Brian Stark: States Runner

Nevada Trail Pictures, Videos and Stories all coming soon! As a teaser, this is Hewett running down the south side of Mt. Jefferson with me. Incredible views!

2011-08-11T18:22:00.000-07:00

Day 7: This is NEVADA?! One of 15 stream crossings in the Alta Toquima Wilderness. My balance was off all day, requiring a pole for help.

2011-07-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

Day 7: Wildflowers while climbing up Pine Creek on way up Mt. Jefferson

2011-07-20T20:08:00.000-07:00

Day 7: 12,000 feet. Brian running down Mt. Jefferson towards Jefferson Canyon

2011-07-20T18:58:00.000-07:00

Day 6: Mini-interview prior to climbing final ascent up Table Mountain from saddle.

2011-07-19T22:24:00.000-07:00

Day 6: Arriving at the flat summit of Table Mountain, just before the trail disappeared for 5 hours.

2011-07-19T21:43:00.000-07:00

Day 6: On top of the endless Table Mountain - A huge herd of elk end their siesta.

2011-07-19T21:23:00.000-07:00

Day 5: Herding cattle out of Jumbled Rocks

2011-07-18T22:48:00.000-07:00

2011-07-16T21:50:00.001-07:00

Piece of spaghetti to follow. We could see them coming from 6 miles away. A jetstram of white dust pouring out of their tires. But the had no clue where we were

2011-07-16T21:48:00.001-07:00

And the sun was starting to set. There are only a few roads in these valleys and they are all dirt 2 track. Nome are straight so it's hard picking the right

2011-07-16T21:47:00.001-07:00

We were in a valley 8 miles across and hundreds of miles long. There were no landmarks to describe our location. Only sage bushes as far as you can see.

2011-07-16T21:45:00.001-07:00

Be met by the crew. They had a 2 hr drive back down and around the mtn. The run was great and we got down quickly. The sun was setting.

2011-07-16T21:44:00.001-07:00

2011-07-16T21:43:00.001-07:00

So Hewett agreed to run w/ me. It was 4 pm. We packed sleeping bags, radios, water and jackets. The plan was to reach the saddle, run down the backside and...

2011-07-16T21:41:00.001-07:00

The truck couldn't go any higher b/c there wasn't enough oxygen. None of us knew if the jeep road continued down from the saddle or where it would come out.

2011-07-15T23:43:00.011-07:00

(6/6) of me to mark the trail in the canyon and thought we were off one ridge but it was correct. Just very overgrown. Flat stuff tomorrow to Duckwater ind rez

2011-07-15T23:43:00.009-07:00

(4/6) Yest. I only had a single clif bar for bfast and one freezedried dinner. The rest of the day i drank hammer powder and took pills. Pretty crazy. Same

2011-07-15T23:43:00.007-07:00

(5/6) today. I notice that i don't have the sensation of eating but that if i don't take the stuff then i get tired. Need to pace that better. Ted went ahead

2011-07-15T23:43:00.005-07:00

(3/6) downed trees, pokey things and thick bushes neck high. Finished @ 8:45. Happy w/ mileage. Body seems to b cooperating. Taking Hammer nutr. Supplements.

2011-07-15T23:43:00.003-07:00

(2/6) west of cave lake state park. Camped next to 3 other ADT hikers! Today, day 2 ran 45 mi. Last mtn range descent was a slot canyon with lots of water and

2011-07-15T23:43:00.001-07:00

(1/6) Quick catchup: a beautiful sunrise start yesterday @ the UT line. Warm reception and cake @ silver jack inn in baker. Ran 40 miles to cooper canyon just

2011-07-15T23:33:00.001-07:00

Day 2: 45 miles. 40 yesterday. Today got interesting when I heard the radio crackle... "Brian, this may not be Waterton Canyon."

Hoka One One, Mafate Unisex Trail Shoe Review: If you're gonna go for it, go for it

2011-07-08T17:58:00.004-07:00

I'm no expert. I couldn't explain what EVA is beyond "squishy stuff" vocabulary. I can't remember which side pronates and which supinates. And I certainly couldn't contribute much to the debate over minimalist shoes versus traditional. BUT, I have sold shoes. I sat through a four hour seminar on socks. I can measure a foot six different ways, including with a Brannock device. I'm a trained boot modifier and I can mold custom corkbed Superfeet to your foot after aligning your metatarsals. Mostly, however, the reason I have something to say about running shoes is I've worn a lot of them. I know what works for me and for the past three weeks, a pair of Hoka One One Mafate Trail Shoes have worked for me.

I should probably be wearing a US men's 11.5 but because I've had experts in the field use ME as the funky foot model, I have some unique characteristics in my little digits downstairs. For one, my feet are almost two sizes different when measured sitting (unweighted) versus standing (weighted). That's significant, and it causes the soles of my feet to move back and forth like a sanding belt with each stride. After a 40 mile run, that's a ton of movement. It also means that my toes will stick forward that much more when weighted, causing them to bump into the end of the shoe, which leads to black toenails, blisters on the toes, and other fun bloody experiences. To compensate for this, I've usually just gone with a slightly bigger shoe. You can start by getting a shoe long enough, then make up for the extra girth that comes in that longer shoe by wearing thicker socks, stuffing foamy things under the tongue or replacing the insole with something thicker. Over the years, I've learned that Nike's are way too narrow for me. I've got a standard width foot with a neutral running stride. I started running in middle school in Asics, then moved on to Brooks and Saucony in high school. I continued with those through college until finding the world of trail running shoes around 2000. The Brooks Cascadia shoe worked great for me. And most recently, I've enjoyed the Mizuno Wave Ascend. When I say, "enjoyed" I mean I've run through some five pairs of them.

When I picked out the Hokas at a store recently, they didn't have size 11.5 for me to try on and though I always recommended customers try on a size above and below their own size for comparison, I bought the 12's without any comparison. I just loved the spring in my stride so much, I didn't really care that they weren't a great fit. There was enough toe room and that was all I was really concerned about.

You do stand a little taller wearing the Hokas. Even if it's only an inch or so, the difference in perception of things is immediately noticeable when you slip on a pair. Then there's the squish factor. If for no other reason, I love that Hoka is out there advertising a shoe that oozes with squish, when so many others are purporting the benefits of minimalist footwear.

There's a bit of a rocker design to the sole so you're already taking your next step before you even realize that it's happening.

For constructive criticism, the fit of the shoe feels wide to me, particularly in the lacing and heel areas. Perhaps that's only because I'm wearing a shoe that's overall bigger than my foot needs, but if I were still fitting shoes for people, I'd classify this one as a good fit for a "meatier foot" (even if that was a description I'd keep to myself). The wider heel cup makes it hard for me to run uphill without slipping out of the shoe almost completely. And the sales clerk who sold them to me commented that the Hoka shoe sizes run small, so I found my slippage especially surprising given that they should have been a good fit for me. So, while, going up hills, making turns, and stomping downhill all show me a bit more movement than I'd like, I can't get over the bounce I feel at all other times. It really is an incredible experience. Also, I understand that Hoka is trying to get maximum surface area with their large sole footprint, but I was surprised that there wasn't an instep for gaiter (leggings) straps. Most people who use these leggings now go with a design that hooks to the laces and affixes to velcro glued to the heel cup, but there are still some of us who occasionally put a strap under our shoe.

Cost: at nearly 3 times what I could find on the sale rack, and double the cost of a mid-range shoe, these aren't cheap. With tax I was out $179. But there's a reason they say, "You get what you pay for."
And if you're paying to make your legs, joints, and body last longer, what is the price of that? Current knee replacement in the US is around $40k.

Looks: Back when I used to sell hiking shoes, we had a phrase that we tried to help customers understand: "Function over fashion." Perhaps they don't look like something you'd pick out for yourself. Does that mean you won't even try them on in the store, just for curiosity's sake?

Perhaps the best thing about these is their ability to minimize stress on joints. I've read that they are lighter. I believe that. For how huge they appear, the feel like nothing. For the past four months, as I've ramped up my mileage to 40 mile runs, I've begun to experience a range of adjustment phases. For instance, when doing a big series of back-to-back long days, the second, third, and fourth day start off with very sore feet. I usually have to kind of shuffle along for the first mile before I realize that 30 miles isn't come to come easily at that pace and force myself into an awkward joggle. Then, once I've found my rhythm again after about three miles, I seem to do well until the 90 minute mark. I've timed it and it always seems to creep up then. The joints of my right toes always got painfully sore at 90 minutes. So much so that I had to stop and stretch and let my toes relax for a moment, and then I'd be fine for the rest of the run.

I've chalked this pain up to the fact that my two feet are more different in size from each other than most people, and I've always compensated my right shoe for my left because (so far) shoe manufacturers aren't keen on selling one shoe of each size (any others out there in with me on this?)

Most soles have a "breaking point" where the metatarsals are expected to be and the shoe should flex there with the toes. So perhaps my right toes are bending at a place not in line with the breaking point in my shoes.

Whatever the case may be, I have yet to experience any pain in my toes when wearing the Hokas. As I get ready to start this crazy 500 mile trip next week, the question is not, will I run in my Hokas, but rather, how will I adjust to running in something else when conditions dictate?

UPDATE (8/16/2011): Well, I wore the Hokas on my 500 mile trail run across Nevada and I came away with some insights worth documenting. The clerk who sold me the shoes told me that one way to justify the higher price tag was because they are supposed to last longer than other running shoes. I forgot the mileage he mentioned but I think it was something like 800 miles. As with all other running equipment, the life of the product totally depends on the type of use it receives. From the get-go, my Hokas have been terrific right out of the box on all flat trails and roads. With well-groomed trails, they handle well on the downhills and aren't much of a problem on the uphills. The only thing I'd note about uphills in Hokas is to try and remember to pick your feet up. I found myself stubbing my toes more often in them as I guess the sole under the toes is thicker and therefore can hit rocks and roots more than what you might be used to in other shoes.

I wore the Hokas for the first five days of the trip on all flat sections and had good success with them (45+ miles per day). I learned to switch out of them whenever my route went over a mountain pass. Since my Hokas were a little bigger than they probably should have been (see original post above), I found myself swimming in them more on the up and downhill sections of the mountains. This caused some sores on my feet which then had to be tended to for the remainder of the trip. One day I forgot to keep my other pair of shoes (Mizuno Wave Ascend) in the support vehicle and and had to cross two ranges in my Hokas instead. This caused two problems. The first was the sores on my feet from the extra rubbing. The second was more unexpected. As I came down an overgrown canyon filled neckhigh with stinging nettles and thorns, I had to stay to the edge of the thicket, which meant hiking on a steep rocky slope for a couple of miles. When I checked out my shoes the next morning, the instep of the right shoe was completely compressed so that when I stood normally in them, my right foot was severely turned in, as though I'd had a serious pronation in that foot. The only problem with that diagnosis is that I've never had any pronation in either of my shoes and I've gone through dozens and dozens of shoes over the last 24 years of running. I tried giving the shoes a rest for a few days (as I also didn't want to further injure myself in their deformed shape). After two days, the sole sprung back some but when I put them on, there was still an obvious roll in my foot, causing my entire crew to ask why I was standing weird.

I've been on all kinds of trails and surfaces in all kinds of shoes but I've never had a pair change like the Hokas did that day. I'm thinking about calling them and asking if they've heard of this before. At the least, I believe my experience confirms my first beliefs, that Hokas (even the trail version) are really best meant for flat running, be it on roads, or smooth trails with groomed surfaces. Will it keep me from buying another pair? Probably not. The comfort and feel of them on the flat is incredible and if that means I have less stress on my joints and can go farther with less fatigue, I'm still sold. Just be aware of potential problems when the going gets rugged.

Dust Storms: A hint of wild weather yet to come

2011-07-06T08:49:00.000-07:00

In 2001, as my wife and I prepared to go to Mexico for 9 months, we put our car in storage in a rural Arizona storage lot. Being a cheapskate, I didn't want to pay for security cameras, gate codes, and razor wire. We ended up finding a storage lot on the edge of town. It was, in all respects, a bare-bones operation. There was a guy in a trailer living in an ocean of old boats, cars on blocks, and rv's. The land was unimproved, with sloping desert terrain and brush growing up everywhere. To gain access to the lot, you parked on a nearby cross street, walked up to the chainlink fence and screamed, "Ed!" If Ed didn't hear you, you just had to walk along the fence shouting his name repeatedly until he did show up. After most of a year in Mexico where things like Ed's lot aren't unusual, we returned to the secret garden of automobiles and shouted his name once more. He had to think for a second about where our car was, but finally remembered and found a way to get the gate open. After having been parked for 9 months in the open desert, our gray and red 1989 Chevy Corsica looked like a military vehicle prepped for Iraq. The entire car was a solid sheet of sand.

Last night, in Phoenix, we had a dust storm that was so ferocious, an entire city was coated within minutes as if everything in this capital had just spent a year on Ed's lot. As I went for an 8-mile run this morning, I jogged across a small city park on my way to the Arizona State University campus. When my foot hit the manicured lawn, plumes of dust-smoke billowed from the blades of grass. There was a heavy layer of dirt on everything in a city of 1.5 million people. The Lotus, Maserati, and Ferrari dealership down the street from me, which always boasted the shiniest lot, suddenly looked like the target of nuclear fallout. This must be a hint of what something like Katrina was like, except this was a flood of dust. And it can be washed away, doesn't cause mold, and life goes on after a good workout with a garden hose.

Still, it reminds me of what could await next week as I cross Nevada. We were safe and clean inside our house as the storm raged on. The windows and doors mostly sealed out the storm creating patterns of dust on our bbq grill and patio. In a tent in Nevada, I won't likely be so lucky. But at the same time, I look forward to experiencing such weather, without the safety of home. At last report, the snowpack in the Nevada mountains was melting so fast that high clearance vehicles were sinking up to their axles in the runoff. That will be fun to run through, I think.

Bring it on! My family is packing and moving from Phoenix to Tucson tomorrow, then next Wednesday, I fly to Vegas to begin experiencing weather, basin and range topography, and the limits of my body. Sounds pretty great.

Preparing for a multi-day ultra

2011-06-27T22:41:00.000-07:00

Busy days lately. Since last updating, I went for a group run with Tony Krupika. He just barely edged me out on a grueling mountainous course. OK, it wasn't a race and he was not even winded. He did offer some advice for my upcoming trip across Nevada. "That shouldn't be too hard. I could probably do that." Thanks, Tony. All kidding aside, he was excited for me and gave me loads of encouragement which made me feel pretty great.

A few sponsors have now come on board. The American Discovery Trail Society is providing major funding for marketing efforts in Nevada this year and my trip is one piece of that project. Kahtoola, the maker of awesome running gear for snow conditions heard about what I'll face on those mountain passes and they happily set me up with a full line-up of their gear. I'll have micro-spikes, running snowshoes, and KTS steel running crampons to choose from when the snow gets deep. Thanks Kahtoola. This is the second trip they've helped me out after supplying me in northern Arizona on the Arizona Trail.

Red Rock Running Company has stepped forward to provide my running shoes and pack this year. Red Rock is based out of Las Vegas and they'll be poised to get some good local exposure from my trip. When I contacted them, I knew the clerk's name sounded familiar but it wasn't until after we hung up that I realized I'd just been helped out by Josh Brimhall, four time winner of the Pemberton 50k and regular finisher with Karl Meltzer and others. He was classy when I was trying to brag about my 40 mile, 10 hour runs (not realizing at the time that the guy who was listening on the other end could do 50 in 7).

Another exciting development: I'm going to have my own personal EMT on the trip! Hewett Brown is a lead instructor for Backcountry Rescue Institute. Hewett and I have done some adventure running together in the past and he'll be on hand to inject the Perpetuem by I.V. or spear a bloody blister, should the time come. Hewett makes this Eagle Scout jealous when I recall how he confided in me on a trail run in Mexico one day that he had packed along his dental surgery kit. I guess since I had two root canals this spring, his services may be rendered.

Speaking of teeth, I've been reading online that there are some studies looking at tooth decay and ulra runners. I've never seen such degredation in my teeth as I've had this year - and it's interesting that this is a year of big running for me. The theories are that the sugary foods, coupled with dehydration and dry mouth rapidly break down the enamel. If anyone is studying this, feel free to send me your info.

On a 30 miler today in Flagstaff, I found a check for $400. That's the third time I've found a large sum of money while running, fourth if you count biking.

A few days of packing, some sleep and hydration and it'll be off to Nevada. Start date is July 14 at 5 am in Baker, Nevada. Hoping to finish at Lake Tahoe on July 24.

Would You Run For 236 Hours For One Minute of Airtime With Bob Barker?

2011-05-09T23:56:00.004-07:00

A Blast from the Past

I did just that ten times over when I visited CBS Television Studios for a taping of The Price is Right at the end of my solo run across America on trails in 1998. I ran for roughly 140,000 hours in my run across the country and was rewarded with 10 minutes of airtime with Bob Barker on the show. During the taping, he stopped the show three times to ask me questions about the trip. It was over so quickly; I was in complete shock the entire time. No one knows who will be picked when they sit down in the frigidly cold studio audience after waiting outside for hours. Everyone hopes they will hear their name but in each show, only 9 out of more than 300 get called to "come on down". I was the first in the second half to get to jog down the aisle.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=autFqYoRk1Q

My first two attempts to get on stage were a disaster. In the last chance, I bid on a collection of stuffed teddy bears. All of us in contestant's row had an expression on our face as if the elevator doors in Sears had just opened and we found ourselves in a hookah bar on Neptune. Teddy Bears?! Who's up on market segmentation of children's furry things? Luckily, none of us were. Added bonus: I was the last bidder. Everyone else bid higher than I thought the bears were worth so I went with the classic $1 bid. It just felt like the right thing to do, perhaps a spirit of Wilford Brimley was sitting on my shoulder that day, whispering into my tanned ear.

Whatever the reason, I won the bears and then went on to play One Right Price on stage. I had to pick which trip went with the one price tag and I was leaning towards Hawaii, rather than Canada but as I looked back into the audience, my two friends were holding up the letter "C" with their hands. A woman behind them leaned forward and mentioned that she had just come back from there and it seemed like the right price. It was and I won.

Soon after, I got to spin the big wheel. During a commercial break waiting for the spinning to commence, the producer asked the three of us if we had any questions. I took the opportunity to ask about the wheel. Being sensitive to Mr. Barker's veganism, he said the axle of the wheel sits in a natural fibrous material (leather). They can tighten the leather to change the speed of the wheel and also grease it on occasion, both of which affect the spin. There didn't appear to be any secret floor foot pedal on stage for Bob to stop the wheel should he want to, as I and my friends had long conspiratorially believed.

Though I was the top winner in the second half of the show and had the last spin, I couldn't beat the two women ahead of me who tied for a spinoff. I can't complain though, in 10 minutes of stagework, I had won over $8000 in prizes (and thus was subject to over $500 in California state income taxes).

Back home after the run, I began getting paperwork from the show to schedule my free trips. When I asked about the status of the bears, they told me there was a sourcing error at the manufacturer but I would receive them shortly by mail. It took several months but just prior to getting the UPS notice that they were on their way, I received a message from one of the show's managers. He said in all sincerity and seriousness, "Brian, we will get you your bears if it's the last thing we do."

Two huge boxes arrived a few days later and I was surrounded by a collection of the softest bed friends any five year old could want. But I was past that stage in life (well, mostly) so after selecting the smallest one to keep as a memento I was able to sell the rest which paid off the taxes on the winnings. Enjoy the clip.

Zane Grey Highline Trail 50 Mile Race Report: 2011

2011-04-18T23:38:00.013-07:00

Is it shallow of me to want to elevate my overall rank in the results by including the nearly 40% of registered runners who didn't show up for the start? Out of 200 runners who each paid a Benjamin to register for the self-proclaimed hardest 50-mile trail race in the nation, 72 of them changed their mind.

Whatever. I'm including them.

Great News! Out of 200 registered runners, I finished 61st!

(wink,wink) Special thanks to MAP Photography for their great shots this year. This was my fourth time doing Zane Grey and my third time to finish. (The other time I was pulled off the course at mile 44 because I was told to stop early.)

Last weekend would have been really exciting on the course. The high temperature just one week before was 34F and almost a half-inch of rain and snow fell that day.

As it turned out though, the race wasn't that day. It was a week later and the high was 69 with full sun. The streams were gushing with cold mountain water but this year I was able to cross all of them without making any of the little piggies run all the way home in a wet blanket.
The 5 am start was chilly but with calm wind and a full moon, everyone knew the heat would come soon enough. There are five aid stations along the 51 mile course. Their placement is determined by the road access to get vehicles and equipment into the rugged mountains. The aid stations are at 8 miles, 17, 24, 33, and 44. The 24 mile aid is on such a rutted road that drop bags aren't allowed. I had a double water bottle hip pack and a 70 ounce hydration backpack. I wanted to start with the lighter bottles then switch over to the pack at 33. Luckily, Race Director Joe Galope talked me into making the switch at 17 instead. Thanks Joe - that was a good tip as I filled -and drained - that bladder four times that day. That's 280 ounces of energy drink over 33 miles, plus whatever they were handing me to down at the aid station while waiting for the refill.

The day was yet another lesson in basic race preparation and performance.
In training I've practiced eating something every hour. That plan got thrown off at the start. At 5 am, Joe yelled "Go" to the throng of white hats and blinding LED headlamps, I was only interested in warming up and finding a spot in the pack where I could find out what kind of day I was going to have. That finally happened around 6:45. The sun was now full up and I had a comfortable distance both ahead and behind me. But I hadn't eaten anything. Nor had I taken any S-Caps (electrolyte replacement pills) yet. I usually take 3 each hour when running on warm days. As soon as I noticed this oversight, I took the pills and ate some Clif Shot Blocks and felt better about things. The early stages of this race are some of the easiest terrain and dangerously tempting to get carried away with speed. I found myself opening up the pace more than I should have but that old question surfaced again: "Do I hold back now and conserve for later or push the pace while it's cool to put away some miles before it gets hot." I've tried both ways on this course and both result in pain and suffering. I figured my 500 miles of training this winter should have allowed me to maintain an advanced pace so I pushed it. It felt great, for about 5 miles. Then reality set in. Despite my 35 mile training runs and back-to-back long weekend runs. This course was not going to give me a pass.

I spent a few hours while running trying to come up with an appropriate description of the course. Other runners around me said things like, "it's really more like a rugged hiking path with rare, isolated sections that could be considered run-able." Some of the sections of washout were 15 feet deep. Wait-A-Minute Bushes reached out to snag the skin off your thigh or forearm without warning. Long, dried overgrown grass bent down in a slippery blanket that obscured the trail and lurking roots, rocks and erosion controlling rebar. But the rocks are what get the most recognition.

If famed southwestern artist Ed Mell were to paint a single, 50-mile long row of a garden and fill it with a bumper crop of various winter vegetables in his classic angular style, you might picture why none of us could look up to enjoy any of the majestic beauty on the horizon. To pull a frequent conversation from my house, it's like, "Hey Daddy, look at this! Isn't it beautiful?" "Uh huh, ok. Just a minute." (Daddy has to plan his next twelve footsteps so he doesn't break an ankle.)

Here's a sample of Ed Mell's work: Step Down Canyon. After 50 miles of rocky trail, I felt I have lived each brushstroke of a picture like this:

The first aid station at mile 8 came up in no time and I only stopped to hand over my thin jacket and headlamp and top off my bottles. I didn't think to take any of the food out of my drop bag. Mile 17 also came up in good time. The trail opened up and we were on the plateaus which let you see the numerous ridges coming up as we worked our way east along the side of the Mogollon Rim toward Christopher Creek. As I swapped out my waist pack and bottles for my hydration pack, I hoped I was making the right decision. Running with shoulder straps and a larger pack adds stress to the run and if I wasn't going to need it, I didn't want to have to run with it for 33 miles.

At the mile 24 aid station, I could feel I was starting to wear down but I was nowhere near as shot as I'd been at this spot in years past. Previously I'd sat down in the chairs here and contemplated calling it quits. The trail is challenging up to this point, but after 24 it really gets difficult. All of the climbing starts to blend together and you lose sense of how far away you are from the next aid station. This just makes you feel like going slower, as if you're never going to get there anyway so why rush it? I was wearing a GPS during the race and assumed it would give me precise distances but found that during the course of the day, canyon walls must have blocked the signal and caused it to go to autopause. I should have turned that feature off. As a result, the total mileage on the watch was off by 3 miles, just enough to make you wonder why it is taking so long to get to the next aid station.

About mile 27 I caught up with the only other runner I really connected with during the race, "and I never even got his name". He's a construction inspector from San Diego and "Mr. Diego, you're a cool dude." I didn't get to say that to him so perhaps the message will be delivered. We were both starting to bonk in that section when we noticed a blue tarp on the hillside about a mile ahead. I knew it wasn't the aid station so figured it to be the search and rescue crew checking in on people in this long hot stretch where a forest fire burned all of the trees, leaving behind what surely was the inspiration for Dr. Suess' "Snide Field, 9 miles wide".

It was the rescue guys and while they weren't an official aid station, they did have a few jugs of water in case anyone was needing help. They told us we were still 3 miles from the mile 33 aid station. We were both out of water and knew that we were only near the mid-point in the pack of runners. There would be a lot of people behind us also needing a sip to keep going. They gave us each about 3 cups of water and we pressed on to hydration salvation, just a 5k ahead.

At 33, I was happy to have arrived and I tried employing a trick I used last year at this point. I told myself that the race wasn't 50 miles. It was only 11, and it started at the 33 mile mark. There was this loooong warm-up until the mile 33 aid station, then it ended at the 44. (There was also this short little 10k cooldown thing to get to the finish line but that was just in the details.) Somehow, that logic worked last year. But this year, I think I felt more confident in my training that I didn't need to brainwash myself again. I downed a Red Bull, several cups of energy drink, several oranges, a banana, and a Clif Bar and headed out.

I'd mentioned before how this course wreaks havoc on your pacing. Had it been a flat, smooth course I could have finished in 9 hours. Thinking ahead in the days before the race, I decided that 12 hours was a feasible timeframe for the day. As I left 33, that finish time was still possible but the likelihood of it was slipping away as the next 11 miles were just as challenging as the last. Looking at my watch at 33, I noticed that I was at 8 hours. The leaders were likely finishing at this time. And I still have 17 miles to go. How do they run up this stuff?

Two things which should have been no-brainers to me but ended up making the teacher the student (yet again): 1. Prepare for what's there. I had built up my mileage in 10% increments over 4 months to complete these miles. That was the good thing. I had run up one mountain in a single training run as preparation for this race. Not so good. Duh. 2. I bought new shoes the week before the race. It was an identical pair to what I had been running in but the new sole was still stiff and contributed to some soreness during the race. 3. I had been running in some gel insoles all winter and enjoyed the extra cushioning. When replacing my shoes though I found that I had popped one of the gel pads some time ago and clear gel guts were squished all over the inside of the old shoe. When I replaced the shoes I also then replaced the insoles but the store I was in didn't have the same type so I went with a slightly stiffer design. This also caused some soreness in my feet during the run. I knew to avoid these problems. I learned that back in high school cross-country. But here I was, making the same error again.

At mile 44, I was ready to wrap this thing up. My hopes of a 12 hour finish had been dashed and I was now looking at possibly 13 or 14 hours. My previous personal record here was 15:15 and I hoped to blow that away. Leaving 44 you're faced with a stream crossing, a steep 2 mile uphill and, finally, a gentle 4 mile finish. I clocked in at 13:31, still in the daylight. I had improved my pr by a hour and a half.

More than improving my time over this insane course, I was asking myself throughout the day, can I repeat this day after day in Nevada this summer? It will be hotter. The mountains will be twice as high (11k feet) and I won't have the same interactions with other runners as readily as I did today. Then again, it's unlikely that the terrain will be an Ed Mell Painting.

I had wanted to go out Sunday after the race and try to run 20 miles. My sore feet said no to that. I'm looking forward to learning from this experience and getting back into the high mileage gear this week. More to come!

Pre-Race: Too Much Thinking!

2011-04-14T10:06:00.005-07:00

As I prepare for a rugged 50-mile trail race this weekend, my thoughts run amuk.

Whether you're gearing up for a 5k or 50 miler, there's always those inevitable days leading up to the race when all you do is think about it. Have you trained enough? Almost always 'no'. How will it feel? Usually painful. And the ultimate: How will you do? It depends.

I've been very happy with my training since January. I've run over 500 miles since then and until last weekend,
have shown a commitment to my training that I haven't seen for a decade. With competing interests for my time, like everyone, I juggle family, house, and job and each ruthlessly carve away time I should be devoting to my running. Or is it perhaps the other way around? Whatever the proper balance should be, there's never a perfect equation to manage all of them. Not in the way we live today anyway. And I'm including "we" as everyone who is trying to live the traditional American dream.

This week my running has dropped off. I haven't been focused on it, letting those other areas freely overtake my time. I've tried not stressing about it because there's no real point in training the week of a big race, other than to keep the system in check. I was doing a few miles each night but just to do that was causing me to stay up past 11 and I figured sleep was more important. So last night I didn't run at all. My only 0 mileage day in four months. I do feel more rested today and my legs are starting to get a little "jumpy", which is always a nice thing to feel before a competition.

The Zane Grey Highline 50 Mile Trail Race is really a beast of a different color. Each year I do it, and this will be my 4th, I look at my pace in training, project what I think I'm capable of, and then wonder why my finish time was double what I had projected. There are sections where you go uphill on a rutted, rocky trail for 4 miles. These long climbs are almost always after an aid station, situated in the notch of the mountains. So just after you tank up on gels, cookies, water, and bagels, you start climbing uphill.

The leaders are the only ones who can run up these inclines out of a field of 200. No one else even tries. Slowing down to a walk then drops your pace from 5 or 6 miles an hour to only 1 or 2. Do that for four hours and it's easy to see where the extra time comes from.

I'm ready for the miles. I've have at least four long runs of 35 miles and all of them were the day before or after another long run of 25 or more miles. Just for reference on how slow this course is, the pace of my training runs, which I've kept at a leisurely pace, would have me finishing this 50 miler in 9 hours. That would have won the '09 race by over 40 minutes. In comparison, my time last year with minimal training was 14:49. The naive pre-race voice in me says, "Of course, you'll smash that old time." But the sage old man deeper down remembers what lurks after those aid stations. It's fun thinking what will happen. But sooner, rather than later, it will be time to put actions to those thoughts.

Jumping Castles as Physical Therapy and Brian Finds Gollum in a Tunnel!

2011-04-04T00:22:00.012-07:00

(Photo above is of Camelback Mountain, near our neighborhood).

Quite a week. My wife has been working out of town more often and that means low mileage weekdays. To keep my weekly mileage climbing, it also means I need to hammer the miles when she's around. It actually works out well since I'm trying to prepare for big back to back days in Nevada this June (50 miles/day for 10 days).

Friday this week I ran to school but wasn't sure the day before if it would happen so when I decided to go, I hadn't taken any extra clothes beforehand. That meant I had to run with my bigger pack, a much heavier load than my normal two water bottles. That also turned out alright because the afternoon return run was in 97 degrees on our first "warm" day of spring. Phoenicians are hesitant to call anything under 100 "hot" since that would only wussify you when the real heat sets in later (Phoenix has gone 32 days without dropping below 110 degrees F. - including nights). My bigger pack has a 70 ounce hydration bladder and I drained it on the 13 mile commute home. 26 for the day.

Saturday I wanted to get in 32 miles but also wanted to be around to spend some time with the family. Being gone for 5 and 6 hour runs takes its toll on everyone after awhile. I started with a ten mile morning run up a local steep climb called Camelback Mountain. 300k people each year scramble around this thing and the 1.5 mile, 1200-foot ascent challenges all. I had a morning date with my daughter for ballet so I only was able to get to the saddle before having to turn around. It's a great workout and one I should really be doing more to improve my climbing.

After ballet, it was off to a birthday party for a classmate of my daughters. The party was at one of those indoor jumping castle places. Amazing efficiency. Start the party in one room filled with inflatable jumping structures. Let 'em tire of that for about 20 minutes then herd everyone in a second room with a whole different set of objects. Finally, it was off to the cake and present room where we ended the party before the next gaggle came through the door with another sheet cake with Tinkerbell, Dora, Rapunzel, or Barbie emblazened over two feet of icing.

Most of the parents were standing around watching the mayhem of 20 five year olds. But I distinctly noted there was no signage barring adults from the play structures. The staff were certainly bouncing around, helping the kids have a good time, so I joined in and became the biggest five year old in the group. Later that afternoon, I thought I felt my muscles had been stretched in a good way with all of the bouncing around.

But there was still running to do, so at 6 pm, Saturday, I planned to head north for a 22 miler to Sweet Republic, one of the best ice cream shops in Phoenix. I ate a quick plate of spaghetti with the family before heading out but it wasn't enough. At the store, I got a triple scoop of real mint ice cream and on the way back I could feel a major bonk coming on. I hadn't fueled the fire and the flames were going out. It was a long run home but I made it around 10 pm, 32 for the day.

I was spent from Saturday's events and wasn't sure how I would pull off my planned 35miles for Sunday. I decided to again spend the day with the family and didn't get on the road until 5:30 pm. That's bit late for starting a 50k. I had my headlamp, blinker light and the goal of an out and back on the Arizona Canal, first heading west.

I wanted to prevent another bonk and for the first 10 minutes, I walked, trying to figure out if my legs were even going to let me break into a trot. To my surprise, after about a mile I was off and finding my rhythm. I tried to put something in me each hour. As I left home I munched on half a turkey sandwich and a Cliff Bar. At one hour, I downed 20 ounces of Powerade at a gas station. At 2 hours I gobbled down a quarter pounder with cheese. That did wonders and I could feel the fire starting to flame up again. At three hours I hit my turnaround in the city of Peoria after 16.5 miles and went into a Target for a Gatorade and granola bar. I had grossly miscalculated my time and had told Lydia I'd be home in half the time it was going to take. Instead of being home at 9:30 (as Bill Cosby said, "that's when the monsters come out"), I now knew it would be midnight before I returned. Lydia's reaction on the phone wasn't ecstatic. It seems she had also grown up learning about monsters from the Cos. Luckily, I had music on my iPod, which the king of comedy himself says is all you need to keep them at bay. More than monsters, I was still worried about bonking at the end of this long weekend of running.

As far as routes go, I despise out and back courses. I view running as a way to get somewhere and merely repeating what you've already seen usually seems like a wasted opportunity to see some new territory. But an interesting thing has happened this spring as I've increased my mileage. By running out and back courses, I've found that the longer runs don't seem quite so daunting if I think about them only as far as I have to go out, before the turnaround. Everything after that is just considered "returning home", and not really part of the workout. I've successfully bumped my mileage from what used to be a respectable 10 miler to now being able to think about 30+ without much concern. It's only 3 hours out, I tell myself.

With iPod on low (just in case I needed to hear any monsters), I trotted down the dark canal at 9:30 pm. There are bike underpasses along the canal to keep trail users off the major crossroads and during the day I have no problem using them. Using the tunnels is even a little bit of a hill workout, exiting up the ramp from a tunnel back to the surface. But tonight, as I approached my first, under a major interstate, I wondered what the possibility was that I'd meet someone I'd prefer not to in one of these cement corridors. Some of them are quite long and narrow, say 10 feet wide as opposed to the trail above ground, which is closer to 30 feet. But they are well lit and signed with warnings about various city codes against sleeping, loitering, camping, obstructing and otherwise spooking a lonely runner late at night trying to get home.

As I neared the next tunnel, the approach to it had a slight bend so that you couldn't first check to see if the path was empty before already being inside. I didn't see the man lying on the pavement until I was most of the way down the ramp, with high cement walls now on either side of me and tall wrought iron fencing above that. He was off to the side and had a number of bottles, wrappers and food lined up across from him. He hadn't been there on my way out but looked to now have set up camp for the night. The only reason I decided to continue rather than turn around was that he was lying still and I figured he was asleep or passed out and I could scoot by without waking him. As I neared however, I quickly realized that certain things which should be fitted at the waist, were actually at his knees. At this point, I was only a few feet away and eager to get past him and be gone. As I passed, he proved that he was still among the living, if only biologically speaking. I was about 3 strides past him when he started shouting a string of incoherent things to me, as if Tom Waits was having an especially bad night at the piano and couldn't find the keyboard, or his pants.

In 16 miles of mostly dark, shrub-lined trail, facing whole city blocks of warehouses, storage units, and dark office buildings, it's amazing to me that people will take to the most illuminated and narrow section of trail for things that should be not be public. Then, as if to demonstrate how far off their sense of reason has become, they get irate when someone intrudes on their personal bedroom. I'm all about making ends meet and being creative when times call for it, but I would never propose trying to get away with what comedian Steven Wright once said, "I'm gonna build a house at the end of the interstate and tell everyone to get off my driveway."

After my underground experience, I didn't have to worry about bonking as my pace actually picked up for the remaining 13 miles. 94 miles in the past three days and 112 for the week.

It's "Leave Your Car at Work Week"

2011-03-23T22:16:00.004-07:00

Wednesday evening: After a 12 hour day at school with both classes and parent-teacher conferences, I decided to leave my car at school and run the 13 miles home at 8 pm. I've found it's a remarkable way to clear my head after a full day in the classroom. Now that I've gotten home (10 pm), I also realize it will be a great incentive to run back in just 8 hours, as I don't have much choice in the matter with my car there now. Favorite moment running back tonight? Passing a digital "Your Speed" display built into a speed limit sign. The sign clocks drivers speeds as they go through the 40 m.p.h. zone. "45" - "48" - "42" - "6" ... At first, I thought it was a speed gun glitch but then I realized who it was clocking. Classic.

Thursday morning: I was a little late in leaving for school, 6:10 instead of my preferred 5:45 AM. Worrying about getting there in time, I picked up the pace and ran much faster than I'm currently used to. I sped up throughout the morning from my typical 10 minute miles down to 7:15. I knew I'd pay for that later and was suddenly reminded about a training tip I learned in high school cross-country: never increase more than one area of running at a time, be it mileage, hill work, or pace. Let's see, I'm upping my mileage this week into hundred-plus range for the first time since last summer. While stressing about a hilly 50-mile ultra next month, I set my treadmill to incline on Tuesday, and then found myself in a near 10k pace Thursday morning. I had planned to repeat the half-marathon trek both Thursday afternoon and Friday morning, but was starting to feel the accumulated mileage. Perhaps I should have followed the coach's advice.

Thursday afternoon: Running in rush hour traffic is like trying to swim across the room at a packed party, vying for the Chex Mix without bumping into anyone with a full beverage. The only difference is these party-goers had come dressed in their 2,000 pound metal suits and I hardly stood a chance against a casual bump with one of them. I'm keenly aware of this though and never assume a driver will give me the right of way unless I make eye contact and get some signal to proceed. As I ran through the Arizona State University campus this reality became crystal clear. I was approaching a crosswalk and the white pedestrian lit up, promising me safe passage across the 4-lane side street. Just as I neared the curb, a two-door sports car came careening towards me, planning on making a 20 mile per hour right hand turn through the red light, only slowing enough to measure the length of my running shorts as I flew into the windshield, that is, if I hadn't stopped first to see if they would allow me to safely pass. A mile later, an SUV packed with college guys rolled down a window and a guy whose appearance matches what one might conjure up from the name "Chet" or "Jay" yelled to me with outstretched hand, "Hey man, you want some chips?" If I hadn't tanked up on a half-dozen doughnuts from a teacher appreciation breakfast and two ice cream sandwiches from a passing Circle K, I might have taken him up on it.

Friday morning: After my accelerated effort yesterday, I was determined to allow more time today. Lydia offered to drive me to work, as she could tell I was wearing down a bit, but driving was out of the question. If anything, I may have been tempted to bike to school, but then how does one compute the mileage? If I biked then I'd have to still run later, and that didn't make sense to me. So I headed out at 5:45 and enjoyed taking in all of the sights displayed by a major city waking at sunrise. There's been a man asleep in the hedges next to the ASU track each morning. He was in the same exact position as yesterday. His head is pretty well nestled in the root of a tall Japanese hedge and his torso and legs stick out in plain sight. I wondered if he might be dead but decided he was close enough to the sidewalk that someone would have called it in if he was there all day long. Since there's not much cover, it makes me wonder if he considers this little head nook space his bedroom. If so, how many nights has he been laying down there and why does he prefer that spot, as opposed to some more concealed location such as a bridge or grove of shrubs? There's a piece of poetic graffiti on an electrical box which reads, "What is human?" I ran past the Tempe office of Senator John McCain, located in a quiet neighborhood lake region of town. And when I arrive at school, some of my students who have been dropped off early are outside the gate, waiting for campus to open. Feeling a little self-conscious about mixing my dual lifestyle as a teacher clad in short-shorts, I try to run across the parking lot but then also remember the school rule about no running in the parking lot and force myself down to a sweaty walk. "No walking, Mr. Stark!" the students shout, "Keep going!" So I run up to the group and give high fives all around. 52 miles in two days. Driving home was awesome and the digital speed limit sign? "45".

States Runner is now also the Journey Runner... and, There's a Problem with That

2011-03-18T11:40:00.013-07:00

Last weekend was an adventure where family life goes running. With my wife out of town, I decided to take both of my girls along on my Saturday long run. As I plodded down the path first to ballet practice, then a park, the zoo, a playground, and a muddy stream, I realized that this day was just as much of an adventure as my solo cross-state treks. I'm not giving up my goal to cross all fifty states on foot by trails, but I also think it's important to point out that you don't have to do a monumental trek to enjoy the adventure that distance running has to offer. Where do you need to go? Can you plan ahead to run there? Adventure Found! Therefore, I've registered a second web address: www.journeyrunner.com

I'll eventually rearrange my site to show an interest in both. For the time being, however, that address simply points to my statesrunner.com site.

Here's a video I shot of our 8 hour, 150 pound cart over the 22 mile ordeal. This video proves I need to upgrade my camera resolution - sorry for that. Improvements on the way this summer.

Sunday, I needed to do my second long run of the weekend and again headed out to follow the Arizona Canal to its near terminus at the dam in Mesa. As I was crossing the Salt River Indian Community, there were a few moments where I wasn't sure if I should be worried. A car parked near me at the end of a road, quite a distance from any obvious destination. Gunshots were heard in the distance, for the second week in a row. Later, a white passenger van came driving on the canal path towards me. Behind it was a second one of identical design, followed by a third. Then they all lined up on the path and parked in front of me. The doors opened and many people got out. As I jogged closer, I could tell they were Native American kids in running clothes. Also, each had some sort of stick with feathers at the top. Since picking up two turkey feathers on the side of the road in Nebraska last summer, I've always felt a little self-conscious about running with two quills in my cap. I hope that people don't think I'm a born-again hippie, even if it is partly accurate. Truth is, I like the way I can feel the force of the wind when the ends of the quills press against my head. It makes me think I'm flying on thermals when I feel them start to wiggle in the breeze. So as I headed toward this pack of kids with ceremonial feathers on their sticks, surely connecting them to many generations of elders before them, here comes this beard wearin' hippy guy with turkey feathers in his hat, crossing an Indian Reservation nonetheless, listening to his Ipod. There's a problem right there.

I passed without incident but as I continued on, I came across two more runners every half mile, for the next several miles. The vans must have dropped them off for later participation. The last few miles before the only major highway through that area is around the local landfill. Even on mildly warm day like this, the smell of rotting garbage wafts for miles from its source, an odorous cloud of soiled diapers, rained on upholstery, moldy insulation, and gelatinous goo. As I rounded the final bend of the landfill, coming in view of the highway, I saw the leaders of the community event headed towards me. It was a small group of runners, ranging in age from 7 to more than 70. I don't pretend to know what their purpose was nor did I attempt to ask. But it seemed fitting that I stop and let them go by in peace. As I stood on the side of the path and let the group run past, it struck me that this beautiful time-honored tradition, whatever its purpose, was being carried on, despite having to slice through this cloud of filthy air, despite having to detour around this man-made mountain of refuse. There's a problem with that, and it's not them.

Dean Karnazes Maintains His Pace Through Phoenix, Arizona

2011-03-07T22:47:00.020-07:00

Several transcontinental (or transcon) runners have now chimed in on their thoughts about
Dean Karnazes' attempt to run 3000 miles across the country this spring. When thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail, we had a saying for that kind of talk, "You hike your own hike." Anyone who has put one foot in front of the other and gone from sea to sea has endured their own limits, regardless of their support or lack thereof. Witnessing any attempt like this is always of interest to me, so when I saw that Dean was coming through Phoenix this past Sunday, I had to check it out.

His crew set up a 5k fun run at Tempe Town Lake, the second in a 12 part series across the country to raise awareness for Dean's cause. I'm not sure what I was expecting really. A big bus, to be sure. A few crew members and a banner tied to a railing somewhere. Boy, was I off. Two identical tour buses, two pickup trucks, a minivan, a few mountain bikes, two pacers who run and bike with Dean, and a personal physician. In the unseasonably warm days Dean ran through to get to Phoenix, his crew had him taking up to six ice baths per day to keep cool. It may sound posh, especially compared to my own solo trip with a ten pound hip pack and almost twice the mileage on trails. But my impression of the day wasn't filled with resentment as can be tempting when someone else yells Bingo and you already had a row.

I really feel for the guy. He's got events lined up all across the country with paid participants. A network is counting on him to maintain a schedule and arrive on time, not get sick, injured, burnt out, or excessively needed at home. His sponsors want to make sure their products and names are getting their money's worth. It really looks like a difficult combination of an X-Games commercial for a cooking show about rice. There's lots of hype. There's support from the public. There's a willingness from corporations to see what their return will be. And amidst all that, at the center of that excitement, there's a guy jogging 6 miles per hour trying to cover 40 or so miles each day. The excitement would be fun. I'll admit that but I don't envy the pressure. Nor the schedule. He's able to spend about as much time taking in his surroundings as a 10 year old spends reading birthday cards. That's not his fault. To make the whole thing fit into a 75-day commercial, he has to keep going.

To put some perspective on this, he covered almost exactly the same distance from Anaheim to Phoenix in one-third the time as I did from Reno to San Francisco. Granted, I was running trails over the Sierra Nevada Mountains and wearing all my gear but I could also slow down and take a light day if my body needed it. That is a luxury even the well-equipped Dean doesn't have. I return to my A.T. phrase, "You hike your own hike," and there's no doubt that Team Dean is certainly doing his trip in his own way. It's big, it's loud, and it's getting loads of attention.
And for that I'm happy for him.

Speaking of loud, I wasn't going to mention this, but since Regis described his colonoscopy in detail on today's show, I thought he "opened the door" so to speak on this one. It just so happened that when the prep team outfitted the buses with vehicle wrap, they somehow managed to accidentally put the handle for the lower luggage bin directly over the veteran show host's fly, so that one is tempted to look up and say to the oversized likeness, "Turn your head and cough" every time a cooler of ice needs to be brought out. I'm sure the drivers Mark and English will have to perform that ritual more than a few times on their identical twin buses over the remaining 65 days on the road.

I'm thrilled that so many people are tuning in to follow his progress and boast that they are starting their own fitness program. Anything that can be done to get people using their bodies again for transportation is a good thing in my view. Maybe some people will see him and decide to train and run their first 5k. Maybe some will say, "You know what? Gas is $4 a gallon now and I think I'll just dust off the bike and get that bread and butter with my daypack."

Which takes me to what Dean didn't get to take in on his weekend visit to Phoenix. In my ongoing training for this summer's 500 mile, 10 day run across Nevada on the Pony Express Trail, I again pushed the mileage for a double weekend long run. Saturday I hit the hills and ran 26 miles on South Mountain, the nation's largest municipal park. Running the National Trail, which spans the entire park, I covered 13 miles of mostly ridgeline until hitting the road which took me to a ranger station to refill my water. Heading up the Holbrook trail, I again rejoined the National Trail, then a side trip to Hidden Valley, Fat Man's Pass and back to the parking lot. It was 4+ hours of minimally developed desert, mountaintop vistas, and steep climbing.

During the run, I decided to try my cell phone and Gorilla tripod. I set it up on some rocks and sign posts and shot video of myself as I ran by. In a few cases, I convinced passing hikers to take video for me as I ran by. It was a lot of fun, didn't take too much time and was a great conversation starter to chat with others out for the day. At home, I quickly edited the thing and posted it. Check out the short video of the marathon trail run.

I was knackered when I got home. Not only was it a few miles further than my last long run, it was almost all off road and quite hilly. The canals around here are great for racking up the miles but you feel the slightest incline after a few weeks of flat.

Sunday I was to repeat the miles but first I attended the 5k above. I got to meet some of the road crew: Jonathon and Brittany

Both were very nice and excited to meet me when I introduced myself to them and presented them with a copy of my book to read during down time on the road. After the race, Jonathon got a sound byte from me giving some encouraging words to Dean from one ultra runner to another.
I needed to get some miles in so took off for a 22 miler which included an extended exploration of the river channel west of the Town Lake dam.

It sounds as though Dean's crew has an approximate route for him to follow but he's not doing well with the exhaust fumes and perhaps the traffic. One day they experimented with putting him on a utility service road which didn't seem to go well - much more elevation gain and loss there, likely causing them to reconsider trying alternate routes again, and another trade off for having to abide by such a stringent schedule. I expected the path along the river channel to be accessible for as far as I could go but it was only 2 miles before I was glad I hadn't blindly recommended Dean take this route. At times, the path merely stopped at a wooden survey marker followed by tall desert weeds. Not to be messed with. At least four times there were chain link fences forcing pedestrians off the levee and down the steep embankment into the bottom of the deep dry river channel, like a modern day Native American buffalo hunt. About the time I was approaching Sky Harbor Airport, I think I attracted the security personnel as a white airport police truck drove slowly alongside me from a half mile away. Back up on the levee I had to duck-crawl under an overpass as the path hadn't been lowered enough for a grown person to walk upright underneath. Then a tributary sliced into the levee and I had to scramble back down the 30 foot bank to rock hop across the flowing green water. These are all obstacles that don't go well with someone who needs to make 40 miles, come hail or high winds. On my way back to the car I came across something else Dean might have missed: a chicken in downtown Phoenix, in the parking lot of a Circle K, across the street from another Circle K. I wasn't on a tight timeline so I stopped in to ask about this. The owner bought one of the stores, I was told, then bought the neighbor which was a Mobil and converted it to another store of the same brand. "And the chicken?" I asked. "Our security."

And then there was the drowning owl.

So far this winter I've only been blogging about my long weekend runs. I figured they'd be the source of the most engaging content. But tonight's late night recovery run was one for the books, so bear with me as I continue.

I had finished the dishes and lunches for school, helped get the kids to bed and had already taken my aging German Shepard mutt for her 2-mile run. After dropping her off at the house, I headed out again for an additional four miles on our nearby canal. I love running the canal at night. I almost never see anyone. It's my own rec room. The incoming flights are stacked sometimes 8 deep as they make their final approach into Sky Harbor. The gurgle of the canal. The occasional leap and flop of giant chinese carp called white amur.

As I padded softly down the dark bank of the canal, with George Winston playing comfortably in my earbuds, I heard a distinct splash that was slower than that from the fish. At first I thought it was a duck or a great blue heron, startled by my approach. But I could tell the movement was almost lethargic, even in the dark. Flipping on my headlamp, I could only see the shape of it, but my first reaction was that it was an owl. Do owls ever go for a swim? I'd never heard of it. If they did, I very much doubted they would use their wings to swim, as this was trying to do. When I dropped the dog off earlier I had grabbed my cell phone, not because I was expecting to need help for myself, but I just had a feeling I would encounter someone else who did. I called my wife, who is all-knowing, powerful, smart and insightful. She told me it was probably going to die and to leave it. I next called a co-worker from my school. I especially called her because her dog had recently passed away and I thought she'd surely root me on in my quest to save this owl. "He's a goner," she said, agreeing with my better half. It would wing-paddle across the canal to the concrete bank but because they were so steep, it couldn't climb up. A few times it was able to get mostly out of the water but then kept falling back in. All the while I kept my light shining on it, trying to think of what to do. When I first came upon it, it swam to the other side of the canal. I was over a half mile from any access point to cross the canal and get closer to it. I tried calling animal control: closed. I knew better than to get into the canal myself. For one, there are a lot of hazards in there such as bicycle frames, cinder blocks and stray shopping carts. Also, it was possible that this bird was sick and might attack if it felt threatened. But I couldn't leave it there to fall back into the water all night and aimlessly drift downstream. Something had to be done. And at 10 pm I went for it.

I first hooted a few short (what I considered to be friendly) hoots. I'll point out that I've never taken a hooting class before but I've read a book to my daughters about owling many times. When I hooted at him, he changed direction and swam closer to me. I took this to be a good sign.

Under a mesquite tree was a long fallen branch that had many twisty branches coming off of it. If I could lower the branch into the water, perhaps I could get him to climb up the branch. Not wanting to scare him back to the other side of the canal with my enormous woody staff, I carefully edged it closer to him until I was about 5 feet away. Then I set the branch down, resting it on the edge of the bank with the longest tips sticking into the water below. Perhaps if I backed off, he would advance to the branch and climb up it. I waited from afar. I turned off my light. I hooted, just for good measure. Nothing. Then I decided to move the branch closer to him. To my surprise, he didn't move. He let me put the branch under him. then as I started to pull the branch up I could tell that he wasn't getting it and soon was drifting back downstream again. This time, I used the branch like a deep fryer basket and tried to scoop him up out of his liquid demise. This time, he held on with one talon. As I got him closer to the concrete bank, he stuck his beak out and held himself in place with his beak, bracing for the branch to get pulled up higher. We continued this for the 4-6 feet it took to get him to the top edge of the bank and just as I was cresting his body over the lip of the edge, he fell off and tumbled back down into the water with a splash. I was devastated. It was worse than the time I caught the biggest large-mouth bass on an end of year 6th grade fishing trip, only to have it flop out of my hands and three feet across land back into the lake.

I'll try again, I thought. Using the branch, I scooped him up again in the water. This time I trusted he was hanging on for life, literally. I dragged him up the rough concrete bank, trying to lift the 15-foot long branch so as to not hurt him too badly as he was being dragged. Closer and closer to the top he inched with the branch. Then, over the lip of the bank. I'm pretty sure I heard the Trinity Church break out in the Hallelujah Chorus when that bird finally came to rest on solid ground.

He looked up at me. I hooted again. Still not wanting to get too close to him for safety's sake, I decided to leave him there, hoping that the night breeze would dry his feathers and at least give him a fighting chance to recover from whatever got him into that mess.

I was an hour late in getting home, but I got there my way, and that is what's important.

Should Runners Ever Carry Pepperspray?

2011-02-27T19:21:00.001-07:00

I've run about 35,000 miles, crossed 28 states, and have never required protection against people or animals while running. Well, almost never. I've been bitten by dogs twice. One of them might have been getting back at me for demonstrating that he was following, snarling, and barking a little too close to me as I ran past his yard. I merely extended my back stride, somewhat striking him in the face. The next time I passed he didn't hesitate. The second time it was a dog on a trail in Colorado. He was off leash and probably startled. The owner's reply was, "It's no big deal. He's had his shots and stuff." But that's it. Had I been a little more cautious in both cases I might have avoided injury.

So it was a difficult decision to make when I tried to deflect the numerous, consistent messages I heard from people warning me about a section of canal trail and the raw danger of wild dogs I would encounter. "Come on," I thought, "I've faced animals before." I knew how to shout "NO!" I know how to throw a rock and swing a long stick. But where these dogs were reported to be, there aren't a lot of long branches. I could have wielded the branch of a creosote sapling, the length and strength of which would have been similar to sword fighting with a bendy straw. Somehow I couldn't picture myself fighting off a pack of vicious canines with something whose design best threatens by drooping to the ground and swaying in the wind like a Willow branch.

I was planning to run across the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community, a reservation just east of Phoenix city limits. Last week I had entered it but needed to turn around relatively early to keep within my mileage. Today I was not only going to go further into it, but all the way across it to the next city of Mesa, more specifically Red Mountain Ranch in east Mesa.

Just what did people tell me to expect of these dogs? My students in class said they saw large sticks leaning against the gymnasium wall on the reservation. They were later told the sticks were available to fight off stray dogs who came too close. Then I had a brief conversation about it with a race director from the valley. He said that the Arizona Canal once was part of the Desert Classic Road Race but the course was changed, in part, due to issues with dogs attacking runners near the landfill. Other runners related similar stories.

After about five different people tell you the same thing, you start to think there may be something to it. I decided not to take a chance and buy some pepper spray. Heading out from home, I picked up a small keychain dispenser at a local Ace Hardware. It clipped easily to my waist belt, had a safety cap, and boasted 25 shots of up to 8 feet away. I felt like I was packing an arsenal of weaponry. Nothing could touch me now! Not as long as I can manage to turn off the safety cap, point it in the right direction, and remember to not spray into the wind. But as I ran, I began to question the cosmic impact of packing really hot heat. Could choosing to bring protection somehow invite problems? I imagine Indiana Jones and his girl choosing not to look at the Ark when it was opened, thus having their lives spared. I get the sense that these wild dogs haven't read Spielberg's liner notes and I doubt they'd give me similar leeway, even if I did keep my eyes closed during an attack.

It was beautiful day: cool crisp air, fluffy bright white clouds, bright sun and a light blanket of snow draping mountains in all directions. But I had to focus. People had told me about what I would face. And now, with my Batman Belt Starter Kit, I was ready for it. Up ahead, about five miles into the reservation I saw something. It was large and about a quarter mile away. Much too large for a dog. Is it a hiker? Way out here? No, it's too steady to be a hiker. Must be a bike rider. Nope. 150 yards. It's not wavering even a little. Wait, it's not moving at all. 50 yards. I think it may be a cactus. 30 yards. Not a cactus. Oh, I see. It's a Palo Verde tree, that funky pale green wood that surely got its start in some Dr. Suess story which came to life. The branches are dainty and almost like a hazy fog, so that from a distance the only thing visible is the trunk. My bad. I'll stop hovering over my sidearm now. Another quarter mile. There's my first dog. I don't think it will be coming after me. It's dead. Roadkill.

That was it. No more dogs. There was a stretch of about 2 miles where the canal was on my left and a fenced landfill on my right. I felt a little claustrophobic. If something came after me an escape would have meant jumping into the frigid cold canal, hopping the landfill fence, or sprinting ahead or back. Not many choices, and I noticed it. Across the canal, just opposite me a coyote wandered slowly in retreat, either to make way or call for backup.

I had covered 19 miles on my way across the eastern Phoenix area, hoping to make it to my nephew's first birthday party before the first and only candle was blown out by spittle. My route was about to cross the Beeline Highway, a stretch of straight 4-lane running mostly the length of Arizona. Once I crossed that, I was hoping to find a dirt road that would take me the final 5 miles across open desert, a gravel pit and at least two more canals to arrive at the edge of a suburban neighborhood where a wee little one was being bedazzled by large wrapped items.

As I was already late for the party, rather than miss it altogether, I called my wife for a pick up. I ran down the highway until she pulled over in front of me. 21 miles for the day. 72 for the week.

Kids have a cold and I'm fighting hard not to get it, even as they cough a rainshower of germs from point blank range in their sleep when I snuggle them to bed. Pepper spray? Who needs that?

Run Your Age on Your Birthday

2011-02-21T14:02:00.000-07:00

While some people light up their annual cake by listening to a monotone quartet of servers at a Mexican restaurant sing Happy Birthday in deadpan expression, this year I decided to ring in the new year of life by running my age. Covering 39 miles in one day would have been about as appropriate in my training plan as wearing Groucho Marx glasses to a disciplinary hearing at Harvard, but I realized that I could just about get my miles if I stretched them out over both of my weekend long runs. Then it would only be like wearing funny socks and underwear to meet the board of regents. You still get the special feeling of what you're doing, but no one gets hurt by it.

Three extra miles on top of my planned 36 for the weekend really isn't that big of an increase, but I'm trying to get up to 50 per day without injury and that takes careful planning and regimented increases.

The whole practice of running your age in miles seems awfully arbitrary. Dean Karnazes claims it was the beginning of his adult running career when he trotted away from a bar on his 30th birthday in the middle of the night, clad only in undershorts and a pair of sneakers. My dad had participated in the tradition, running 30-some miles from our home to the next town when I was younger, though I don't think he started at a bar. Every now and then you read about some 70 year old who continues the tradition every year. So why do people do this? I chose to run the extra miles simply to mark the occasion and show myself that I was still capable of achieving something, to prove that my mind was still stronger than my body - even a year later.

But running the actual distance, as measured in miles, paired with the number of cycles the earth has orbited around the sun since a woman became your mother, seemed quite silly to me. This point became especially apparent as I intently looked down at my GPS watch Sunday, in the middle of a long, featureless stretch of canal, just outside of the Phoenix city limits, making sure to stop on the exact step when my odometer hit 9.5 miles so I could turn around for a 19 mile day. I felt fine. I easily could have gone another half-mile or even three. But on this day, tradition dictated that I didn't. I must hold off seeing what is down that canal until next year. That's what seems so arbitrary about this tradition. Of course I know I won't wait a whole year. It's far too exciting wondering what is down there.

My pair of weekend runs started Saturday with me heading west on the Arizona Canal. For those not from the Phoenix area, this is the big one. It is 50 miles long and spans from a dam northeast of Mesa, across the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community, to downtown Scottsdale, Phoenix, Glendale, and Peoria. In other words, it is a running path, the length of two marathons that slices across the city from east to west. On either side of its bank are 20-foot wide running paths which occasionally sport art displays, pedestrian underpasses, pavement and access to eateries offering items which could satisfy any craving in any price range.

Heading west, I enjoyed passing numerous other runners out for the ritual long Saturday jog. I ran through the Biltmore resort, where local Arizona hero John McCain delivered his presidential concession speech. I passed a mural of a woman, in a flying pose, clad only in a draped American flag, with the words, "Support Our Troops." Where do I sign up? Semper Fi, indeed. I also discovered that I've been running a portion of the Hashknife Pony Express, a 200-mile long route from Holbrook to Scottsdale where authentic riders deliver 20,000 pieces of mail on horseback in an annual ride each January.

It was a cloudy day, a rarity in Arizona. In fact, this week, when I took my students outside to the playground for an activity, one of my 7th graders asked if it was safe to be out when there are clouds. That's what you get when you have 334 days of sun per year.

A few cubes of Cliff Shot Blocks and two bottles of Gatorade and I returned home, air-drumming to my iPod as I had steadily increased my pace from 10:30 minute miles to 7:30. I knew I would pay for the strong finish on Sunday's equally long run but as Arlo Guthrie once said, "Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do."

Sunday's run was a bit more of a challenge. I was headed out for 19 miles to complete my 39 for the weekend. Sometimes my motivation to get out the door is dependent on my having a curiosity to fulfill about which direction or where a path will take me. It's why I love pedestrian travel (or journey running); you never know where some trail will take you or what you'll see and the only way to find out is to get on it and go. That's how you find flag-draped flying women and tunnels with wonderful echoing acoustics. Fortunately, I still had the other direction to go and headed east on the same canal, patiently excited for what the next 9.5 miles would bring.

The first five were about what I expected: a few other runners, some high end condo developments and a linear park golf course. But soon, I found the canal was leaving behind the iconic landscape of central Scottsdale and taking a decidedly different direction. I was leaving the city. I knew the Arizona Canal started near the confluence of the Salt and Verde rivers, but I wasn't sure if I kept going whether I would end up at Lake Roosevelt. With internet satellite images and online trail maps, I could have clicked that morning to find out. I could have even found the answer on my cell phone during the run, but that removes the mystery from the moment. I love running - scanning the horizon - trying to determine where I'm headed. I saw an overpass ahead. Is that the 101 that curves around the city counterclockwise like a clock face from about 7 o'clock to 10 o'clock? If so, where on the clock dial am I? Have I possibly run all the way to the north side of the city, near 12 o'clock or am I closer to home, more like 3 o'clock? Looking for landmarks, I spotted a tall casino to my north, indicating I was not as far from home as I'd hoped.

Crossing under the highway may as well have been entering (or exiting) the wardrobe in Narnia. Land east of the highway isn't Phoenix at all. It's tribal land: open desert, sporatic houses in various states of repair, renovation or construction. That, and the canal. I ran along it for several miles, taking in the refreshing open desert. Someone had once cautioned me about packs of wild dogs when crossing the reservation. When it was time to turn around, I stopped to take in my surroundings and noticed a large yellow dog jogging in my general direction. I scanned the horizon, expecting to see a dozen others converging on me from various neighbor quadrants. To my relief, none did and the yellow dog didn't approach any closer.

If I were to be surrounded by a pack, I don't know what I would do out there in the open country. Most dogs seem to know what you mean when you shout "No!" or when you pick up a big rock, not that I would aim with any real intent. But the canal doesn't offer any protection and the outlying houses don't seem like they'd get me any further away from the animals. I've never traveled with pepper spray and would have a hard time convincing myself if it would ever really be necessary, but I have hopes of taking that canal another 10 miles east to my in-law's house so I'll have to think about my options there. I wonder if Google Earth has captured any wild dogs on the reservation?

63 miles for the week and the body is holding up well.

Twice the Fun! 12 Times the Weight!

2011-02-13T22:17:00.000-07:00

Click here for this week's picture.

50 miles for the week. Two weekend runs of 15 miles each.

If you've been hearing as much as I have lately about being carbon neutral, but didn't think it was possible in your current schedule, read on!

With my better half out of town for the day, I needed to figure out how to juggle watching the kids, getting them to ballet practice, and fitting in a 15 mile run (preferably during sunlight hours). Pumping up the knobby studded tires of our double BOB jogging stroller, we loaded 'er down with everything a family of three might need for trip to at least the first three dynasties of the Great Wall. I'm not kidding here: 4 water bottles, 200 goldfish crackers, 2 tubs of applesauce, a fleece blanket, 2 nylon windbreakers, 2 fleece jackets, a dry erase board, a coloring book and 12 colored pencils (all carefully selected in hues of pink, purple, blue, and red), 3 plastic horses, an ipod and stereo, a ballet outfit, cell phone, gps, leftover french toast, and a wallet. I mean, really, Jedd Clampit didn't have as much when he moved to Beverly.

The kids are 40 pounds each, the stroller 20, the gear at least 300 more, it's a wonder the thing even rolled. You know you've had a different kind of workout when the skin of your palms stings from trying to steer Santa's sleigh, if every deer had been a roadkill and the rails were on gravel.

We made it to ballet just in time for me to stand at the parent observation window in my nylon short shorts, amidst doting parents with their Starbucks thermoses and sleepy eyes that hadn't already taken in 4.86 miles of fresh morning desert air. As I took my window position at the parent lineup, it seemed as though the others were making just a little more room for me than anyone else. Maybe that was just my imagination. Me and my sweaty hat hair's imagination that is.

After all of future Black Swans received their sticker for hopping over a paper flower six times in a row, it was time to head back out onto the canal path. Don't think this six hour outing was a jail sentence for these passengers. Anytime they spoke up, I stopped the stroller to find out what they needed. One time, it was because they both wanted to get out and run. Great! Less weight for me! Amazingly, they both ran about 1/2 mile. Another time, Maia wanted to get out and find a stick. This, she creatively used to drag a 12-mile long line in the dirt as we rolled along. Hansen and Gretel could've eaten their bread AND found their way home if Maia had given them her giant stick. Then Clara wanted one. Her finding skills weren't quite so successful and she ended up returning from her hunt with 25 tiny clamshells, which I promised we would later wash and paint (anything to get in the stroller again).

Though she now had shells, she was still stickless and to halt the crying and fighting over the extremely high demand for stick given the limited supply in the stroller (next time, pack more sticks), I stopped the parade again and retrieved an UberStick for Clara. It had branches coming off of it in all directions, was about 5 feet long and possibly could've made some neat acrobatics out of the oncoming bicyclists if well placed in a passing tire. Maia saw this as too much and instantly said, "Hey Clara, let's trade." "Don't fall for it Clara!" I shouted between deep breaths as I had just gotten up to cruising speed of 6 miles per hour. "Yeah, that's a great idea," naive younger sis Clara responded.

At this point, we were making something like the tracks of an overloaded airplane, trying for liftoff, with dragging wingtips. But we never seemed to get airborne, what with the required stops for seashells and all-important sticks.

An hour and a half later we arrived at the Phoenix Zoo and loaded up on some kettle corn. Thank goodness the cashier found a stash of small brown paper bags; you don't want to see two preschoolers try and share a single jumbo bag of kettle corn. Not unless there's a ring, a ref and some money riding on it.

The zoo was crowded and we jogged around the masses as we peeked at most of the animals on display. The hit of the day was the koalas, which we learned are so docile because by eating only Eucalyptus leaves, they don't get much energy, similar to a daddy who only gets to eat two slices of french toast before having to push the truck from Sanford and Son to the top of Mt. Sinai.

As is typical, we didn't get out of the zoo before both girls had taken off their shoes and socks and played in the muddy stream. Just where does that muddy water in the middle of the zoo come from? Oh, and they insisted on riding the carousel. I didn't understand it. Would you get out of the car after a 5-hour road trip just to get into a golf cart? I guess if it was a really cool golf cart, I would.

Sunday I went solo, covering 16 miles. I didn't even stop for clamshells.

More Mileage - Less Sleep

2011-01-30T23:51:00.000-07:00

I'm going to give the credit to my high school running mentor, Coach Weinheimer. He was the one who said, "Recovery is just as important as the training." I think he was the one who said it, but that was 20 years ago. Even if he wasn't the author, I'm still going to give the credit to him because he deserves it.

When I learned I could run farther than others in gym class, I let my machismo for pounding the miles override any common sense about allowing for recovery. The past two decades have shown me some injuries that are sure to surface more regularly if I don't heed the advice above.

My older running friends tell me that with age comes a longer recovery for what ails you. I'd love to avoid the injury altogether, but know that's not likely.

This week, as I continue to increase my mileage in another 10% increment, I know that rest also must begin to increase, even if that only means going to bed when the majority of other lights on the street darken. Tonight, as I finish grading, the little ones are finally tucked in and and my wife has again gone to bed hoping I'd "be right along", I find myself again trying to justify a night of 6 hours sleep after another busy day.

Later this spring, when my weekend training runs approach 40 miles each day (I'm only at 40 per week now), I know that then I will surely need more rest. So why is it that I can't get myself to understand that I also need that rest now, as I build my miles? The body builds itself stronger through a clever process of breaking down and rebuilding. If the second half of that equation isn't present, it will only continue the first.

Let's all sleep on this.

By the way, had a great solo 13 miler yesterday. Got out before the sun was rising. Kept the pace slow and smooth. Tried to focus on relaxation. Before I knew it, more than 2 hours had passed and I had discovered a fantastic loop in Tempe and south Scottsdale. Not even winded!

Today I repeated last week's run with Clara in the stroller. There was much less wind and we again toured the zoo in our own unique buggy zip series lap. Not even time for kettle corn today as big sis Maia was about to have a birthday party. Felt a bit more tired from today's 11 miler but that's the whole plan, and 6 hours sleep last night surely played a part in that.

Click here for a picture of Sunday's Run

On track running trails

2011-01-23T21:51:00.000-07:00

This weekend was my second weekend sticking to my new running schedule. Last night was comical trying to run 9 miles on the treadmill late at night while keeping an eye on two restless kiddos who wouldn't go to bed. I don't think the digital stopwatch on the treadmill ever got more than 8 minutes without being paused to break up a fight over a piece of jewelry in the closet or that one kid wanted to read alone and the other was invading her privacy. Two long hours later I had logged my distance (including time to ref the kids).

Sunday was my second day at the same distance and it went swimmingly. I only had one kid in my care this morning and we took advantage of the cool morning air and sunny weather to go out with our single BOB jogging stroller. One of the things I've struggled with as a running father is how much interaction is expected between me and my kids while running. Should I try and carry constant conversations with them? It can be hard to hear with the wind, sun shade, and gagging on phlegm while running up some of the overpasses and pushing 100 pounds. I foolishly tried using earbuds and my ipod a few times. Not only is this dangerous for muting passing bikers and cars, but by the time the kids are screaming for more wheat thins, they've resorted to lunging sideways in the stroller and bracing all four feet firmly against the front tire: something they know I hate. Today I may have found a solution to all of that.

We recently got a small battery powered speaker system for our ipod. It was really so my wife could hoop to her tunes when we go to the park on bike rides. Resting that on the top of the stroller, I could have my tunes and hear the kid by only the 5th time she screamed her request. Perhaps it was just today, but the music seemed to soothe her into a dreamlike state. Who knew lyrics to My Humps could pacify a high maintenance coach passenger?

So we headed east for a 9 mile clockwise loop run in south Scottsdale today and at first the southward wind was pretty strong. No problem I thought, we'll just take it slow. Then we turned south and the wind appeared a thing of the past, except that for some reason the disc golf players seemed to be standing motionless at their tee, facing north, just kind of looking into the distance like cows do when facing a windstorm. It must have been a good day to lose a disc as there was a trio of entrepreneurial guys with grappling hooks and long ropes, dredging the city ponds for the lost equipment. They had a huge pile of the round hunks of brightly colored $20 plastic. Craigslist: New Lower Price! Go Natural with our Algae Scented Golf Discs! Order today and get yours delivered with a dusting of authentic Scottsdale real estate. Supplies limited.

Having reached the southern end of the Hayden Greenbelt, we met up with Tempe Town Lake and made our way along the lake to the stables and our route back north. That's when the wind turned from friend to foe. Head on, while going uphill to rejoin the cross-cut canal, Clara, who was already bundled up in a double layer fleece blanket and full outfit screamed (for the fifth time), "It makes my throat feel yucky". Wait a minute, lemme turn down Beck.

She was a little trooper and, as a reward, we took a short side trip to the Phoenix Zoo. As members, it's a free diversion and my GPS watch indicated I might need to add some mileage to make this a 9 miler. Into the zoo we both refueled with the age-old aid station standard: kettle corn. Both feeling much better, we jogged one lap through the zoo. I think the only things we spotted were the lions, one tiger, and a family of mandrils. Oh, and a guy wearing a Cheech and Chong t-shirt that said, "Dave's not here, Dude."

Back north into the wind, we returned home in 1 hr 36 min of moving time. Total distance: 10.3 miles. Guess we didn't need that extra lap around the zoo after all.

Watched the Packers make it to the Superbowl and got rehydrated. New mileage starts tomorrow!

Back in the Shoes Again

2011-01-19T12:31:00.000-07:00

After a physically challenging fall and winter, I'm back into the running scene. I broke my middle toe one night and while that did slow down my training, I was still able to participate in a 50 mile run.

Then a bizarre lower back problem surfaced which had me on the floor for days. Time, rest, stretching, and a chiropractor have appeared to clear that up.

And just when I was thinking about next summer's plans for another state, I got a call from a trail friend in Nevada. He's interested in helping me complete a speed attempt of the American Discovery Trail across his state this June. I've already run that state but last time I stuck to Highway 50, billed by Time Magazine as "The Lonliest Road in America." This time, I'll get to cross all 28 mountains while on trails. To set any kind of record that has a chance of sticking even a short while, it would have to be high miles. I'm considering an attempt at 50 miles per day over 10 days. I've never run those kinds of miles but I'm hopeful that smart training this fall can allow me to complete that.

To train, I want to increase my time and distance by no more than 10% each week and use my two weekend days to run double long runs, one on each day. By late May, I'll attempt a 4 day stint of 50 milers and if I can come off that still upright, then I think I'll have a chance at it in Nevada. Until then, I'll leave the long running for the weekends and use weekdays as recovery runs, slowly building up that mileage as well. If anyone has any thoughts on how to improve this schedule, please let me know as I'm just guessing what I'll be able to do and sustain.

Minutes - Weekday Runs

Date

Week

Minutes/Day

(.10 time/week)

Hours

1/17/2011

0.55

1/24/2011

3.3

0.605

1/31/2011

36.3

3.63

0.6655

2/7/2011

39.93

3.993

0.73205

2/14/2011

43.923

4.3923

0.805255

2/28/2011

48.3153

4.83153

0.885781

3/7/2011

53.14683

5.314683

0.974359

3/14/2011

58.46151

5.8461513

1.071794

3/21/2011

64.30766

6.43076643

1.178974

3/28/2011

70.73843

7.073843073

1.296871

4/4/2011

77.81227

7.78122738

1.426558

4/11/2011

85.5935

8.559350118

1.569214

4/18/2011

94.15285

9.41528513

1.726136

4/25/2011

103.5681

10.35681364

1.898749

5/2/2011

113.925

11.39249501

2.088624

5/9/2011

125

2 h 5 m

5/16/2011

137

2 h 17 m

5/23/2011

150

2h 30 m

Scroll down for weekend distances.

Miles - Weekend Runs

Date

Week

Start

Increment

End

min/mile

minutes

Hours

22-Jan

1.2

9.2

1.533333

1/29/2011

9.2

1.38

10.58

105.8

1.763333

2/5/2011

10.58

1.587

12.167

121.67

2.027833

2/12/2011

12.167

1.82505

13.99205

139.9205

2.332008

2/19/2011

13.99205

2.0988075

16.09086

160.9086

2.68181

2/26/2011

16.09086

2.413628625

18.50449

185.0449

3.084081

3/5/2011

18.50449

2.775672919

21.28016

212.8016

3.546693

3/12/2011

21.28016

2.553619085

23.83378

238.3378

3.972296

3/19/2011

23.83378

2.860053375

26.69383

266.9383

4.448972

3/26/2011

26.69383

3.203259781

29.89709

298.9709

4.982849

4/2/2011

29.89709

3.587650954

33.48474

334.8474

5.58079

4/9/2011

33.48474

4.018169069

37.50291

375.0291

6.250485

4/16/2011

37.50291

4.500349357

42.00326

420.0326

7.000543

4/23/2011

42.00326

5.04039128

47.04365

470.4365

7.840609

4/30/2011

47.04365

5.645238233

52.68889

526.8889

8.781482

Homeward Bound IV

2010-07-08T00:07:00.001-07:00

It will be strange to get on a plane tomorrow and not have to ask if the town 8 miles away has a gas station and a grain elevator. I also look forward to what happens to my legs once they get a few days rest. I imagine my mucles will freak out a bit. They already are actually, after my puny 13 miler today. Perhaps I can use this foundation for some race this fall. That's always the goal but a new school year and my desire to pick up the slack with parenting certainly competes for scheduling. I'll update a bit more after reality sets in. I've had loads of fun sharing these experiences with everyone through the internet and I hope you are looking forward to your next adventure as well.

Homeward Bound III

2010-07-07T23:57:00.001-07:00

Turned out it had just reopened as I got there and I filled up on a lemonade and more water. Then it was only 3 to a road junction and only 9 more to Sterling. If I had spent the day counting up to 44 I would have never made it. But 7 here, a little 3 there, it's managable. I even did that on tired legs and little sleep after my sbower stall "nap". Once I heard that I had a ride offer to Denver, my feet felt more sore. My legs ached. I had planned on running 33 today to Brush, CO. I found out a flight change wasn't that expensive and decided to do a short run to finish off the trip. I ran 13 miles to Merino,CO, where I saw I had reached an elevation of 4000 feet on my way to Denver. I took that as another noteworthy accomplishment after coming from less than half that 600 miles earlier. I got lunch in a bar, a ride to Brush, and Jim, his wife Sarah and 2 of their 5 kids picked me up in their van. They treated me to Olive Garden in Denver, then dropped me off at a hotel near the airport

Homeward Bound II

2010-07-07T23:46:00.001-07:00

Offering me a ride was a kind gesture and another example of the wonderful hospitality I'd been shown on this trip. I initially dismissed the idea as I was making good progress through Colorado already. But the miles were wearing on my body. Yesterday's 44 was a good lesson about my own capabilities. The first 15 miles of that day were terribly slow and difficult. I like towns to be about 7 miles apart. It makes for a good interval between aid stations of bars, gas stations, and dusty grocery stores. But 15 is a big chunk to bite off mentally. That would be a decent distance for anyone to run. What's interesting is that the 29 miles I ran after that 15 were comparably speaking, a piece of cake. That's because it wasn't really 29 miles. This distance running is all about mind tricks. After tbe 15 it was only 7 miles to the next rown with a cafe. Then it was only 8 more to the next town which had a bar but it might be closed because the owner likes to go to town in the afternoons.

Homeward Bound

2010-07-07T22:55:00.001-07:00

The goal of this trip was always to cross Nebraska. I reached that goal two days ago. A secondary goal was to run the additional 241 miles of the American Discovery Trail from the NE border to Denver where the trail joins its own southern and western route. In the past 3 days I've run 75 miles of that. Not surprisingly, the miles were very similar to the stretches in Nebraska. I was impressed that I was able to pull off the 44 mile day on top of a 36 the day before. Last night I got an email from my friend Jim from Gallup in Omaha. He had been one of the 11 to meet me and run the first miles with me in Omaha. He also gave up a Sunday morning to drive 5 hours to run 17 miles with me on a long stretch near Grand Island. Today, he was planning to drive his family from Omaha to Denver. He wanted to know if I wanted a ride.

Fireworks in Ogallala w lightening

2010-07-05T21:35:00.001-07:00

Nebraska Commercial

2010-07-05T20:12:00.001-07:00

Group run in Omaha: $0.
Taco Tuesday at Husker Bar II: $0.
Sleeping Couches in Ashland, Grand Island, and Kearney: $0.
Sharing hot dogs with Glenn and family at Lake Mac: $0.
Pasta lunch with other Glenn in Ogallala: $0.
Awesome fireworks show:$0.
Many new friendships and an appreciation for an honest way of life: $0.
There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's incredible sponsorship. Thank you Ron at Round the Bend Steakhouse in Ashland and Tim at Ole's Big Game Steakhousein Paxton. My trek across your state was life-changing. Thanks for making it possible.

off the lake part 4

2010-07-04T12:26:00.001-07:00

took me to my motel, then offered to buy me lunch. Sitting at Pizza Hut we each ordered a meat pasta marinara. He talked about his four sons, his 14 grand-kids and his 23 great-grand kids. He lives alone in Kansas now but you can quickly tell how much a part of his life his sons are. We talked about families, what causes their downfall, and various ways people succeed in life. 11 hours earlier I was laying on a sandy dirty shower stall floor when a sick (or drunk) camper came into a toilet stall to vomit. Fast forward to noon and I am fed, in town with a room and two new friends. Sometimes, enough is better than a feast. Happy Independence Day, when it's also okay to be dependent on others once in awhile.

off the lake part 3

2010-07-04T12:16:00.001-07:00

easier but far more dangerous to hitch if you're female. But with that said, if in a recreation area, and there's a person with a backpack and they look like they talk with nouns AND verbs, they may be worthy of a ride. Keep your wits about you, yes. I think Kris did it right, she passed, turned around and before she opened her door, she asked what I was doing. If it doesn't add up, keep moving. Well, I was just starting to think Nebraska only had two good samaritans and I had already met both when a Buick pulled over. I'm often trying to determine if there is a breed of car that lends itself more to hitchhikers. There is not, unless you consider the state of the car or the space available, in which case, less is infinately better. I've crammed into an already full Pinto but I have yet to be taken in by a couple in a Winnebago. I leave conclusions to you. Inside the Buick was an older man, I would have guessed 72. I would have been wrong, 83. He drove me the full 20 miles into town..

off the lake part 2

2010-07-04T12:06:00.001-07:00

to open a new restaurant which will include home-grown fresh vegetables. She drove me past her destination and left me much better than when found. Five miles of road walking put me just past Ash Hollow State Park. If I wasn't so concerned about going the remaining 30 miles to town I would have stopped in. A nice local drove me 5 miles further. At that point I could no longer see the lake, only expansive wheat fields on rolling hills. The visibility must have been 12 miles in all directions, at least.
I was still 20+ miles from Ogallala. I had been walking and standing for 4 hours after the short nit. Being able to see 12 miles ahead and knowing you still have 20 to go makes you try harder at thumbing than walking. I pulled out a $5 bilL. Holding my thumb out and pinching the bill in my fingers, I hoped drivers would see I had money and just needed a ride. Perhaps now is a good time to restate my position on hitching. I wouldn't recommend it. Kids should forget it. It's probably

Off the Lake

2010-07-04T11:54:00.001-07:00

And now, for the exciting conclusion to the night at Haunted Lake! Okay, so maybe it wasn't really haunted. After my 3 hour cat nap on a shower curtain in the campground bathhouse, I readied my gear and headed out under dark skies at 6 am. The lake is 60 miles around and my route doesn't quite circle it but almost. Since I was going off route to Ogallala for fireworks today, and the lack of sleep, I walked the road and looked for rides. They were few and far between today. However, one of my new favorite qoutes is, "Enough is as good as a feast." After an hour of walking (and finding a current Iowa plate and a life jacket, a Suziki car pulled over after having turned around for me. It was a woman, Kris, and her dog. They were on their way for a run and decided I looked harmless enough. I was struggling this morning. Tired. Damp. Lots of miles and threat of rain. Kris was a good listener and just what I needed in that moment. What's really cool is that she's putting plans in place for a

used shower curtain as groundcloth and slept 3 hrs

2010-07-04T03:13:00.001-07:00

good times

2010-07-03T23:10:00.001-07:00

midnit update

2010-07-03T22:53:00.001-07:00

11:30 PM, Lake Mccaughney campground. Borrowing an extra 8 feet of cord from a neighbor, I erected my 4 oz 5 x 8 nylon tarp using two picnic tables and two trees. Laying in my down bag on my Tyvek ground cloth, I was impressed. Then the mosquitos came. Trains are non stop. Then thunder and lightening. Tbesd trees have withstood 40+ years of storms, I'll be fine, I thought. Then the rain came. A little mist blowing in on the face. I can handle this. Then the faucet turned on and water began sheeting on the ground. Within a minute I could feel by back getting wet through the down bag. Weighing my options, I stuffed my bag, slung my pack and ran out into the rain, headed for the showerhouse. That's when I fell flat on my face. 80 yards later and soaked, I'm sitting on a two foot wide wooden shower bench under lights that won't turn off. It may be a long night.

Quote of the Day

2010-07-03T17:15:00.001-07:00

I ran to lake McConaughy today. Met a farmer who taught me how to tell if a wheat field had been hailed on. There are small pockets in the wheat if so. Then I got a ride across the 3.5 mile dam with no shoulders and "festive" drivers. I think my ride may have been one of them. Finally, as I was running along the 22 mile lake, an SUV pulled over and a guy said, "Hey Hippie Dude."Yes, my barechested sloshy frat boy," I thought. "I could tell you were doing something crazy.. Can we give you something for your hat? Do you want to smoke a bowl with us? You should stay with us tonight. We'll feed you, do some drugs and party." "Thanks, I think I'll keep running." An hour later I had a decidedly different encounter with a family of four ouside their pop-up camper. All I had asked for was to store my pack near their camper while I went for a swim in the lake. That turned into me sitting in their lawn chair sipping a Pepsi, eating a delicious hot dog, and hearing all about his recent triathalon

Cozad, location of the 100th Meridian.. If you're into that kind of thing

2010-07-02T17:03:00.001-07:00

2010-07-02T17:00:00.003-07:00

A Family Vacation.. On a motorcycle? Look close for the pet crate.

2010-07-02T17:00:00.001-07:00

I'm a sucker for horses.

2010-07-02T16:58:00.001-07:00

Ole's Wall Art

2010-07-02T16:38:00.001-07:00

Waves

2010-07-02T16:23:00.001-07:00

I've had all kinds of greetings on this trip. Most from those in passing cars give a wave that can be classified into one of three categories. I call them the doorknob, the pancake, and the wait a minute. The doorknob comes from mostly older men whose hands might have done so much work in their life that the can't fully open them anymore. Doorknobbers lift a semi-opened fist and wave by gently turning their wrist. Pancakers come from an old college volleyball move. Lift your hand off the wheel and hold it out flat, palm down, fingers extended. Lastly, the wait a minute folks only lift one finger as if to indicate, hold on there a second. Oddly, very few people actually wave in the traditional sense. I try and respond with the same as they give but there's only a nanosecond to respond, so that keeps me engaged.