Mount of the Holy Cross: Blindly Taking Baby Steps

(Preamble): after writing this and reading it thru, it reads more like a diary entry to me than a usual story of mine. It's not a long read but not a quick read: There are a lot of pictures at the end so fear not of the tiny scroll bar on the right, oh yee of little attention span... but the moral of my self centered ramblings is in the last two paragraphs if you are as attention deficited as me and want to fast forward and just look at pictures... yay pictures...(click to make them bigger)!

"This is going to be your last piece if you keep farting all ride." Suz groaned as she handed me a piece of toasty focaccia bread from the passenger seat. "And I won't be walking behind you all day, that's for sure." She rolled the window down a crack.

I shrugged my shoulders and glanced back at her with a chunk of the tasty loaf still hanging out of my mouth. It was quarter to four in the morning and we were cruising up Vail Pass in a Honda-CRV Zipcar with our packs ready for the day and iced coffees that just weren't fairing well at all in the battle against the inhumanely early wake up call.

That was pretty much the extent of our conversation on our way to the trailhead for the first half of the ride. I was exhausted. The second half of the ride was even less conversation as we switch places on the side of I-70 and I promptly fell back asleep as soon as I reclined the passenger seat.

I awoke to the rumbling of the car as we turned onto a bumpy, seemingly vertical,  dirt road. We swapped places again and the next 8 miles to the trailhead took over a half an hour to navigate. The fog was thick and we had no idea where we were and couldn't see more than 20-30feet (which we later agreed was for the best). Finally though, little city Zipcar reached 10,314ft, the muddy trailhead, but most importantly for yours truly, the toilet.

The Zipcar was clearly out of place in the parking lot full of Subarus and Jeeps which was true to form in the land of the 14ers. It wasn't an ideal ride for the road but it was the only option. My old beat up pick up truck didn't make the cut a few months ago as I methodically started to whittle possessions out of my life with a goal of being as little "tied-down" or "limited" by my belongings as possible. I am not quite sure what started this urge of mine to downsize but it just felt right. As the truck was replaced by the pedals; the house was rented out and I down sized to a small apartment. There was no end-game or rhyme or reason at the time; it just felt like the right thing to do. I got rid of a ton of crap and clutter I don't even know why I had in the first place.

I also quit a pretty cushy, lucrative, secure sales job last year and took a pay cut to try a role in the construction world. I have honestly no idea why. Blindly taking baby steps... I guess I was just bored and unknowingly unfulfilled. I don't really enjoy construction management but I am good at negotiation and talking to people (read: babysitting with a dash of common sense). I knew I wasn't going to be thrilled with the job because I am never thrilled with any job but, (1) I used what I had to convince someone that I'd be good at the job; and (2) it was going to get me a little closer to where I wanted to be... out west in Colorado. Construction was/is booming out here (I am here now). The next baby step was trying to get help with relocation. I didn't want a huge salary, I just wanted to be relocated. I negotiated a trade off with yet another employer that deep down, I knew I wasn't going to enjoy, but at least they would pay for me to get out to where I wanted to be. More baby steps.

But I honestly gave the new position a serious effort. In the end the pay vs hours sacrificed wasn't worth it to me. And finally realizing that after the methodical whittling of "stuff" my only true expenses were housing and food - these were manageable for me and there is an outline of a plan set in place. So about two weeks ago I up and quit. It'd be a gross and untrue statement to say that I wasn't nervous about the future a bit or that I had thoughts of jumping back on board the traditional work 9-5 grind but I just don't think anyone out there values my time as much as I value my time. And after writing this, it just reaffirmed to me that everything is not only going to be OK but also pretty freakin' awesome.

The plan that Suz and I vaguely set in place was a 12 mile hike along the north ridge trail to the summit of Mt. of the Holy Cross. It is not an insanely difficult climb - neither one of us have any actual climbing equipment, let alone hiking boots, but it definitely isn't a walk in the park. We packed the bags, set the intention, and tried to prep ourselves as best we could. We couldn't control the fog that rolled over and minimal visibilty, the potential for thunderstorms that rolled in the morning of, or the colder than normal temperatures. We hastily checked the weather but didn't pay it the attention it deserved. The forecast wasn't great 70% chance of thunderstorms. Rain probable. But we were both there, at the trailhead, having already woken and drove 2.5hrs so we were likely going to at least start barring something crazy.

The only problem was we were both just plain exhausted. Early wake up calls aren't a huge deal for me to fight thru usually but this time was just a butt-kicker. "Just a quickie... then we will go... if you still want..." I said as my left hand put the drivers seat horizontal, my right hand slid it all the way back, my eyes shut, and my mind hit it's own off switch immediately.

We both woke up 50minutes later and our 7am start time was long gone. "UUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH...." seemed to just instinctively come out of my tired jaw bones. The nap set us back so much that we knew at the time we weren't going to summit the mountain.

"Yup..." Suz replied drowsily wiping her eyes open, "but let's just take a few steps and see what happens. We probably won't make it all the way but we drove all this way and ate an entire loaf of bread  - we need to do something. We ditched the sunglasses and put on the rain gear. It wasn't raining more so than the cloud that engulfed us was just "clouding"... (as clouds often do)...  the moisture just kind of condensed on us. Neither one of us really wanted to start the 12 mile journey to 14,011ft but neither one of us wanted to be the reason that the other didn't actually do it. I am not sure who said which but there was a number of exchanges along the lines of, "Do you want to still do this?" and "I guess so, if you do, but I am OK if you don't want to" then, "Seriously, it's OK if you don't want to keep going"... until we both knew the other wasn't going to confide to consolidation tactics.

"A few steps but we will definitely turn back if things get too crappy..." the first mile was steep but clicked by pretty quickly. "I wonder what I am going to be thinking at this point on the way back..." I always tend to think when I start a long out-and-back. The trail ascends thru the trees for the next half a mile then dips back down to 10,000ft at mile 3 so you have the pleasure of starting it all over again after crossing a river. We hadn't seen any other hikers on the trail up until this point. Being pretty green, this worried me but I didn't open my mouth to let it worry my counterpart up ahead. Instead we talked about how weird it would be if you sneezed and farted at the same time, wondered what an apple-mushroom (not an actual thing) would taste like, and confirmed that it would be cool if the Olympics had an "average" person compete alongside all the athletes so people could appreciate how awesomely talented the Olympians are. You know, normal hiking stuff.

We saw our first person coming in the opposite direction.
"How is it up there?!" We asked with a little life implying he made it to the top.
"Didn't make it up today. There's some nasty weather rolling in but once you get up to 12,000ft there's a good pond you can filter water from..." he said in reply confirming our newbie-status.
"Oh cool! Thanks bro. Have a good day." We both didn't even really acknowledge the first part of his statement because we were too busy laughing at the fact that we didn't have a filter. Just three liters of water; two in a bottle and one in the bladder of my pack.

The trail is very manageable to the 4mile mark. We passed two more chicks that look pretty bad-ass hiker type.
"These clouds are crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, we stopped and turned around about a mile from the summit. It started to get nasty. Maybe next time. We overheard that there was even worse stuff coming in soon. Be careful."
"Ugh, thanks! Have a good one."

We started to worry. We weren't that cold yet but after hearing these reports from people who looked a lot more experienced at this stuff. Two more couples passed; two more reports of not hitting the summit. "How bad could it get? This stuff isn't horrible. Let's keep going a little further." It was good to hear Suz's encouragement as we broke the tree line and the wind delivered it's first blows. The trail deviously steepens at the 4 mile mark and gains about 1,000ft thru some dizzying switchbacks.

We finally crossed paths with a semi-positive smile. "How'd you hit it?" I inquired positively. "Ugh, made it up to the top but it's hardly worth it. You can't see a thing. It's too bad. Good luck though. Pressure is falling."

Suz looked at me with a glance that I knew said, "How good is a rainy summit without a view?" I was thinking the same. The dirt trail turns to even steeper rock steps. The fifth mile is straight up gaining 1500ft. We still couldn't see a damn thing except the next few steps. This time it was my turn to return the favor and spur Suz along a little. We knew there was a false summit a little after mile five and I used this to keep her spirits up. "If you're not cold or dizzy we should definitely make it to the false summit." I said speaking over the gusts of wind. My hands we starting to get really cold.

She replied only by taking more steps upward. We couldn't see the cairns marking the trail that were often only 20-30ft apart and we got of the trail a number of times. This worked against us not only as a moral blow to the mind but also causing us to climb with hands on the rocks. The rocks were cold. The hands got colder even thru the gloves. Three more people passed us one by one with negative reports of either turning around early or not being able to see anything from the top. All in all we got about 8 of these pessimistic reports over the course of the hike.

We hit the false summit right around 11:30am; about 4hrs since we said, "Let's take a few steps." Right as the trail leveled off, I stopped dead in my tracks and my jaw dropped.
"What's up? Did you see a ghost or something?" Suz asked.
Silence. I pointed thru the rocks at what I could only describe as "the opposite of a ghost". The thick grey fog thinned out just enough to reveal an ungodly silhouette of what I refused to believe was the rest of the climb. I only responded to Suz's inquirey by pointing in silence with my eyes; conveying with my dead-pan stare to look behind her. She would later tell me that she had never ever seen me so purely scared before. She was right. The ghastly site of the final mile of this mountain thru clouds that were now raining on us, albeit lightly, was the mountain saying, "What have you got?"

"Are we good here?" my now beady eyes said to Suz. She answered with a laser like stare to the next cairn and a murmur, "Next rock pile."

A couple more baby steps and we were there; still cold, still wet. Another passerby. "How is it up there?" I inquired.
"Just an accomplishment thing, I guess. You can't see the hand in front of your face. But you have a half a mile of ridgeline then a half a mile of scrambling so you should be there in about 45."

I am a sucker for a ridge line and even though I really couldn't see the cold fingers of the hand in front of my face. We were at 13,100ft. No stopping now. I even said to Suz, "This wind is blowing pretty hard. These clouds are either going to dump on us or the sky will open up. Whatever is going to happen to us, I think it should happen at the summit." We marched on with more steps. The same steps we took at the start. The ridge line went by fast.


The last half a mile involved more getting off trail due to lack of sighting cairns. However, "it" was happening. "It" was happening so awesomely that I yelled like the same little kid that was scared just an hour previously, "IT'S HAPPENING!" The sky was opening up a little. We could see a few glimpses of the trial we came up. HOLY SHIT. HOLY CROSS. But how long was it going to last?

We both scrambled up a little faster. The view was flickering on and off.

At sleep-overs in junior high after we were done lighting things on fire in the backyard or running around town with a universal remote changing the neighbors TV station thru the window we were gathered around the host's TV dialed to PayPerView channel. The channel would come in fuzzy or scrmbled until you actually called to pay for the feature. Getting caught calling to order these types of channels that only air between midnight and 4am would surely lead to a grounding so that left us eagerly and patiently trying to catch a glimpse of the scenes of the show thru fuzzy filters and "TV snow". That was this feeling all over again.

We hit the narrow summit and it was like Henry Winkler beat his fist on the jukebox. The skies opened up and the sun congratulated us with some warm rays. Cold hands warmed. Smiles immediately beamed. Neither one of us actually believing the epic order of "untimely" events that resulted in us being at the summit at the exact moment the clouds decided to peel away. We had the whole summit of a fourteen thousand eleven foot mountain to ourselves.

Little did we know that getting off to a "late" start was actually the only perfect time to start that day. We didn't know that not being able to see the summit of the massive pile of rocks was actually the only reason we made it up; both agreeing afterwards that we most likely would not have continued if we actually saw the terrain we needed to cross. It was "unfortunate" that we didn't check the weather more carefully, but if we did, we would have seen the forecasts and bailed not knowing that the forecasts were wrong. Along the way we planned on hiking about 20-25min/mile but fell far below that pace; this was definitely slower than we wanted but neither of us knew that out 40min/mile was the precise speed needed to have the most epic turn of events and scenery.


We were the only people to witness the view from the top that day. The clouds rolled back in and it started to rain about a half an hour after we headed on the reverse trek home. We blindly took baby steps in the direction we wanted to go having faith that we would end up where we needed to be. Sometimes you may think a lot of things are "going wrong" in life but if you take a step back and know how to look at events objectively, as big or small as they may seem, I think you will most always find that you are exactly where you need to be. You may not even ever see the result of "right" in the "wrong" that happened but all you can do and control at that very moment is how you will react to the situation. Take another baby step in the direction you want to go. Make it to the next cairn (even if you can't see it at the time). Detaching yourself from "the way it was supposed to be" in your mind is one of the most powerful tools you can have over your attitude, emotions, and ultimate situation in life.

Nothing is ever perfect and the timing is never right.

Or is everything exactly where it needs to be and the time is now?

Isn't it funny to think about that when you are driving a car in the middle of the night, there is so much darkness. The headlights only shine on the road immediately 50ft-ish in front of you. But if you only worry about what you can see within the lights you can turn that 50ft of visibility into a trip of a thousand miles. Focus your energy on the things you can handle right now; the rest will fall into place as you need it to whether you know it or not.

The following pictures were taken on the way down from the summit. It was like someone blindfolded us on the way up. Then revealed these amazing sights on the way down. Enjoy. We did.

Train for the "low": Tri the Boat 70.3

So here's the thing... whether you like it or not, you are definitely going to have a "bad" race... "Nothing" will go right... Every time...   and there's nothing you can do about it.

And here's why: It's not supposed to go right. No one ever finishes a race and says, "Wow, nothing bad happened to me and I didn't have to deal with any adversity; what a perfect day!". I doubt the sport would be as popular as it is if that were the case. I seriously think we toe the line of a triathlon not because we just like going from swim to bike to run as fast as possible but because those three require just the right amount of other "stuff" and equipment that something is bound to happen to "ruin" your day. When you throw in weather and nutrition there's no escaping it at all.

That being said I have kind of had a new philosophy on training the past few months that is, in my opinion, worth a couple minute read (duh, Bill, if it wasn't why would you be writing in the first place). Here it is... Train for the "LOW". That's right, I know a lot of people that only race for that once in a lifetime mythical unicorn of a perfect day or a race "high". I love that feeling too... but the "lows" are a lot more common, amiright? If you are constantly eager to get out for every single workout, if you are always dying to jump in the pool early in the morning, or if you spring out of bed every Sunday ready for a long run without a cup of coffee or a kick in the butt... you are probably doing something wrong. 

But guess what, anyone can do this shit on a "good day". Training while you feel great should be the tip of the training iceberg in my opinion. Champions are made by doing the stuff you really, really, really, don't want to do; but do it anyway. Races are won on that long ride that you never wanted to start in the first place but slogged away at it anyways because you have faith in the training Gods that it would do you good.

So you have to "train for the low". Expect it. Welcome it with open arms. Take it out for a night on the town with a fancy dinner and expensive bottle of wine. And then, when the timing is just right, invite it back up to your place in a way that it can't resist, make it feel comfortable, and have your way with it. It's the only way, really.

Tri the Boat is a 70.3 in Steamboat Springs, CO. It starts at roughly 6,700ft. For my East Coast friends, it's like starting a race at the top of Mt Washington. The air is thin and elevation is a mother-trucker. There is nothing you can do about it and it hurts. I knew this, trained with it, and adjusted expectations accordingly prior to the race.

The swim start always sucks. Expect it. No matter what. Unless you get your jollys off being kicked in the face while your heart rate soars, and you are convinced death is imminent (hey, I don't judge, seriously, everyone has got their thing...) then the swim sucks.

So train for it: 

1) Do a set of pushups on the beach with your wetsuit on to get your heart rate up (or even just watch anyone doing that 22kill challenge do pushups... it's usually scarey enough to spike the HR) then sprint into the water as fast as you can and try to maintain race pace while staying calm.

2) Swim without goggles for a couple hundred yards and still try to sight. They might get kicked off, or filled with water, and you might have to deal with it during the race. Make a plan; not excuses.

3) You will suck in water during an open water swim. Take a gulp or two during a practice swim. It won't kill you.

I did both of these at times leading up to the start. Luckily, today, I didn't have to use the #2. I did feel like I was going to die for the first 1000yards. I trained for this and expected this. It still sucked, but I knew the feeling of the "low" and I embraced it. I made it my own and it became part of my day. Toward the end of the swim, I realized I was actually not too far behind the leader. I chilled out and got ready for the bike.

Getting out of the water to 44 degree air sucked. I was dizzy, couldn't breath, and my feet were frozen. But this is the worst of all "excuses" because everyone is dealing with this. If you start feeling bad for yourself due to conditions that everyone has to deal with you are definitely, in my opinion, an L7 Weenie... It's an uncomfortable "low" but things like this show you what you're made of. You probably aren't going to die... So welcome the "low" and smile.

I couldn't turn the pedals nearly as hard as I wanted to until the back half of the 2nd lap when it started to warm up. But I was expecting this with the combination of the cold frozen feet and the thin air. Things started to warm up by the end of the bike and I could feel my toes again. I was first off the bike and I saw the 2nd placer cruising into transition as I ran out. I had a couple minutes on him.

So many things can go wrong on the bike. You need to prepare for them. The bike is where it is easiest to let your thoughts get the best of you because it is the time that you are actually allowed to think a little bit. It is easy to think of reasons while you should dial it back and stop pushing. It's hard to keep that drive and keep the thoughts positive but if you are expecting your mind to drift to a dark place you need to practice on how to deal with it and practice ways to get your head straight. It is part of the sport, really. You are doomed if anything catches you "off guard" during a race. You might flat, you might drop nutrition, you might have forgotten any number of things. Be prepared and fight accordingly.

As I ran up the course, I realized how much hotter it had gotten. There are tough hills and there is no shade. I know what it feels like to run up a steep hill as you watch the heat glaze boil off the pavement up ahead. I told myself that this was the ultimate "low" that I was patiently waiting for. It is not supposed to feel good running up a hot hill in the blazing sun and that is also part of the game. You need to accept the fact that it not supposed to feel good (in fact, it is supposed to feel like crap) and you need to deal with it accordingly. Everyone is fighting this. It's not nearly an excuse and no amount of training you can do will turn you into someone who "has an easy time running up hills" so the best you can do is get comfortable with the uncomfortable. Smile at it in a way that says, "F you" without showing any sign of weakness.

I smiled at it pretty hard during this race. It smiled back. Our eyes were locked for a while even as I heard footsteps behind me and I fell back into 2nd place (around mile 2.5) I didn't know if the now-leader was just putting on a show as he sped by me or if he just "had it". But I didn't let it get me down; I was still smiling all the way up to the first aid station but an undeniable feeling in my stomach was the only thing that caused me to break eye contact with this grueling, uncomfortable feeling. I ducked behind a bush and got super sick. Note: this is hard to train for/expect during a race. I think the best you can do is rally and try to conjure up some positive thoughts afterwards... ughhh...

Also not safe to train for getting delerious during a race. Which was also happeneing. As I went up the next hill around mile 4 I was super dizzy. I missed a turn.

Missing turns IS something I train for though. Every run I have done this season had ended in a ".1" or a ".2" for the sole purpose of getting used to running a little extra if I have to. So if 14miles are on the plan. I always run a little extra jsut to get the mind prepared. If I don't have to use it, that's great. But I am ready if I do. By the time I realized I was off course, I decided to stop hunting the leader and just finish lap one to get the spirits back up. Hopefully, I'd hold off 3rd place.

Fast forward up and down more relentless hills, the sun got higher and hotter, I was holding on for dear life but again, the feeling of my body begging me to stop was what I was expecting and embracing. I knew I wasn't going to die so why not push it a little more... I can go a little harder... always. That is just what I've been telling myself for the past few months so when it came up in a race. I knew exactly what to do and how to think. Admittedly, for me, my last resort is always singing a little Justin Beebs. I'm not proud of it... but it works.

I got to the final descent on lap two and I would love to tell you that I "commanded" or "forced" my legs to keep moving (or some other description that leads you to believe I was in full control at this point). But my legs were just plain beaten to a pulp. All I could do to my legs to ask them to keep going was to submit a formal request to my muscles, "Dearest Quads, I know I have done some really shitty shit to you over the past few hours but please, if you see it fit, could we please just get to the finish line without slowing down. Sincerely, Your Sadistic Mind" After that I just hoped for the best. They appreciated the gesture and kept moving, albeit very out of control. Cruising down the hill, they only did the bare minimum to keep my upright. I slammed my heels into the dirt time after time and only managed to steer my hips just enough to get around the turns.

I held on to 2nd place and collapsed in a chair afterward. It was a tough day. I couldn't eat but I was still in good spirits and chatted with the kid who bombed by me on the run. He also had a tough day.

I learned afterwards that the kid who came in 1st spent 8min in T1 with a flat tire. He dealt with it. There is no such thing as "If only this happened... I would have this... blah blah blah" Everything that happens during a race (or life even, if you want to get real deep with my self-centered story here) is yours and yours alone. Only your attitude will determine how you deal with these things and what kind of day you will have because of (or in spite of) these things. 

The best you can do is just prepare accordingly. Mostly this means preparing your mind and attitude. Once you start expecting shitty things and know how to deal with them; shitty things stop happening... (and if you understand what I have been trying to get across this whole time, you understand that they actually DON'T stop happening, but you DO start to deal with them better. And that's all you can do, really).

Here comes the moral of the story and the proverbial "shit" lesson. If you are reading this out loud to your kids as a bedtime story, this is the part where you might want to say "earmuffs".

Everyone fights and everyone handles their own pile of shit they are dealt during their race. It is how you deal with your own pile of shit that determines how your race goes. It takes a solid amount of effort to refocus constantly and think positively all of the time. The easy way out is to give in and toss in the towel. Those are the people that you hear complaining at the end of the race about how their pile of shit was harder to deal with than anyone else's. Which probably is not true, but it's the attitude of the bearer of the pile of shit that makes the difference. Or, to end with a quote, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder (or in this case, the shit-holder).

Rim to Rim to Rim - April 2, 2016

"Let's go a little further," I yelled up to Greg, "I see a lake; let's check it out and we can turn around there. It's cooler when runs and workouts are defined around natural borders." It seemed fitting, too. It was my first time in Arizona and a big goal of the trip was to tackle the infamous Rim to Rim to Rim run. It is 48.8miles worth of trails with about 10,800ft of elevation and some of the most jaw-dropping views you can place upon your eyes. Greg and I booked our flights a while back and extended the invite out to a couple others. That was for tomorrow, though... right now we were about at our turnaround point for the 12mile shake out run on the Arizona Trail.

Races and runs that are defined by natural borders or occurrences always seem to move me a little more. The coolest thing about running the Boston Marathon is starting way out in the suburbs and then getting into the city and realizing how cool it was to actually run in-to the city from so far away (yes, I know, the distance is a set 26.2 miles but what I mean is that it isn't a course looped around itself or doubled back just to squeeze extra distance in... you start in Hopkington and run to Boston... it's the coolest).




The Rim to Rim to Rim is defined by starting at one rim of the Grand Canyon, running to the opposite rim, and then running back. (Yes, in case you were wondering, there are plenty of signs along the way warning of how dumb this idea is...) We drank a few beers the night before, laughed a little about "why we do this", and before you know it I was standing at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon with three others as the sun's beams welcomed us into what turned out to be one of the most memorable days of my life.











The cast:
Greg; training for a 24hour race around a one-mile track to qualify for the 24hr USA Men's Ultra Team.
Rivers; Elite endurance athlete, coach, all round heart-warming, genuine, naturally funny, and awesome dude. Greg and I met Rivers while on the Iron Cowboy's journey to 50-50-50 and stayed in contact since.
Drew; Rivers had met Drew during the Iron Cowboy adventure, too. Small world! Drew was training for a sub-2:30 marathon in a few months...
The only person we were missing was the Iron Cowboy himself... which came up multiple times during the day.

So, if you are wondering what kind of business I had being amongst these people, that makes two of us. I had neither the speed of Rivers and Drew, nor a fraction of the endurance Greg has been stockpiling in his cardiovascular system the past year or so. Greg had finished the Ghost Train 100 back in October when I pushed the eject button and yelled "no mas" after 75miles. I had rolled my ankle (again) pretty badly in this 100miler attempt and it hasn't been the same quite since. I took the whole month of January off from running, February I had logged about 20miles per week, March had averaged 40miles/week. But there I stood, April 2nd... ready to run.

I had no idea if I could finish this run - but I knew I was going to
. Greg is one of the best training  partners (let alone, friends) a guy could ask for and no doubt he would have carried me out of the canyon on his shoulders despite me outweighing him by about 40lbs if he had to. Spoiler alert: He damn near did.

We rallied at 2:30am for breakfast, picked Rivers up, met up with Drew (who had also flown in to AZ the same night and was running on no sleep; we found him reclined in his rental car catching Z's in a McDonalds parking lot), we dropped a car off and packed our supplies for the day. Best case scenario we would be about the for 11hrs... worst case was... well... I don't know actually, we didn't talk about that much but I was guessing 16hrs was the lower limit of our abilities depending on what the Canyon actually threw at us.

The Gear:
I was rocking my Orange Mudd double barrel pack and a hand-held. This thing is so money. It carried all my calories for the day, extra clothes, sunscreen, my phone, and yes, a couple nips of Fireball should we ever need it. Check out their stuff here if you need a pack. http://www.orangemud.com/#_l_51

I wore Altra - The One 2.5. These are not trial shoes at all. Super minimalist. Very little cushioning. Typically a road racing shoe. I like them a lot tho. They are the only shoe I can "feel" the trail on. Call me crazy but the low stack height is the only way I seem to keep my ankles aligned properly and not sideways over rocks and such. I react to the trail a lot better with less shoe.


I started a regimen of Tranzend about a month beforehand which was one of the best things I had going for me. This stuff not only helped with the semi-swollen ankle but also is huge on overall stress management in the body.

The bottles were filled with Tailwind Green Tea Buzz. Aside from that necessity- I will eat just about anything. And I did. I think around 9,000 calories total for the day.


The Scene:
There we stood with a few other hikers, a lone tree, the sun, and four smiles ear to ear. The descent along the switchbacks is like nothing I have ever run before. Gravity takes a hold of you and all you really do is stear your hips where you want them to go. Then you hope for the best. A mistep could mean anything from another rolled ankle, to actually rolling down the Canyon. We joked about what our last thoughts would be as we tumbled down to imminent death (yes, if you haven't noticed by now we are definitely a strange bunch of people/thoughts). I said mine would probably be something like the sound Mario makes when he is really small and gets eaten by a mushroom or Koopa hit him with spitting fireballs. Greg said he would be pumped to get the FKT down the trail and to make sure that someone sent his Garmin data in.

We caught our first glimpse of the Colorado River around mile 7 and then checked into the Phantom Ranch shortly after. 1hr 30min had passed but for the first time I can remember in my life, time stood still. It was just a non-factor. It was simply not a thought. It was, however, time to refill bottles, eat a bit, and change some clothes. It was 38 degrees Farenheight when we left the cars. The forecast said it supposed to get up about 80 in the Canyon throughout the day. And it did.

The next 9 miles or so are gradually uphill. But the kind of uphill you don't realize because you are spending all of your extra energy taking in the scenery, telling stories, laughing at jokes, quoting movies, singing, and wondering what is around the next corner. We were running at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It was absolutely spectacular and again, another 2hrs had passed unknowingly and we had gained about 1,000ft since Phantom Ranch. Another bottle refill and we were off...

We got to the North Rim in about 5hrs45min total time. 23(ish) miles in and we were back up the 551 flights of stairs we descended earlier. It was 11:30 in the morning but I can't say enough about the feeling of time being non-existant. The only thing I really knew was that I was exactly where I needed to be at that moment in my life. I ate my PB&J sandwich, Greg threw a few snowballs, Drew howled at the wolf waiting for us at the North Rim, and Rivers sat in the big pile of snow with his burrito... We posed for some selfies and got our legs moving again. The pipes were all still winterized so there was no way to refill bottles at the top. Bummer.

Back down we went. The trail was filling up a with a bit more people so we stopped to chat a couple times. Some hikers, some runners, some campers - everyone had a story and it was pretty awesome. People curiously questioned what paths we took - if we were doing 3 rims, when we started, what we were eating, etc. It was fun to chat but we were making great timing and needed to keep moving. around mile 30 we were able ot stop and refill bottle. I took the liberty of taking a dip in the river. My legs were feeling it by this point. Not killing me terribly but after the pounding of the two steep descents and an epic number of switchbacks - I was feeling it.

Little did I know what the next 7 miles back to Phantom Ranch were going to entail. This was by far my favorite part of the day (Consequently, it was the same part of the day that probably roasted me toward the latter climb back to the South Rim). Call me Achilles but I was going to down in flames happily. About a mile after we refilled on the descent, the trail flattens out a bit... The same "sneaky ascent" I mentioned previously comes full circle and the trail turns into a slight downhill but not drastically noticable over the distance. The chatter, stories, and jokes stopped and I am sure that all of us fell into step tacitly. There was this magical rhythm that just overtook us. I didn't know it at the time but what I was experiencing was "flow". I can't speak for any of the other guys but their silence seemed to say it all.

Rivers led us out and he picked up the pace very gradually. He is a sub-2:20 marathoner, he's trained and raced with the best runners. He is also a family man, lives life with a smile plastered on his face, and goes where the wind takes him; he's also funny as all hell. I look up to the guy on more than one aspect of life. So when he started opening up a little gap along this section I had to ride the wave. I stayed on his heels and it seemed like he took my close proximity footsteps as a sign to push it harder. I was  a frog in boiling water. We ripped the next 6-7miles in less than an hour and along the straight sections we were no doubt around 6:30-7min/pace. I don't recall much of this section except how glorious it was to be running with friends at this other-worldly venue. These moments in anyone's running career are un-plannable and indescribable. Truly, a runner's high.

We checked back into Phantom Ranch 9hrs and 30min after the start (again, I only know these times by following the GPS data after all was said and done). 38miles, 10 to go, and they were all uphill. It was just now that I realized the error in my ways of trying to keep up with Rivs. I hadn't eaten or drank anything in the past hour or so. Not by choice. The miles to come were going to hurt.

Our way back up, we chose to take the Bright Angle trail. We wanted the extra shade and we also would likely never do this again so we had to see both trails... (What's an extra few miles at this point anyways?).

Well, it turned out to be about 3.5hrs of shuffling, skipping, sometimes running, but mostly fighting the urge to put the two nips of Fireball down the hatch and call for a helicopter evac. We had to battle sand running, big steps, little kids, people with cameras, and the imminent (but alas gorgeous sunset) over the last 10miles (we somehow lost Rivers and Drew to a bathroom break at the last check in... we thought they were up ahead, they thought we were behind... neither of those things were true. We doubled back and waited a bit; they moved forward a little further and waited for us a bit...).

It was fitting that Greg and I shared the last 10miles together though. I knew in Greg's heart of hearts he wanted to pin this run sub-12hrs and for a while I thought if I shuffled along we could do it but as we went on I was limited mostly to a 12-15min pace on the "flats" and hiking the steeps. Any time my heart rate rose above 140-145ish my head got dizzy and I felt faint. Greg ushered me along like a champion though. I told him to keep going knowing that he would have none of it even as the potential for the sub-12hr R2R2R slipped out of reach. I was so hungry - but couldn't eat.

Any endurance athlete knows this feeling and it is sort of an unwritten rule that the subject can't be held accountable for much of what he/she says and does at this point. Well, I pushed that rule a bit. Greg was forced to deal with my hangriness (noun. unwarranted feeling of anger toward anything and everything due to pure hunger) for longer than anyone should (maybe I was secretly being a douche of a friend in hopes he would ditch me and make up time to hit his sub-12 goal?). Either way, I watched in disgust as he cheerfully offered to take pictures for strangers who I equally wanted to push off the trail. He still found time to offer me water and tell me I was doing well as I ran for 30seconds and then walked to get my heart rate down. He almost pried the pack off my back to carry it for me - but I wouldn't allow that. I still found the energy to demand he "stop belittling me" and tell him he was being a jerk for sticking with me... It didn't phase Greg one bit though - he just kept on about "how awesome it was we get to spend a little more time here." It was the same "runner's bond" that brought me to drive almost 2hrs at 1:30 in the morning to deliver him pizza as he set the FKT along the MA Mid State trail.

When we got to about a mile or two to go I shaped up and got my shit together. We trotted to the finished line. I know at the time Greg wanted to punch me in the face but we decided upon a hug. The struggle was epic but the day was surreal... Rivers and Drew came up about 10minutes behind us and we laughed at how we managed to get lost on a single track trail...

Toward the end of the ride home Greg asked what the distance was from the North Rim to the top of Mt. Humphrey's (which we could see from the North Rim). Our best guess we came up with was about 90-100miles. I knew exactly what he was thinking I didn't have the mental capacity to verbalize it yet, though. It was a great run... but definitely had it's ups and downs.

How to push thru any workout using real science

A couple of days ago I found myself in How-the-F-am-I-going-to-do-this-land. You know the place... it's right next to Why-on-earth-do-I-keep-doing-this-to-myselfs-ville and just north of It's-been-a-long-day-maybe-I'll-skip-this-ones-town. The workout had been aimed at me all week and I just stood there staring blankly down the barrel like I imagine a cow looks at an oncoming train while it is standing right there on the tracks.

5 sets of 5minutes at 400+watts. 3min recovery in between...




This is a workout where 5minutes seems to last an hour and 3minutes is over in the blink of an eye. I found myself rationalizing and thought I would share a new form of calculus I have devised that you can implement on any workout to help hammer it out. 

It's actually real science so pay attention...




 

OK so lets start. There are 5 sets of 5 minutes total where you will be breathing like a mad person and you heart will be beating out of your chest - which seems like a lot of suffering to think about at the start but you really don't count the last set because everyone knows the feeling of being on the last set is amazing and no matter how much pain you are in you push thru it...it's the last set after all, right?




Right! So now you only have 4 sets to do... 4 sets of 5minutes seems terrible still. But think about it rationally with me here: Once you are over the half-way mark the whole workout is basically over... You're killing it at this point. Catch my drift?
 
Half way point of 4 sets is 2... (Don't forget to show your work)... so now that you only have two sets of five minutes to do you can automatically subtract the first set because everyone knows you can do the first set no problem... It's only the first set after all...

SO after the long division and carrying the remainders and implementing the order of operations we find that the workout really is only 5minutes long...

Five minutes isn't that long but it still can seem like forever - but "forever" only starts after your heart rate gets elevated which takes a like a minute or so once we re-apply the aforementioned "halfway principle" (see above) the only real work you have to do is for about two minutes...




 

 If you are thinking, "Two minutes is still pretty much forever," then you are absolutely right. There is no way you can do something for two minutes.

 


BUT there's another formula I'd like to introduce you to which will keep you going... It's call the 100 second theory. This theory incorporates the fact that you are a lean-mean-training machine and states that you can pretty much do anything for 20 seconds; so here we go, two minutes minus 20 seconds is 100seonds. So now you only need to make it to 1:40 (or 100seconds).






Once you get to 100seconds you start can imply the law of-"I am almost at less than a minute to go"... And no matter how tired you are you can make it to the one minute mark from the 100s mark... after that you can start thinking about one second, sixty times. 


Again you say, "one minute is an eternity" - have you ever starred at the microwave tick off one minute?... Have you learned nothing though? Think back to the halfway principle. You are pretty much at less than 30seconds of total workout time. So you are pretty much not even working out today since 30 seconds is only a few quick breaths... a few more breaths and your workout will be over.

So the final step is to do that... yes, just take one breath. Calm down and get a hold of yourself. Hard workouts are done by not panicking about what is to come or how many intervals you have left to do but just doing your best for one breath at a time and not worrying about whatever is down the line. Because really it is nothing and it'll be over in just the time it takes to inhale and exhale the next breath. Staying in the present moment will undoubtedly help you thru not only hard workouts but any other thing that is seemingly a source of stress in your life. You want proof? See Below...

One Hundred Eighty

A few nights ago I laid in bed sleepless at 3am. Not a huge deal as it happens every now and again and when it does I usually succumb to the endless rabbit hole that is Reddit and YouTube.

Now, there is no way I could possibly Hansel and Gretel my bread crumbs back to how I exactly ended up on the 2014 World Darts Championship video  but that is neither here nor there. I had played darts quite a bit passing time on the car carriers traversing the Atlantic with a few lively Croatian characters but I had no idea the intricacies or ways of the sport.

To summarize: Each person starts with 501points and casts 3 darts per round. The highest possible score per dart is the "triple 20". So if you land three darts in the "trip20" it is labeled as "perfect darts" and a "perfect score" of 180 is announced very exuberantly (or should I say 'ONNNNEEE HUUNNDRED and EEEIIIGGHHTTYY') by the announcer, the crowd goes wild, the 180 score is deducted from 501, and the darter retrieves his darts for the next round (the winner is the first person to get to zero). There are more intricate rules for everything, I know, but for simplicity sake a "9 darter" is a perfect game and you end with a bulls-eye... After the first cast, the next player casts his darts, and so on...

The most prominent thing I noticed in these videos was not how incredibly and lively the world of darts is, but quite the opposite. If you notice the demeanor of the player casting these "perfect darts"... Everyone is going nuts around them - the announcer literally can't believe it's not butter - and people actually make "180" signs and dance around, etc. The darter succumbs to none of it. He stays poised and focused. I bet he doesn't even hear anything and immediately after he throws the darts he probably forgets about them. The only thing on his mind is the next dart. It is pretty impressive. Only after all 9 darts are cast perfectly does the guy rejoice and pump his fist in victory. It's kind of like a pitcher throwing a perfect game... everyone knows what is going on around them but the challenge is to stay focused on the task at hand. Act like you've been there before. Every decision or task has a purpose and every thing you do has to bring you closer to the end goal; because, if it doesn't get you closer, it will drag you further away. I am a firm believer that there is no room for complacency and no such thing as stagnancy. It is better or it is worse.

Another example is this newly developed football phenomenon of a "touchdown end zone dance". The dances are nothing more than a self centered cry for attention and a simple way for players to whore-out there brand (OK admittedly this blog is not much more than that either but I don't really want to get in to that right now). They are getting paid to do their job of getting in to the end zone and only when the other 10 people on the field, 53 other people on the team, 20 coaches, and maybe even someone on the other team makes a mistake, do they get in to the end zone for points. Even so, you didn't win the game yet... so get back to work. Stay focused. Check this amazing video out of what Barry Sanders does after every time he scored: What ever happened to handing the ball to the ref and acting like you did what you did with intention...  "Act like you've been there before." How ridiculous would it be if I spiked my cell phone every time I brought in a sale? (OK admittedly sometimes I think about it... depending on the situation but it is but a fleeting thought.).

Anyways. That's the goal and focus for 2016. I realized my previous years racing have been all over the place with random adventures here, maybe a 70mile run if I want there, and no real structure or plan. With some much needed guidance from the Breakthrough Performance Coaching team and Jeff Capobianco I am pumped for things to come in 2016 and am confident this is the year we get to the Big Island in October. Having a coach who not only knows how to but also has the patience to focus and refocus (and refocus) a guy like me who loves to race and do any random thing I can think of is a rarity and after only a few weeks under the BPC tutelage, I can really feel how this structure is going to break me through (shameless pun) to the next level and help me get to where I want to be by the end of the year.

I will end with another little mantra or phrase that unmistakably emanates from the BPC family and the upcoming 2016 season. It is a Greek word that doesn't directly translate to English but is more of a feeling or idea... Arête - roughly " excellence for the pure sake of excellence. Depending on what the word is describing, the meaning changes. It is excellence in the purest state of the potential to be excellent.

Coeur d'Alene... here I come. Full force, baby.

"It was commonly believed that the mind, body, and soul each had to be developed and prepared for a man to live a life of arete. This led to the thought that athletics had to be present in order to obtain arete. They did not need to consume one's life, merely exercise the body into the right condition for arete, just like the mind and soul would be exercised by other means." "Ancient Greek Athletics", By Stephen G. Miller. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004