 miles)

For me, Marin is the queen mother of urban asphalt.  It’s a gut-check series of 11 neighborhood blocks of varying steepness, the most wicked of which approaches a 30% grade.  The first block – one of the lengthiest – offers a fairly gradual ascent that affords you the time to either catch that elusive second wind or reach the realization that you’re just not going to.  After three shorter blocks that threaten to lull you into a false sense of “This ain’t so bad,” the 5th block wrenches upward to Spruce Street.  And that’s where the real fun begins… after Spruce, with your legs and lungs now starting to ache in protest, it’s six more blocks to the top, five if you’re content to stop at Grizzly Peak.  Particularly severe are blocks eight through ten, starting at Euclid Avenue and ending at Grizzly Peak… this is the most severely masochistic, eyes-on-your-shoetops-and-just-keep-those-legs-churning stretch of the journey.  Mentally I like to break the longest block, between the appropriately named Keeler Avenue and Grizzly Peak, into thirds so I can gauge my progress and know when to make my final, graceful-as-a-drugged-water-buffalo charge up to Grizzly Peak.  The final jaunt upward to Creston is pretty much icing on the cake, and if I’m feeling particularly pulmonary I’ll even continue past Creston to the parking lot of the Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary, where Marin officially goes to die.

View of SF Bay from Creston and Marin Ave in Berkeley

Vista from Creston down Marin, across Grizzly Peak and over the Bay… note the back end of the car about to disappear out of view down Marin.

Marin may be a wolf in wolf’s clothing, but don’t abandon all hope ye who enter here:  its saving grace is the short-lived leveling-off stretches between blocks where you can rest momentarily by turning down a side street and jogging a short loop, without feeling like you’re cheating or giving up by stopping to catch your breath.  I used to value these side-street turnouts when I first discovered the joy of Marin, but now I’ve made it such a regular in my running routine that I can reach the top in one continuous effort, without detours.

Marin Avenue in Berkeley

Wishful thinking for dummies: If only Marin were built like this…

Slant of Marin Avenue in Berkeley

… because the truth hurts.

Also unique to Marin, I find that nothing fuels an all-out anaerobic effort like the acrid stench of automotive clutches burning.  I’ll occasionally glance up to scan the expressions of drivers carefully negotiating their way up and down Marin, their faces registering an amusing mix of empathy, antipathy and confusion on seeing… hey, is that idiot jogging?  I’ve also seen a few walkers on Marin, but the only other runner I’ve ever seen was heading downhill.  In some ways though, getting to the bottom is even more challenging than getting to the top… just ask your knees and quads.

For a more quantitative block-by-block grading of Marin, I’d recommend this cyclist’s perspective on the Berkeley Hills Death Ride.  As much fun as I have running Marin, I can’t imagine trying it on a bike… much respect to those who do.

Marin, I wish I knew how to quit you: Garmin tracing of a workout I did in training for the
Mount Diablo Trails Challenge 50K.

2.  Spruce Street in Berkeley, from Cedar Street to Grizzly Peak to South Park Drive
(total ascent 1400ft, net ascent 1366ft over 6 miles)

Whereas Marin feels like self-immolation, Spruce is more of a slow burn.  Spruce offers a more meandering and scenic route up to the Summit Reservoir at Grizzly Peak, though the key word here is “up”… you’ll still have to earn it.  But it’s well worth it, because Grizzly Peak is hands-down the best stretch of running in Berkeley… minimal traffic, no traffic lights, and life-affirming vistas of Oakland, San Francisco and beyond stretching out below you as far as the eye can see (which, with the coastal fog, usually isn’t far).

Even though this may feel like the top o’ the world, the stunning views along Grizzly Peak probably won’t distract from the fact that you’re still ascending… an additional 830ft over the next 4 miles.  Certainly it’s not Pikes Peak, but the accumulated elevation gain does start to wear on you by the time you reach South Park Drive in Tilden Regional Park.  At that point though, you really are king of your world, because from there it’s downhill in every direction.

There are plenty of scenic views to fawn over on your way up Spruce to Grizzly Peak.

3.  UC Berkeley West Circle/Stadium Rim Way/Centennial Drive up to the fire trail
(total ascent 400ft over 1.3 miles)

Like life at any university, one of the best things about the UC Berkeley experience is its ups and downs… though on this campus, I mean that literally.  The main campus features an elevation gain of ~200ft from its southwestern corner (Oxford Road and Bancroft Way) to its northeastern corner (Gayley Road and Hearst Avenue).  If you’re an urban runner looking to combine hill training and sightseeing, or if you’re on the Berkeley campus searching for the shortest route off the concrete and on to the dirt, this one’s a best bet.  En route from the West Circle to the fire trailhead off Centennial, you’ll pass Sather Tower (the campanile); two “NL”-designated parking spaces reserved for Nobel Laureates; the Greek Theatre; newly (though not yet completely) renovated Memorial (football) Stadium; the Witter Rugby Field; Levine-Fricke Softball Field and the Strawberry Canyon swimming pool… all in less than a mile and a half.  No wonder this campus attracts such a fanati-Cal group of runners.

A missive from the hills themselves? Actually, one more random act of culture from the UC Berkeley campus.

4.  Snake Road in Oakland, from Mountain Blvd to Skyline Blvd
(total ascent 870ft, net ascent 680ft over 1.9 miles)

Named for not-so-enigmatic reasons, Snake Road lies in the affluent Oakland neighborhood of Montclair, where residents can afford to live out of earshot of Occupiers and gunfire.  Beginning its ascent off Mountain Blvd, Snake slithers up into the Oakland Hills and past some of the more architecturally quirky and interesting homes you’ll find in Oakland.  Off to your left along the way, you’ll catch scenic glimpses of Downtown Oakland, Alameda, San Francisco and the Bay.  Don’t stop there, though… more sprawling views (west to the Pacific, east to both Huckleberry Botanic and Sibley Volcanic Regional Preserves) await you up on Skyline.

The downside to running Snake is that there’s no sidewalk and almost no shoulder, so you’ll want to stay alert for intermittent two-way traffic as you round its many blind curves.

Gotta appreciate this Skyline resident’s quirky sense of humor
(Sutro Tower can be seen among the clouds in the background, if you squint just so).

5.  Moeser Lane in El Cerrito, from San Pablo Avenue/Lincoln Highway to Arlington Blvd
(total ascent 715ft over 1.3 miles)

El Cerrito may have been on Gertrude Stein‘s mind when she penned her oft-misconstrued quote “There is no there there.”  What some would consider its lone cultural ray of light, the 99 Ranch Market, is actually located in Richmond.  And one website of “Things to Do in El Cerrito, CA” lists nine options… none of them in El Cerrito.  Fortunately, what El Cerrito lacks in culture and general interest, it makes up for with Moeser Lane.

Moeser ranks second only to Marin on this list for sheer force of effort required to reach the top.  Unlike Marin though, Moeser at least allows you a few short blocks (just under half a mile) to steel your resolve… in fact, until you reach Cerrito Vista Park the ascent is comfortably gradual.  But from there, both the grade and your heart rate ramp up in a hurry, and the thought that most often kicks around in my mind as I plod upward is that I’m glad I’m not running this on dirt.  Fortunately, the road levels off briefly at a couple of intersections near the top, providing an opportunity for a few quick gulps of air in preparation for one final leaden surge. (Musical note, speaking of surges: I find that the title track from Slayer’s “Seasons In The Abyss” plays well on Moeser, both rhythmically and psychologically).  As you crest the hill at Arlington (where Moeser ends), be sure to turn back around and admire your handiwork, as well as the sweet view down to and across the Bay that rewards you on a clear day.  And go ahead, pump that fist a couple of times… you’ve earned it.  I think the drivers looking you up and down would agree.

Of course, the downside to running up Moeser is that first you have to get to Moeser.  On foot this requires either running all the way down Moeser from Arlington (my preferred route) or slogging along San Pablo Avenue, with its knee-numbing concrete and mind-numbing rows of strip malls.  Even the dirty, understated Guitar Center on San Pablo, which always served this guitarist as a faithful pick-me-up landmark en route to Moeser, recently closed up shop and moved to Emeryville.

Stay tuned… in my next post (which won’t take another two months), I’ll go off-road to explore my favorite trails for hill training in the East Bay and beyond.

Map of road hills for running training in East Bay

Click on the map for a (slightly) magnified view.

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