Mostly Paved

TNF50 end of season

2011-12-04T19:35:00.001-08:00

I’ll say one thing about ultras – when things don’t go asplanned, you generally have a long time to think about it before getting to thefinish line.

I went out with the leaders yesterday at the (North FaceChallenge 50mile championships. Or the North Face 50. Or the San Francisco 50North Face Challenge. What the hell are we calling this thing? TNF50?) TNF50(redundancy noted). There was talk that the lead pack went out too fast. Evensome annoyance at the leaders that were setting the blistering pace.

But, a. when there’s $10,000 on the line, of course it’sgonna go out fast and b. two or three people didn’t think it was too fastbecause they maintained the pace all the way through and made some money in theend.

I was not one of those people. I finished 34^thwhich,like I said, gave me some time to reflect.

I knew what I was getting in to with this race. I knew thatthe best competition in the States would be present. I knew that it would goout fast. I knew that it would be won in a blistering fast time (okay… I didn’tthink it would be run in 6:19!). I knew that it would hurt and, still, Ithought I could win it. There, I said it. I thought I could win. I didn't sign on a10k car on friday but, in the weeks leading up to the race, I did meditate on thelater stages when I would need to suffer.

Running with Mike, Geoff, Dakota, Galen, Adam Campbell andseveral others in the pre-dawn morning, chatting about later stages of therace, each of us wondering what a few hours might bring, it seemed clear thatmost of them thought there might be a chance that I’d still be fighting forposition near the finish.

As Geoff passed me, Dakota, Adam and finally Galen - the sunhadn’t even risen - I realized that that was why my legs were filling withlactic acid. That was the root of my fatigue. That was why I would continue todrop from the top five to top ten to top twenty and finally 34^th.

I wanted it too much.

I wanted this race so much that I didn’t waste any time inOctober with resting. I remained positive through Muir Beach(12m), Cardiac(18m)and even McKenna Gulch(23m) when I was over three minutes behind the lead pack,thinking I might be able to reel them back in, but my legs just wouldn’tcooperate. By Stinson Beach(28m) I knew I was done. I traded my hand heldbottles for my small pack and prepared myself for a 22mile death march.

Anna Frost passed me shortly after. She was flying. 1,400vert from Stinson up to Cardiac. Anna was “giving this hill a bit of hell” asshe said when she passed me. She saw me suffering. She told me to join thepace, which I did for about 20seconds before sending her off. People’ll bethinking she pulled me through Trans Rockies, Ithought, but then didn’t care what people thought. Ellie Grenwood passed me onthe other side of Cardiac. She was also giving it hell.

I learned that my season ended three weeks ago. It justdidn’t occur to me until 20miles into a 50miler.

Finishing 34^th is just as painful as finishing 1^st,I concluded. It just takes longer.

I’m happy to not be running for a little bit. I got on mybike today and rode from the city, over the bridge, into the headlands and backinto the city. I love my bike.

My season is over. I did what I wanted and dabbled indistances that I wasn’t familiar with. I had success and failure.

What I really want, though, is for some Ultra Runners tostep up to the same challenge and try out some short races. Not just try themout, but train for them. Work hard for them. What I saw at TNF50, for the firsttime in US ultra running, was a field of runners as talented as the MountWashington field. That alone, made my 34^th place finish a greatsuccess. I’m not saying this because I want to beat a bunch of people that justbeat me. In fact, I’m saying it because I think just the opposite. I think theymight be able to win it. Hell, Matt Carpenter won both! Maybe somebody will doit in the same year….

Am I ranting again?

Anyway. Prove me wrong. Mount Washington is slated to be theselection race of the 2012 US Mountain Running Team. In the past six years I’veseen the team grow from a middle of the pack crowd to podium. The women havetaken the win and will again. The men have placed third and second. First isnot out of reach.

2011-08-14T10:30:00.000-07:00

Here's a video made by a friend that I met in Antarctica.

Six days away from Pikes and still feeling the Death Race a little bit. It's going to be interesting.

Canadian Death Race

2011-08-08T11:30:00.000-07:00

Now that I've completed my first ultra I'm suppose to write a long and detailed report about my race, right? Isn't that what us ultra runners do?

Okay, let's see,
Um, well at first I felt good.
And then I felt really good.
And then I felt just plain ol' good again.
That lasted for a while.
And then I started feeling bad.
And then I did feel bad.
This only seemed to last for a while
because I started to feel good again
This lasted until a mile before the finish
Where I bonked.
But luckily,
in my pocket
I found some m&m's.
And then I finished feeling good again.
Somebody gave me a beer and then I felt great.

Here is a graph of my race on Saturday:

But for really this time...

That was fun.

It was meditative, calming, beautiful, lonely, exciting, painful, slow, and so many other things.

I found the course fascinating for reasons entirely different than what is advertised - running through the city dump, through a coal processing plant facility, scrambling through what is known as "slugfest" - miles of torn-up trails through a boggy, northern rockies forest.

My mom and I drove the 1750miles from Grande Cache to Woody Creek in two days. I got on my motorcycle the next morning and rode 400miles on my motorcycle to Salt Lake City for the Trail Runner Uphill challenge. I finished 2nd to Matt Byrne by .01miles. Rode 400 miles back.

Elephant legs... with all the great advice i received before the race, nobody seemed to mention the probability that I might come down with a bad case of elephant legs following the race.

Pikes is two weeks away. Trans Rockies immediately after where I'll be lining up with my Teammate Anna Frost. That's gonna be a hoot.

Here's some photos:

stuck in construction traffic, mom, enjoying a roadside snack

exhausted shoes - morning after

prayers for the death racers...

after 12 solid hours of running, i got edged out for third place in the teams.

Here's a story in the Aspen Daily News by Chad Abraham about the race.

And finally, for no particular reason - a panorama of the Athabasca Glacier off the highway headed up to Grande Cache.

Mid Season....

2011-07-24T13:14:00.000-07:00

This morning I crossed the 49th parallel headed into Canada in Orange, my trusty Volkswagen bus (ehem… reverse is beginning to grind suggesting a failing clutch that I replaced all too recently). I’m halfway through my summer racing season with a collection of mixed, but far from unsatisfactory, results.

Following the Black Canyon race in the middle of May, I knew that I was on my way to getting myself back into the shape I was before I left for Antarctica, but still with some work to do. Back home, near Aspen, I resorted to doing the age old repeats that I’ve been doing since I was in high school… on, none other than, my high school track. Quarters. 4x4x4. Simple as it gets, really, but effective as they come. I watched my times drop, second by second, week after week. As much as I dread them, there’s nothing that compares to an old fashion speed workout. They are as honest as the laws of physics.

The speed workouts and the hill repeats paid off and by the time Mount Washington rolled around I was beginning to feel like a runner again.

Mount Washington itself was a thrill. I chased young, Glen Randall off the gun. I didn’t want him to get away as he did at Pike’s last year. Admittedly, I thought nothing of it when he took off like a bullet at Pike’s and didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. He held the pace for less than a mile and I found myself leading comfortably through the third (of 7.6) mile.

My pace slackened and looking back I found, to my surprise, Tommy Manning hot on my tail. I don’t know why I was surprised that Tommy was right there. He’s a top-notch runner, which he proved at the World Mountain Running Championships in Slovenia last year where he was the fourth and final scorer for the US team, solidifying a silver medal for us in the process. Tommy passed me, put a hundred meters on me and for the next three miles I did all I could just to keep him in my sight. It’s a different mantra for every race I run and this time it was keep rollin’, keep rollin’, keep rollin’, keep rollin’. And I did. I reeled him in with a little less than a mile to go and gapped him with a half mile to go taking the win with my second fastest time on the Big Hill.

I spent a few extra days in the New England visiting some good friends from the South Pole, running the Presidential Range, cycling around Martha’s Vineyard and drinking some fine, home-made hard cider.

From there I flew to San Francisco and drove to Tahoe where I paced my Salomon teammate, Kilian Jornet to his first win in the Western States 100. With the exception of losing the trail for nearly 20 minutes, Kilian had a flawless race, running casually the entire time. After a few pleasant days in San Francisco I returned home to begin the training for my biggest project in years – my first ultra.

The ultra marathon never use to interest me. Quite simply, the idea for running 9 minute, 10 minute, heck! 15 minute pace for 10, 20, 30 hours had absolutely no appeal. However, over the past couple of years, talking to more and more people that have been brought into the sport, the idea of spending hours and hours…. the entire day, for that matter on the trail has taken my interest to a new level.

I’ve been very lucky to be able to pick the brains of Scott Jurek, Tony Krupicka, Joe Grant, Geoff Roes, Kilian Jornet and many others. The advice I’ve been given has ranged from how to carry a water bottle most efficiently, how much to eat, controlling the highs and the lows, on and on.

I decided on the Canadian Death Race for my first ultra for several reasons but primarily because it fits nicely into my summer schedule and getting there provides a great reason for a road trip which is where I am right now – day 9 behind the greatest automobile to ever roll the earth, with a wonderful and seasoned travel companion – my mom.

The training for this adventure has been wonderful and I’m becoming aware of the emptiness that I’ve been told might hit me in the days before the race – the time when the training has to end. Making myself hit the trails for five or six hours at a time has been pure bliss. In the past month alone I’ve logged hundreds of miles in the White Mountains, Sierra Nevadas, San Juans, Elks, Tetons, Glacier and Yellowstone. Really, what more could one ask for.

I am not, however, “switching over” as more than one has accused me of doing (mostly in jest). I am not “switching over” because I am beginning to believe that there is no “over”. It is my belief that the many factions that have formed in trail running are part of what keeps it resting in niche. 10k trail, 10k mountain, 1/2 marathon trail, marathon trail, 50k trail, 50 mile trail, 100k trail, 100 mile trail…. Doesn’t anybody else agree that there are entirely too many divisions in the sport?

The sport is reaching a new level of competitiveness and attention where runners are not only doing well at all of these distances, but are quite simply dominating. I’m speaking of Max King and Kilian Jornet – the former taking it a step further by dominating off the trails as well (2:15 marathon?)

Okay, enough ranting.

As for the Canadian Death Race… I have no idea how it will go. I have good feelings about it. I’ve learned as much as I can learn without actually doing the race, though I suspect the learning curve is going to be steep come Saturday. I’ve trained as much as I can train without risking serious injury (and that includes narrowly getting struck by lightning). At this point all I can do is lace up and run.

It’s past 11 o’clock at night and there’s still light in the sky. A herd of elk is tromping through the pond just outside Orange. Sandhill cranes are squawking loudly to keep them from trudging through their nesting grounds. My mom is snoring.

Black Canyon Ascent and... yes, another Road Trip

2011-05-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

Trying to escape what is becoming one of the most oppressive Springs on record, here in Colorado, I loaded up my motorcycle with running shoes, camera, and lots of warm clothes and headed to Southern Colorado and into Northern New Mexico. With no real itinerary, I simply pointed the bike in the direction of Alamosa where my good friend Simon Gutierrez lives and hoped for the best in weather.

Simon and Me

Six hours of riding left me ready for some beers and a burger at Simon's favorite place in Alamosa - The San Juan Brewery. It was Wednesday. I told him that i might head to the Grand Canyon by the weekend and he quickly informed me that the Black Canyon Ascent was on Saturday. It didn't take much to convince me to do the Black Canyon Ascent - a race that I've known about for years but have never made it to the starting line. Simon also mentioned that there's a $200 purse for nabbing his course record.

The next 72hrs I spent, rushing the 350 round-trip miles to Albuquerque and back to visit my sister and her husband. She and I went for a run, which we've never done before. She showed me some fine desert trails not far from her place - complete with the New Mexican flair of discarded couches, chair and mattresses along the way. Pizza and beer.

Running outside Albuquerque

Sleep. Coffee and a scone then back to Southern Colorado for some fun in the Sand Dunes for the evening and morning.

Looking North towards Crestone

Back across the Rockies for a second time, avoiding the many deer that line the road as you approach the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. A friend and I met up with Simon and Brandy Erholtz on Friday night. Burgers, beer, bed.

Just before the Saturday morning start, I got to talking to a runner who mentioned that this would be his last year to try and break the 50-59 age group category (he'll be 60 next year). Chuck Smead, he tells me his name. Winner of the 1977 Sierre Zinal and probably the first American to travel to Europe as a mountain runner. He told me that he just finished reading my memoirs to which I replied that I'm 29 for five more days - much too young for memoirs.

L to R: Chuck Smead (Colorado Flag), Myself, Scott Drum, Marty Wacker, Brandy Erholtz, Simon Gutierrez

Simon took the race out somewhat fast, which is something that he's good at. I caught up to him one mile in and maintained the lead to the finish. Based on my effort (I didn't have a watch on to check mile splits), I felt like I was in a good position for the record. Rounding the final corner and seeing that I was in fact 1:30 slow was a little disheartening. This is training fuel, though - being behind. Brandy won the women's race without any problem but also found herself several minutes behind her own course record (which I don't see getting broken by anybody but her).

The course was beautiful - finishing only a few hundred feet from the rim of the Black Canyon - truly one of the most awe-inspiring canyons that I have ever been to. The race was very well organized (complete with a bluegrass band at the finish!), and the organizers gracious. Following the race we were treated to a wine tasting on Main St. in Montrose.

After a peaceful night of camping and a casual 16miler with Brandy and Simon in the morning I returned to Woody Creek to a still persistant winter and much training to be done for the upcoming months.

outside Albuquerque

Spring, 2011

2011-05-05T13:24:00.000-07:00

Let’s see… where was I?

I was in the desert the other day. South of Moab, where a friend owns a small piece of property with an Airstream trailer that hasn’t moved in 20 years, I realized that I’d hardly been in a single spot for over a week in nearly three months. For a brief moment, I actually felt bad for myself as the constant moving has had an effect on my that’s somehow not fatigue, but something more like numbness. Four continents, four countries and one non-country. But I quickly reminded myself that none of the places I’ve been have sucked.

In January, myself and three others were scheduled to fly from the South Pole Station to McMurdo Station (on the coast) to compete in the Antarctica Marathon. A friend and former winner of the Marathon flew out on a Friday for the race on Sunday. By late Friday night, all Saturday flights scheduled to fly in or out of the South Pole were cancelled, dashing any hopes to compete in the Marathon.

When life gives you lemons…

With the help of several people around the station, we designed a Marathon course around the South Pole Station. The surveyors helped us get an exact distance (Start at the South Pole, run once around the Station and five times up and down the airplane ski-way, finish back at the Pole). Official timers, aid stations (this was no more than a duffel bag at the end of the ski-way complete with hand-warmers, hot broth, hot chocolate, a two-way radio, a sleeping bag and a small toilet bucket which, thankfully, was used minimally), photographers, etc made what we had dubbed the South Pole Contingency Marathon.

photo: Haley Buffman

The temperature remained steady at about –18f for the duration of the race. The wind, however, brought the chill down to –40f/c or colder depending on which direction you were heading on the ski-way. Several people joined us for the first few miles of the Marathon and even more showed up at the finish. The station manager approached me after the race, very excited, saying that he thinks this might become a tradition. I said, god I hope not.

Though I appreciate the distinction that goes along with the race (2nd marathon ever to run at the South Pole – check out www…. to see a disastrous first marathon run by Dean Karnazas and three others in 2002), I really had my mind set on the McMurdo marathon – running on sea-ice, past penguins, volcanoes, in relative warmth (they were running in t-shirts!)- and still hope to someday be able to compete in it.

Good write-ups on the Marathon:

From Marco

From Pablo

New Zealand
I left the South Pole on the 15th of February. First flight in, (2nd to) last flight out. From the LC130, I waved goodbye to the winter-overs, who would not see another plane come or go for the next eight months.

I was fortunate enough to have a one-night layover in McMurdo before continuing on to New Zealand. I made the most of the 24hrs I was there and ran nearly every trail that McMurdo has to offer – most with Christina Knoblocker who was also scheduled to run the McMurdo Marathon but had to run the South Pole Contingency Marathon instead (becoming the first and only woman to run a marathon at the South Pole). We ran to Scott’s Hut, Castle Rock, towards Mt. Erebus, along the sea-ice (where, after four months on the continent, I finally saw some fricken penguins!) and back to McMurdo. I attempted and broke the FKT up Observation Hill (former record 7:07 or 6:40 depending on who you talk to. I ran 6:06. It’s a hill – these are minutes and seconds, not hours). I drank Laphroig at $3/shot late into the night and bid farewell to the continent I called home for the previous four months.

Waiting for me in New Zealand was my trusty steel-frame Trek 500 laden with panniers full of camping gear and extra clothes. I was soon on the road heading south out Christchurch with nothing on my mind but covering miles and miles. Having been deprived of vegetation, warmth, humidity, smells and wildlife for 1/3 of a year, I had every intention of running wild like a madman along world famous trails across the South Island, which, given the contrast of the two landscapes, is a perfect recipe for an immediate injury. I tweeked my Achilles’ tendon only three days into my trip. The pain prevented me from running again for the next five weeks. On the bike, the pain was mild and manageable so I continued on and rode 1300 miles before returning to Christchurch.

State-side
I returned to Aspen with bald tires and an itch for skiing. I dusted off my Hippy Stinks and managed to get in five full days of telemarking in before heading to Boulder where my trusted masseur had my Achilles’ feeling better in a matter of several painful minutes.

A run up Green Mountain with Dakota Jones, Scott Jurek, Joe Grant and Geoff Roes the following morning had me wishing a little that I’d have not pulled up my roots from this town – a town that has served as the American Mecca for cycling, climbing, collegiate running and now trail/mtn/ultra running. I returned to Boulder – the others continued on to Nederland, some 25 miles up the trail.

France
I arrived in Nice at the beginning of April and was quickly brought to a small village an hour’s drive down the coast where Salomon was hosting a fifth annual “Advanced Week” where several Salomon runners from across the world congregate, check out the newest shoes and products and give feedback – what we’d like to see for future products. It must be said that there are few programs that compare to this – where an athlete gives a suggestion and the results are visible in the product the following year.

My Achilles’ felt better throughout the week, running along the Mediterranean, amid Herbs de Provence. I raced a fun, bush-whacky 29k on Saturday, finishing in abnormal heat (90f) coming from very far behind (70th place at 5k) to place 4th. On Sunday, feeling a bit better, I ran a 21k race with several other members of the International Salomon Team, finishing second behind none-other than our very own team manager – a former Mountain Bike Racer who’s been doing a lot of closet training.

Mexico
I returned to Boulder for a few days before getting back on a plane for Mexico where I met up with a long-time friend for an eight-day run-around. It is safe to say that we redefined what is possible to accomplish just over a week in Mexico. We visited three Pueblos Magicos, climbed two volcanoes over 15,000ft, visited three museums (Kahlo, Rivera, etc) drank much mescal, ate many tacos, quesadillas, chile relleños, attended a brutal bullfight and managed a very solid week of fast and numerous miles.

Home
So now I’m at home, trying my best to stay put.

Some changes that I’ve been contemplating for this coming summer: I will again be pacing Killian Jornet at Western States. I will be pacing Julien Chorier at Hard Rock. I will be returning to Mount Washington in June to try and better my time. I will be returning to the Vail Teva Games for the 1/2 Marathon and 10k. In August, I'll be pairing up with Anna Frost to compete in the Trans Rockies six-day stage race. Lastly, I will be competing in my first ultra – the 80 mile Canadian Death Race in Alberta Canada. To prepare for it, I have grown out my hair and beard, painted my toenails and upped my miles.

2011-01-06T12:31:00.000-08:00

Christmas morning was warm for South Pole standards (–12f). Warm enough, that I got away with wearing three layers on my torso rather than four and no balaclava. About 40 of us – dishwashers, scientists, Cat drivers, doctor, carpenters, ice drillers etc. – gathered at the starting line with rudimentary xeroxed numbers pinned to our jackets for the annual Race around the World – a 2.1 mile race around the South Pole Station.

The course normally laps the pole two or three times – giving the slower runners/walkers a chance to bail after a lap. With various interesting landmarks scattered about the station, I suggested to the course designer, Megan, that she make it a single lap course and include these landmarks. She handed me a map and said, “you design it.” Together we came up with an interesting course providing a nearly comprehensive tour of the entire station.

At ten o’clock left we left the starting line from in front of the main station and made our way out towards what is called the clean air sector (where the cleanest air on earth is studied) and then past the quiet sector (where seismic activity is recorded). From there the course made it’s way through the waste berms before ascending the ski hill, a 40’ tall mound of snow, collected from around the station. We passed by a wall of large empty spools out near the End of the World… yes, proper noun.

The End of the World is the edge of the station in the direction of New Zealand, where year after year of snowdrifts get pushed out a mile… now a mile and a half to keep the station relatively even. I train out here constantly, running out to a warming shack and beyond where you can really feel the immensity of the Antarctic Plateau – cold, brutal and powerful. It is a Rothco painting of blue and white. The blue has light streaks of white in it and the white reflects the blue. It makes me feel the same way the Grand Canyon makes me feel – insignificant, yes, but also alive and carefree. But nearly halfway into a race, I’m not contemplating any of these things. I’m just running.

Through a collection of excess tin arches, left over from the building of parts of the station we made our way alongside the runway where day after day large, Air Force LC130s and small Baslers come and go bringing cargo, food, scientists, mail and beer and taking with them trash, dishwashers and other scientists.

As is tradition, the race is not just open to runners but to skiers, snowmobiles, snowcats and other heavy machinery as well. Motoring along beside me for the final 1/2 mile was Bruce on a snowmobile, towing a sled with a couch full of spectators and another snowmobile towing a skier.

We turned onto the runway, towards South America then turned once more towards the South Pole where the snowmachines bowed out just before the finish.

I won the race in 13:32 – two seconds slower than the time I had predicted for the course. In addition to having my name on the “scroll” (think of it as the South Pole Newspaper where everything from flight information and daily happenings to temperature and a quote of the day are looped through 24/7), I won a free trip to the coast of Antarctica for the Antarctica Marathon on January 16th.

The marathon has been going on for over a decade – an out and back, past emperor penguins, sea ice and Mount Erabus (one of the tallest active volcanos in the world), which is all well and good, but in this micro-society where six, ten hour days are the norm, most consider the biggest perk of it all to be the three days off from work… yes, even if you do have to run 26 miles on snow and ice to earn it.

Now with only ten days remaining, my long runs are over and only the stretching and tapering remains.

South Pole Vignettes

2010-12-06T09:42:00.000-08:00

I’ve been at the South Pole for over six weeks. My eyes keep darting out the galley (cafeteria – the navy being the first to station here in 1954 earned the right to name things. The sleeping quarters are called the berthing areas. Etc.) at what I swear is a bird passing but it turns out to be the reflection of a person passing behind me.

I live in a Jamesway tent (one of 13, or so, that make up “summer camp”) – a long, sturdy tent subdivided into ten rooms with a hallway running down the center. The outside walls are insulated canvas. The inside walls are just regular old canvas. I can hear my neighbors snore and I’m sure they can hear me fart. Round the clock work means that bulldozers pass close by my head often throughout the night. Up to four times a day a “Herc” (large 4 engine Air Force plane) lands on the runway just a few hundred feet from my Jamesway. I try my best to fall asleep in between landings so that I can sleep through the roar of the motors.

For the first five weeks I was in the dishpit, washing dishes from 4am to 2pm, six days a week. My alarm was set for 3:37. 3:38, I found, got me to work the slightest bit too late. The quarter mile walk from my Jamesway (J13) to the Elevated Station where most activities, eating, work etc. take place is almost always against the wind but never too unpleasant as breakfast and coffee are always waiting for me.

It has warmed up in the past couple weeks to temperatures ranging from -35f to –25f. Never in my life would I have considered –25f to feel comfortable but it really is quite comfortable after the first few weeks with temps ranging from –67f (when I got off the plane in October) to –40f. I am told that, for a couple of weeks, the temps will rise up in to the teens… the negative teens, that is.

On a windless day, at –50f you can force a breath at the ground and watch it billow out like an inverted mushroom cloud in all directions about your feet.

With humidity of less than one percent, I was warned that my hands would crack beyond repair. They were doing so well -my hands- and then on day 26, without any warning, they cracked in four different spots. There are things here that require constant maintenance - hydration being one of those things. I skipped drinking water on a run a couple weeks back and it took me two days to get rehydrated.

Up until only ten days ago, the station had absolutely no beer… well there was New Zealand Amstel Lite (2.2%)… and there is still New Zealand Amstel Lite hardly anybody would touch it. When going to the stations store then, your options were Jack Daniels, Wild Turkey or Skyy Vodka (duty free, mind you). It was getting to the point where I thought it to be a conspiracy to turn the entire station into alcoholics.

I am beginning to notice the things that one begins to miss down here. Strange things, like the color green or going out for a run without having to spend 15minutes getting dressed before hand (to go running: polar fleece long underwear and thick tights on my legs, four layers of shirts and jackets on my torso, balaclava, hat, goggles, ski gloves, wool socks and IceSpikes in my shoes). As for running, I’ve been going up and down the 2.5mile runway that runs alongside the station. It’s a little maddening seeing as how the entire length of the runway and the flags that mark the turnaround are visible from the moment I step out there. I am required to carry a two-way radio with me incase an unscheduled flight comes in and I’m forced to clear the runway.

The station population is now at 225 – which I have seen rise from 60 when I arrived. Open mic night was on Saturday and it became immediately obvious that the concentration of musical talent here is much different than elsewhere.

Tourists started to arrive last week. Little did I know that for the low, low price of $40,000 I could have skipped the working gig and just flown down here from Chile. The most recent arrival was the team accompanying the Moon Regan – a propeller driven ski thingie that never moved under it’s own power the entire time it was here (still here, I should say – the team is off for another part of the continent before returning to pick it up).

People return to work here at the South Pole year after year. There are ten year people. A few twenty year people and even one guy that has been coming here since 1978. Initially I didn't see the appeal. I'm beging to realize, though, that the reason people return for so many years has little to do with the South Pole itself and a large part to do with the people. This truly is one of the most unique populations of people in the world.

90° South

2010-10-20T01:46:00.000-07:00

We spent the better part of Monday morning on the ice runway waiting for clearance to take off in the Basler DC3. Waiting for the temperature to rise just a couple degrees at the South Pole. At -54°c the plane can land. At –54.1°c it can’t… or at least it’s not suppose to. After a two-hour wait they decided to postpone the flight for 24 hours.

We returned to McMurdo where the worst part of my cold (the McMurdo Crud as it’s called here – everybody gets it at some point during the season) overtook me and I realized that it was a blessing in disguise that we never left the ground. I sat in my room all day, watched movies, read Dune and slept.

Tuesday – wake. Repeat. The temperature at the Pole read 53°c and it was a go… with the possibility of a boomerange – going partway and returning. We loaded our stuff onto the Basler and took our seats.

The flight brought us over a very similar route that Scott took to reach the South Pole over the summer of 1911/12 – across the Ross Ice Shelf, alongside the Trans-Antarctic Range, through the Beardmore Glacier (which is essentially an ice overflow of the Antarctic Plateau) and then 300miles across the Antarctic Plateau. The views from the flight were incredible – truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

The Basler DC3 is a plane that has remained largely unchanged since it’s first flight in the mid 1930’s… this includes the lack of pressurization. To cross the Trans-Antarctic Range the plane had to climb to 22,000ft which did nothing but tighten the vise on my head, bringing tears to my eyes. It was a bit of a catch 22, as closing my eyes eased the pain, but also meant missing the scenery outside. I sucked as much oxygen as I could and mostly opted for the tighter vise.

Flying over the Antarctic Plateau gave me my first glimpse of what the scenery would be like for the next few months… or rather lack-there-of. As a Colorado boy, I’m not accustomed to seeing the horizon so close to the ground. In every direction – nothing. Though I knew this would be the case, I didn’t realize what a nothing landscape really looked like until now.

We landed at about 2:30pm (it should be noted that the South Pole goes by McMurdo/New Zealand time for reasons of simplicity – they are the two biggest US bases on the continent and it’s therefore easier to keep them on the same time-zone) and hurried off the plane. We learned shortly that the temperature had dropped to -55°c (-67°f!) and the pilots had to get the plane back off the ground as quick as possible.

The “winter-overs” –the 47 people that spent the 7-month winter here alone- came out to the runway to greet us and help us with our bags. We were asked not to carry our own bags as the altitude (9,300ft is the actual altitude but barometrically speaking rises upwards of 11,000ft on any given day) can be dangerous to those coming directly from sea level.

We are the first new faces these people have seen in seven months. It’s interesting seeing them – pale-faced, awkward and well-bearded. They were happy to see us, but I think happier to see the fresh fruit we brought on the plane with us.

After a meal and a tour of the building I made myself comfortable in a temporary room (I’ll be moving to my permanent room in a week or two when they are able to thaw out the plumbing) and slept fitfully for the next ten hours.

So great to be here.

I Wear My Sunglasses At Night

2010-10-16T02:10:00.000-07:00

The engine room drone of the US Air Force C17 all but seized the conversation amongst us 65 passengers on the flight from Christchurch, NZ to the McMurdo Station on the coast of Antarctica. We’re shared the hull of the plane with several “small” shipping containers, a forklift and a large sno-cat. The passengers are a mix of scientists (geologists, meteorologists and biologists), Air Force flight crew and a small portion of the staff that makes up the majority of Antarctica’s summer population. This staff includes shuttle drivers, cooks, radio communication specialists, janitors, US post office employees (subcontracted out to Raytheon who has the contract from the National Science Foundation to run the South Pole Station, McMurdo Station, Palmer Station and several small camps across the continent), logistics coordinators, doctors, gift shop attendants… the list goes on.

A curiosity for this continent germinated inside my bean several years ago and became an obsession only in the past couple years when it occurred to me that getting a job here isn’t impossible. “I’ll wash dishes if I have to,” is what I was telling people over a year ago, and that’s exactly what I’ll be doing for the next four months.

The C17 flight was preceded by a couple days in Christchurch where the weather was lapsing back into a cold and dreary winter… not what we were hoping for before being deprived of warmth, trees, smells that we normally take for granted, night!, for god’s sake! STARS! We flew to Christchurch from Aukland, LA, Denver… wishing I had frequent flyer miles.

We got our first glimpse of the continent (regulars just call it The Ice) four hours into the 5.5 hour flight. The first thought that crossed my mind looking out the tiny bay window of the airplane was of Superman’s little home from the first Superman. Sterile, serene, quiet, perfect. Though Antarctica is all of these things, it is also hostile and unforgiving which I’ve learned in a very short period of time.

Following two very cloudy passes over the station we were able to land on the Ice Runway which is the landing strip used from WinFly (Since airplanes are unable to land in –50f and below no planes fly in or out of McMurdo from about June-September. The first flight in is called the Winter Flight, or simply WinFly) until early December. This runway is constructed annually on the eight-foot-thick Ross Ice Shelf just off shore of McMurdo. A Swedish icebreaker comes in to clear a path through the Ross Sea whence the airfield is moved inland.

We were ushered from the plane to “Ivan” the Terra Bus entirely too quickly to take it all in and driven the mile into McMurdo for a late meal in the one and only cafeteria. After dinner I stole off for a run to Robert F. Scott’s 1904 hut from his Discovery expedition (the one that didn’t end up with his death). Where I encountered a dead seal that I later learned has been there for several years – the conditions have essentially mummified it. I continued my run out to Cape Evans and up the Ridge Trail. It was warm enough (-10f) for an easy run but cold enough that I wasn’t able to stop (not wearing enough clothes) or run fast (wind chill made it drop to –20/-25f). From the high point on the ridge I was able to look out across the Ross Ice Shelf at the mountains on the opposite side of the sea. At 10:30pm the sun was just beginning to go behind the horizon at a low, sweeping angle. At this time of year the sun never dips more than a few degrees below the horizon and even the middle of the night is bright enough that wooden blinds are used in the rooms in order to be able to sleep.

(photo - Haile Buffman)

Nearly a week has passed since my arrival. The next and final flight of my agenda for the next several months was scheduled for yesterday but the airplane that I’ll be flying in (Basler) from here to the South Pole was stuck at an American base in Punta Arenas, Chile for longer than expected, postponing the flight until Monday – two days from now. I was told to have patience waiting for this next leg of the trip – it is sometimes postponed for weeks. The flight into the Pole will be the first flight going there for the year. We’ve been instructed by the chef not to eat any of the “freshies” (fresh fruit) brought in with us on the Basler as the 50-or-so “Polies” that have wintered-over have been without fresh fruit for seven months.

My time here in McMurdo has been spent working in the laundry room where I sorted through a mound of bedding the size of a dump truck. I’ve spent the past four days working in the galley (the cafeteria) – washing dishes for the 900 people here, scrubbing pots and taking advantage of the few things that I’ll be without once I reach the Pole in a few days time – that is dirt, hills and bars. Yes, there are two bars here in McMurdo. Gallagers and The Southern. Last night a live bluegrass band (Phatass Bluegrass) played until midnight at Gallagers.

I have so much to tell about the past week, but I think that this will have to do for now.

Single Crossing of the Grand Canyon

2010-05-26T00:15:00.000-07:00

may 18
A half mile from the top of the rim i was being reminded why i've opted not to train with a watch for the past several years. I looked down: 3:02.40. For what was certainly several minutes, I suffered in agony as i stumffled (that's stumbleshuffled) my way up the dusty trail past the germans, french, japanese, new yorkers, russians, texans, mexicans and babies of all types. 3:02.43. Three seconds passed.

The final querter mile of the South Kaibab trail, saturated with sweat, tears and mule shit, zig-zags up the white limestone face that defines the final few hundred vertical feet of the Grand Canyon. 3:05.34. Looking at my watch, I tripped and fell into the chalky, limestone powder that pads the trail. With three switchbacks to go, I look down at my watch and see it slip away. 3:06:43,44,45,46,47. Arriving at the rim a minute and change later, I sat myself down on a rock wall and watched as a steady stream of devote naturists slogged thier ways up the final switchback.

my exhausted body and dehydrated mind day dreamed back two miles where a quarter mile of trail crew yelled at me for running through their work zone, and how I felt like a jerk for not slowing down. back six miles with the colorado river a stones throw behind me where I was walking behind the stench of sweat and manure of mule and driver for two minutes. I used the time to drink water, down a fourth gel, remove my shirt and prepare for the 5,000 vertical foot ascent out of the Canyon.

back eight miles where i was wondering if this side canyon would ever reach phantom ranch. and then back eleven miles... ten miles into the canyon from the north rim. i had just passed an intersection without giving it much though. a man called from behind me "exuse me!" i turned around and the man my memory shows me is the tom wait's character in the imaginarium of dr. parnassus which i had just seen and i recomond that you put it next in line on your net flix account. "is that the way to phantom ranch?" i hadn't thought about it to be honest. i was just following my nose, as they say. "are you sure it's not this way, towards ribbon falls?" he asked. the way i was headed was unmarked which put doubt in my head and the way towards ribbon falls had a fancy bridge to get you across the stream running the entire valley. I returned to the intersection, and for a couple minutes, ran down the trail towards ribbon falls and what i hopped would be phantom ranch beyond. another hiker pointed me back in the direction of the intersection telling me that i was headed the right way initially. i never saw the first hiker again. four to five minutes had passed before i returned to my turnaround point on the trail. though i've never attempted this run before and couldn't possibly know how i was fairing compared to Allyn Cureton's 1981 record crossing, i knew that the run had just shifted from leisure to potential torture. My head turned dark and a state of focus was nearly impossible to maintain.

back 19 miles, passing through the supai tunnel. back 20.6 miles, standing on the North Rim, trying to recall why i thought this was a good idea for my birthday.

Back at the South Rim, I sat next to the fountain, drinking cup after cup of water. Even though there wasn't much room for standing, people prefered to give me my own seat on the bus. I picked up my backpack at the Bright Angle Lodge and went to the bar to celebrate my birthday with an overcooked burger a warm beer and uncooked fries. After stocking up on water, bananas, tortillas, peanut butter and honey, I started making my way back towards the North Rim. By the time I was no longer able to walk the crescent moon was about to set and the bats were out in full force.

Having rafted down the grand canyon twice, the lure of running from one rim to the other has allured me for some time. with the ski season over and the racing season on the horizon, i decided to make a road trip out of this run. while in boulder, i replaced the battery to my motorcycle put some new tires on the wheels. i headed out of town in a windstorm to arrive at Simon G.s steps hours later. And the steps of a friend from highschool the night after that. mancos, four corners, hovenweep, kyenta, page. 1500 miles on the motorcycle gave me pleanty of time to think about the record.

a bull snake includes my motorcycle in it's crossing of the road.

f650 in the forground, grand canyon in the background

mancos, colorado

i'm back in aspen now and the full moon has me running at night.

don't feed the animals

splits:
0:00.00 north kaibab trail head
12.43 supai tunnel
+6.46
19.29 first bridge
+15.23
34.53 roaring springs
+14.13
49.06 cotton wood
+49.36
1:38.00 phantom ranch
+6.43
1:45.00 colorado river
+23:52
2:09.00 lower rest area
+19.18
2:28.00 i don't know why i hit lap here
+39.16
3:07.51 south kaibab trail head

2010-04-30T20:33:00.000-07:00

How do you sum up 220 days in a single post? you don't really, I guess. but I'll try.

Snow has fallen here five of the past seven days. I hiked up Aspen Highlands on the first of May and found the snow at Cloud 9 to be even better than it was in February. I shared the deck with one other skier that had hiked the 3,000 feet up to get a few last turns before spring and summer come in with a vengeance and take this wonderful season away from us.

May 1st marked my 103rd day of skiing for the winter. telemarking that is. I worked three jobs - two on the mountain and one in the town of Aspen. I bussed tables at the latter and waited tables on the mountain. DeNiro recognized me from one restaurant to the next. One of my several bosses did not. I landed my first 360 (I've been trying for nearly 20 years). In four and a half months I left Aspen only once whence I drove four hours to Crested Butte for the Elk Mountain Grand Traverse, a 40 mile ski race from there to Aspen (the race was turned around due to foul weather conditions and we had to drive the same four hours back to aspen, unfortunately). I raced four uphill races in my newest invention - the Ajax Ascenders. On March 13th I put the Ajax Ascenders to the ultimate test with America's Uphill (video from 2008).

Though I won the race (40:28) and set a new record for the course (previous record was 41:01) my time, unfortunately, comes with an *asterisk*. 1. Carpenter's 1999 record was set in snowshoes which was a requirement for the race at the time. 2. There was a time dispute: a couple racers that timed themselves reported a different time than the "official" chip time. Some slower, some faster. My refusal to use a watch in both training and racing was once again put in check (the other time - when I nearly missed the one hour cut off for Mt. Washington by two seconds because i was unaware of the time). Realistically, I'd like to run the course in under 40minutes. It is Aspen's 4minute mile.

Between working and skiing I managed to squeeze in plenty of short, fast runs - 40-50 miles/week if I were to guess on a figure. I chased elk and they chased me back. I discovered the beautiy of running by moon and star light (why'd it take me this long!?). I tried to skin up to Cloud 9 Bistro most days that I was working there (8,000 to 11,000 feet). This restraunt was the highlight of my winter. It was the waiting job that I've wanted for years - fun people, good food, beautiful view and a party everyday at 3pm.

Tending the bar on the final day of the season.

Next post: summer plans....

WMRA World Championships: Campodolcino Italy + rant

2009-09-11T13:58:00.000-07:00

The morning following the World Mountain Running Championships seemed like a good time to hone back in on my biking skills. I put some much-needed air in my tires and set off from the Chiavenna valley to Switzerland at a hung-over crack of dawn. I figured that the 160k would take me the better part of the day since I’d left my stuff in Madesimo – where I’d been staying for the previous few days and where the championship race was held. Luckily I brought what remained of my Swiss francs as well…

If nothing else… else… there is always else… a long bike ride provides for an ongoing internal narrative. It moves along just as easily as the pavement beneath the tires. On a bike, you get to thinking about everything. Following the world mountain running championships, you think only about the world mountain running championships…. Triumphantly or otherwise. Peddling over the Spluga pass, it was most certainly otherwise.

A thought returned to me from the day before. I was thinking how openly I’d have accepted a broken ankle or a hyper-extended knee in exchange for not finishing the race… or rather as a viable excuse to not finish the race, end even better yet a free ride down the mountain. 13 races in 14 weeks. That’s the number I came up with in my head between thoughts of accidental self-mutilation. What worked for me last year, I knew almost immediately, wasn’t going to work for me this year. There are people that can keep up such a schedule…. “person” I should say – and that is Jonathan Wyatt.

photo: dave dunham

I returned to the race. On the uphills, I was gaining – 30th, 25th maybe. On the downhills, I was loosing 5-10 spots each round. This is as it was at Cranmore in June and Sierre-Zinal in August. For nearly the entire race Zac Freudenburg, Matt Byrne and myself traded spots consistently. The final kilometer included Tim Parr in the mix. I crossed the finish line in 47th – 5th on the team. Knowing that the gross majority of the team finished within a few places ahead or behind me, I knew that our chance at a repeat medal was slim to none.

On the soft side of the finish line the Eritreans were gathered around, singing, dancing, jumping. It didn’t take long to figure out that they had won – dethroning Italy for a second time in 25 years. The Italians, for once, were quiet and solemn. Though I had figured that Joe Grey led the team, I learned an hour later that Andrew Bedford was, in fact, the lead American. He finished 13th place in what must be considered the strongest field this event has ever seen. Ten…. even five years ago, I’d rate his finish as top five, if not podium.

photo: dave dunham

The days of waltzing in to a top twenty finish at the Mountain Running Championships are over. The Africans have discovered the sport and more importantly, know how to train for it. As recently as last year I was hearing fellow runners, race organizers etc. say that the Africans are simply not built for mountain running. Evidence for this claim has almost always been backed up by showing off the girth of claimant’s leg: “they don’t have the strength.”

Following the race I got to talking to a old and lecherous Austrian race organizer. For thirty years he’s put on a Mountain Race in Kitzbuhel, traditionally won by a European, and if not a European at least a Kiwi. “This year,” he tells me with a look of discust, “the ‘darkies’ were first, second, third.” I suggested a better name for them such as “Ethiopian” or “Eritrean” or “Kenyan,” but there was no talking any sense into the old bigot as he busied himself by giving unsolicited massages to the women of the American team.

The Africans won’t soon be on the Fell Running scene in the UK because they don’t race for cheese or beer. They won’t be showing up at Leadville for a belt buckle or Imogene for a gift certificate. The Africans in Europe have caught on to what I learned three years ago; that there is a minor league in running and it resides in the Alps. I suspect that the egos of many race directors, fans and runners will be hit hard over the next few years as they realize that their local hero is in fact five minutes slower than Geoffrey Kusuro.

I’m ranting. Where was I. Bike ride. I made it to St. Moritz, sight of not one but two winter Olypics whence the ice skating was held on a lake and the triple-lutz was but a pipe dream. I made it 100k. Knees aching, lycra-clad and bonk-ed, I checked into the hostel for the night and left the next morning.

Results

Dave Dunham write up on the event with results from the women's race (Third!!) and juniors.

PABLO VIGIL... GUEST POSTING!!!!!....

2009-08-24T12:00:00.001-07:00

USA MOUNTAIN RUNNERS/RUNNING IN EUROPE

It's so easy to ignore the fact that dynamite can also come in petite packages/cases,but such was the case of ",le petite equipe americain" in Switzerland this past summer,consisting of Rickey Gates and Brandy Erholtz. Both Rickey and Brandy pulled off an impressive 4th and 5th place finish, respectively. This year's 36 edition of Sierre-Zinal once again proved to be a very competitive,international field,yet both USA runners staggered in with prior,successful summer races leading up to the prestigious Sierre-Zinal 31k mountain race in Val d'Anniviers in the canton of Valais. So,they didn't exactly come in as fresh and focused as they could have, yet they managed to do some SERIOUS INTERNATIONAL ASS KICKING.....Furthermore,take into account all the stress of travel, time zones,language barriers,etc...Bravo le petite equipe americain!!!!!

ALSO,and in all fairness,a special BRAVO and RECOGNITION goes to non other than to the original pioneer/vagabond/legend of european mountain running/racing:Chuck Smead. Thanks to his '70s racing endeavors/success in europe that other future USA mountain runners would later follow. To name a few:Rick Trujillo,John Esquibel,Jay Johnson,Matt Carpenter,Simon Gutierrez,Paul and Kelley Lowe,Jeremy Wright,Pablo Vigil,etc....
Chuck Smead's '70s seed planting in european mountain racing certainly paid off for generations to come. They certainly paid off for me. Chuck literally dragged me along into the european mountain racing scene in 1979,and I can never thank him enough. His inspiration and ripple effect continues to pay off years later...and will continue as long as mountains are around. The USA certainly has an abundance of great mountains,altitude,and talented men/women mountain runners that are very capable of competing with the best in the world on any given day... As they say in French,"On verras!!"..."We shall see!!".......Personally,I don't see why not!!!

2009-08-18T14:17:00.000-07:00

wednesday, august 12th:
after sprinting on my bike to the airport at five in the morning, i find out that my flight is actually on thursday.

thursday, august 13th:
sprint to the airport on my bike. head to norway.

mid august and summer would appear to be over here in norway. i check with a norweigen on the bus from bergen to stryn and he acknowledges as much. he tells me that it usually lasts two months but this year it only lasted five weeks.

after a full day of travel, i arrive at the Hotel Alexandra at the base of Skaala in the small town of loen (pop. 300... 150 of which work for hotel alexandra). still light out at 10pm so i go for an easy jog up the valley from the fjord.

friday, august 14th:
the day is spent trying to rid my legs of the sierre-zinal. massage, stretching, warm bath, sweet talking, idle threats, etc.. Jonothan Wyatt and I go for a run up the valley from the fjord. talk of competition (ie kenyans), the new track for the course and plans for the remainder of the summer.

exquisite buffet at the hotel... honestly the best i've ever had and early to bed with a face mask to keep the late night light out of my eyes (welcome to 55degrees n.).

saturday, august 15th:
i weigh my backpack to make sure that it reaches the 2.5kilo requirement. coming up short, i supplement the weight with chocolate rather than rocks and sand as i did last year. the requirement is meant to encourage safety which, on a day like today, is well heeded. from the start line (elevation 38m/110ft) you can almost see the finish line covered in snow (1848m/6063ft).

of course the race started out fast. i've only raced kenyans in european mountain races (31:30 10k doesn't quite put me up there with them on the roads in the states;) and i've found that they always start fast... i would say relatively faster than they would in a road race. being somewhat new to the sport of mtn. running, maybe they don't know what is in store for them which would seem to be the case as many of them so often come flying back just as quick.

there is little to report of the race. not from my perspective anyway. sierre zinal was still fully present in my legs. there was nothing i could do about that. i knew there was a good chance that six days would be less than adequate time for recovery for such a brutal race but i took pride in what was quite clearly a gamble... and a loss. i finished 10th overall. earning 40 points towards my grand prix standing... which didn't change anything... i was in third place and remain in third place.

there was fresh snow covering the final two k of the course. that's something to report, i suppose. the calculated grade of the ascent is 22% average. there's something else. compression socks make for great arm warmers. norweigens are a strange brew. it seems to me that they have taken 1986 apart, studied it intensely and perfected it. i'm not kidding - think mike + the mechanics, heart, nu schooz... and they can dance to it!! alright, so i was only five then... but so were they! so i digress.

sunday, august 16th:
i take full advantage of the two extra nights the hotel alexandra has given me and go for a run... yes up the valley from the fjord. it was a run that i did with jon tvedt last year at this time who has been on my mind ever since i landed in bergen. he was an incredible athlete who was never lacking in something interesting to say whether it was about which race of people he thought to be the most attractive (kenyan) and unattractive (never mind) or the running style of usain bolt (9.58!?). the news of his death in january went well beyond his norweigen borders.

tvedt's record up skaala still stands thanks, in large part, to the snow covering the final 2k of the course. though i have no doubt that it will be broken within the next couple of years what with a new and improved track leading to the summit and the large purse up for grabs (25,000kn to win and 45,000kn for the record... that's over $11,000 - making it one of the highest paying mountain races in the world).

Resultat:
Kvinner
1. Antonella Confortola Italian National Team 1.26,35
2. Iva Milesova Psk Olymp Praha 1.27,00
3. Guro Flatekval Oppsal 1.27,05
4. May Britt Buer Harding IL 1.27,50
5. Tuva Staver Toftdal Heming IL 1.31,42
6. Merete Helgheim Gloppen Friidrettslag 1.33,49
7. Therese Sjursen Bfg Fana 1.34,52
8. Norunn Stavø Florø TIF 1.38,39
9. Helene Pemmer Il Fri 1.39,00
10.Elisabeth Hildenes Eid IL 1.39,43

Menn
1. John Sombol Barakarunner 1.09,55
2. Jonathan Wyatt Salomon Austrian 1.10,00
3. David Schneider Inov-8 Switzerland 1.10,50
4. Jon Duncan Sandnes IL 1.11,07
5. Sammy Kirui Barakarunner 1.12,31
6. Joseph Gray Team USA 1.12,48
7. Øystein Sylta SK Vidar 1.13,31
8. Kristen Skjeldal Bulken IL 1.14,10
9. Sindre Buraas SK Vidar 1.14,41
10. Rickey Gates USA Team 1.14,57

wednesday, august 19th
back in geneva for one more night. tomorrow i head to chamonix for some last minute training before the world mountain running championships in campodolcino - 2.5hrs north of milan. the race is up and down this year and the american team is looking very promising. a preview of the team can be found on the us mountain running team website: www.usmrt.com

--
mostlypaved.blogspot.com
www.mostlypaved.com

Sierre-Zinal

2009-08-10T13:04:00.001-07:00

To say that Sierre-Zinal is one of the greatest mountain races in the world would be an understatement - that would allow for the possibility of another race squeezing in there to bask in the light. It is the greatest. "It is to mountain running what the New York Marathon is to Marathons". Just as it has elevated some of the best mountain runners in the world an almost untouchable realm, it has humbled many others to the point of tears.

The course description is simple: 31 km, 2200m ascent and 800m descent (19miles, 7200ft ascent and 2200ft descent). it looks something like this:

If ever there was a middle ground in mountain running, this is it. it isn't short and it isn't long. there are sections where 10-minute-miles would be record breaking and other sections where 5-minute pace would be pedestrian, at best. ups, down, rock, pavement, scree. as british mountain running legend, Billy Burns, put it: "there is no faking it at Sierre-Zinal"

there is no doubt that mountain running is segregated. between long distance, short distance, ultra, marathon, mountain, trail, europe, america, carpenter, krupicka, wyatt, skaggs', killian, sky races, grand prix, mountain cup, mountain championships, wmra, atra, usmrt, nacac. i could go on but i won't. when one becomes unemployed and finds himself talking entirely too much about mountain running (your humble narrator) the subject always arrises - who's the best? who's the fastest? who's the strongest? Before this year I'd have said that the course was too short to hold any sort of advantage to the "ultra" folk. This year, my opinion of that has changed. Sierre-Zinal is truly the Mountain Running Medium.

In an effort to document the "scene" here in the Alps, I have been interviewing various runners this summer. I had the opportunity to talk to Killian Jornet Burgada, of Catalonia, before the race. Though he is most known for his 2008 record setting win of the Mont Blanc Ultra (186k/115m) his accomplishments go far beyond. He recently ran the GR20 (corsica coast to coast - 180k) in 33hrs (fast hikers tend to take 15 days). He has several Sky Marathon wins to his name and he is only 21-years-old. When I asked him what he though of the course the day before the race, he said he liked it even though it was "so short". Though nobody discounted him, I think few put money on him for the win.

The race started off just as it did a few years ago - sub 2:10 ethiopian marathoner in the lead... that is to say way in the lead. i learned my lesson two years ago and did not chase him. time-wise the sierre-zinal is longer than a marathon. When they say in a marathon that the real race begins at mile 20, at Sierre-Zinal the race begins at Weisshorn. For the first quarter of the race i remained outside of the top five. To my surprise, Killian took the lead for the chase pack, sometimes running, sometimes walking (you've never seen anybody walk uphill like he does. it's like paul bunyan or something... a lumbering giant, then shrinks down to a normal, guant runner again). I lost two places on the first little downhill running into the small village of Chandolin (9th place). Two years ago, I chased after them. This year I knew that the race wouldn't begin for another 45 minutes. They came back to me in time - a Colombian and a Catalonian. Having never run the race before, the Colombian asked if we were at Weisshorn, which was as much a sign of defete as limping. I reeled the leaders in slowely but surely. 20k into the race I passed the Ethiopian that had been so far ahead and by Hotel Weisshorn first place was essentially shared between Killian, Tarcis Ancay (SZ), Florent Troillet (SZ), myself and Robert Krupicka (CZ), whom I've battled so many times over the past few years. (Robert, in fact, was widely regarded as the favorite for the race.)

I'm all for believing in yourself and whatever else they teach you in positive affirmation seminars but I knew that once the downhill began I would not be able to keep with Killian. I've seen him run downhill before. He disconnects himself from his body. At the moment, all I could think of was "I am in the lead group of the Sierre-Zinal". The moment the downhill began, Killian and Tarcis took off. I tripped and fell. Then I lost my shoe to a mud bog (retrieved, but not without a muddy sock). Then I tripped again. After that I slammed into a hiker, with the full force of my body. I'd have made Dick Butkus proud. With 4k to go I found myself in 4th place with Robert Krupicka not far behind. I started making faces. It seemed to help. Faces that people make when they're in either in a lot of pain or discust or somewhere in between.

I held Robert off until the finish. He came across the finish line 15 seconds behind me. There was a large red cloud at the toes of his left shoe. He had kicked a rock about an hour earlier during the race.

Top twenty:

Killian - victory lap.

Post race festivities included an awards ceremony attended by no less than 3000 people. I sat with American Running legend and four time winner of the Sierre Zinal, Pablo Vigil. They called him up on stage for reasons that I didn't understand. I asked somebody nearby and they said quite simply "he's a celebrity here".

One of Pablo's fourn consecutive wins.

Being slightly technophobic, Pablo does not have a blog of his own (though he should) he has agreed to a guest posting with lots of character.

On the women's side, Anna Pichrtova won her fourth consecutive title. Brandy Erholtz posted the top American time ever with a 5th place finish.

Prerace video from two years ago can be found here. You get to hear what I sound like dubbed over into French.

http://www.tsr.ch/tsr/index.html?siteSect=500000&channel=emission#program=56;vid=8099458;tab=loadprogram

And a race video here:

http://www.tsr.ch/tsr/index.html?siteSect=500000&channel=emission#program=56;vid=8099450;tab=loadprogram

I've made my way back to Geneva where wonderful mail and other comforts were waiting for me. Wednesday, off to Norway for Skaala (http://www.skaala.no/).

same cast, different stage

2009-08-06T00:13:00.000-07:00

Same cast, different stage
Where was I last… somewhere in Austria if I’m not mistaken. Running up a mountain? Drinking wine? Or was it hefewiesen?
Anyway. My path took carried me to Slovenia as it did last year. Grintovec. 6000ft of climbing in less than six miles. The little gremlin (more like golum than a gremlin now that I think about it) was still behind the bar at the mountain hut/starting line and offered me a beer before I even took my helmet off. What sort of impression did I leave on these people last year?
This was to be my first Grand Prix race of the year (second of the series) and I expected nothing less that some of the best to be here. Jonathon Wyatt, Robert Krupicka, Marcus Kroll, a hand full of fast Slovenians…. The race went out somewhat pedestrian-like and for the first time in my mountain running “career” I had a lead on Wyatt… that is if you can call one meter a “lead”. I enjoyed all three minutes of it before I resumed looking at his backside from an ever growing distance. The Czeck – Krupicka followed close behind me for a quarter of the race before making his move. By halfway I could see up ahead that he had overtaken Wyatt (which he had also done the week before at Grossglockner in Austria before Wyatt regained his position). For the remainder of the race I ran, wondering who would take the win meanwhile looking back frequently thinking that a Slovenian was closing in on me. He probably was, but when the grade is nearing a constant 30+% a 200m gap is nearly infinite. I arrived at the finish line three minutes slower than what I had run the last year to win the race. Krupick took the win – two minutes ahead of Wyatt. There was a tuba and an accordion playing at the finish. There is only one way to get a tuba and an accordion to the finish of this race and that is to hike it up. If that isn’t amazing enough, the race director, Dusan, was also up there. He walks with arm-brace canes as his knee has been quite bad for nearly five years. He watches the top males and females finish then begins the 6000ft descent.
The Slovenians again drank me under the table well into the evening and I left late the next morning for a visit to a friend in Italy. The Slovenians, it should be noted, have taken the death of Michael Jackson very seriously. In 24 hours I heard billie jean x 7, thriller x 5, beat it x 5 and some other stuff that I haven’t heard for quite some time.
A three day visit to a friend in Treviso, Italy which was a breath of fresh air as I had been surrounded by runners for nearly three weeks. The heat sent me on my way just as fast and I soon found myself camping in the rain on the Austrian side of Brenner pass several hours later. Note: it is quite impossible to feel bad about one’s camping situation whilst reading “the worst journey in the world” by Ashley cherry-girard – an account of scott’s 1912,13 south pole expedition. A night outside in mid-summer Austrian rain just doesn’t seem to compare to -70f with nothing to protect you but canvas tents and reindeer fur for warmth.
Anyway. Next stage. Same actors. Much the same scene. Mayerhofen, Austria for my second Grand Prix race appropriately called Harakiri… the ritualistic Japanese suicide. Though the only thing Japanese about the race was the 13th place finisher. The race went out fast and by the 3rd (of 9) kilometer I found myself in a nervous 11th place. By the next kilometer I was in 5th and by half way I began a long fought battle with an Austrian runner whom I’ve never raced for 3rd. There must have been 25 switchbacks from halfway on. I’d put 5 meters on the Austrian and he’d gain them back. This went on for quite some time until finally on the last climb a blood curdling yell came from behind me. I looked back to see if maybe the Austrian had taken the name of the race a bit too seriously, but here was still there, belly in tact, grinding away but no longer in contention. Wyatt took the win. Krupicka 2nd.
Some trains and some riding later has brought me to the small town of Zinal where finishes the legendary Sierre-Zinal. In the European mountain running community, this race needs no introduction. It is the best race out here and has been for over 30 years. 32kilometers. Starting at an elevation of 585meters, climbing to 2425meters over 24k before descending to Zinal at 1680meters (1500feet to 7500feet over 14miles then descending 2500feet over the next four miles my American friends). There are so many reasons to love this race. 1. Beautiful course. 2. Wonderful hospitality. 3. Great cultural experience. 4. Historical. And 5. Competition. The competition deserves some explanation. The world mountain running championships does not get all of the best mountain runners, nor does the Grand Prix. Politics, money (lack there-of to be specific), timing and other things keep some of the best runners from running in those races. For all the reasons that I mentioned, Sierre-Zinal fills in the gaps. If the names Killian, Mejia, Krupicka, Du Pont, Vigil, Burns or Sneider don’t mean anything to you, look them up. They are, hands down, the best in the sport. A top five finish will give me the greatest amount of joy. Sunday.
Lastly, I have been informed that the kind folks of the American Mountain Running Team have selected me for the at-large (6th and final) spot on the 2009 team. I will be competing in Italy with a most respectable team on September 9th at the World Mountain Running Championships (this is the first year that the race is being recognized as a “championship” race rather than a “trophy” meaning that it is IAAF sanctioned and how shall we say… legit). Thank you.

there is a great blog role right now at http://mountainrun.wordpress.com/2009/07/27/us-mountain-running-team-final-selection-race/

Trail Runner

2009-07-28T02:25:00.001-07:00

Please, please, please. Go up a copy of the Trail Runner that is on the shelves right now. You'll find it in between Time and Newsweek.... or at your outdoor retail store.

2009-07-21T12:27:00.000-07:00

Chris and I continued our bike trip from telfes, austria onto bolzano, italz where we drank some fine wine late into the evening with, none other than, the greatest stair racer of all time – paul crake of australia. The companz was also graced with the presence of world mountain running champion, marco de gasperi and the illustrius martin cox. martin cooked. The pasta was not al dente.we peddled away late in the morning, straight into the italian dolomites. Two more days and several passes later we arrived at the sight of my first european mountain race from two years ago – heiligenblut, austria. We welcomed the chance to watch euro sport, catch up with the tour and take full advantage of the glocknerhof´s generous buffet.

The start list included world mountain running champion and two time olympian, jonothan wyatt of new zealand, three very fast kenyans and several top-ten world mountain runners – marco gaiardo (italy), robert krupicka (czeck republic), martin cox (great britan), marcos kroll (austria), david sneider (switzerland) and several others.

As three feet of snow fell on the course the two days before the race, there was a big possibility that the event would be altered (not cancelled) severely. But the sun came through the day before the race and melted most of it. The course would be very muddy, but not impossible.

The kenyans took the race out very fast and nobody bothered to go with the fastest of them. By kilometer two of thirteen I found myself in 11th and by kilometer four I had moved up to 6th. I spent the next couple k chasing down one of the kenyans while the swiss and the czeck pulled steadily away from me. At the front of the race, jonothan wyatt was busy trying to pull in the lead kenyan. All positions stayed the same though and the kenyan won in a record time with wyatt two minutes behind. I secured my fifth place position (my worst place and fastest time on this course) ahead of gaiardo and the other two kenyans.

The legs still feel a bit tired from so much racing in june and the readjustment to the bike touring. Ailments are migrating around my body sonambulistically. this will go away soon. I hope.

Tomorrow I´m off to slovenia to run a race up grintovec. 9.6k with an 1800m vertical climb if I remember correctly. It will be the first grand prix race for me for the season. The competition will be no less than from this past weekend.

Chris is off to watch the Wednesday stage of the tour and return to the states on Thursday. Map is falling apart rapidly. Finishing even cow girls get the blues. Getting ready to start the worst journey in the world. Mustache is holding strong. Down a pair of socks. Up a pair of socks. Etc. etc.

europe: round three

2009-07-17T03:51:00.000-07:00

i arrived in europe following a rather brutal selection race in new hampshire and spent the first few days relaxing in geneva... not running. i put my bike together with ease on the balcony of my friend´s house rather than in the busy terminal as i had last year. everything came together perfectly, nothing missing, not even the st. so-and-so that my sister glued to the cap of my bike tube for added safety and protection.

on the fourth of july, friend and former assistant cross country coach from high school, arrived in geneva at 8am. we covered nearly 110k by dusk to arrive at chamonix and the clouds parted just long enough for us to get a view of the mont blanc summit from town. we rode through switzerland for the next week, up and over many of the highest paved passes in europe - grimsel pass, furka pass, oberalp pass, and several others. chris quickly learned that yogurt and granola consist of at least half of my meals. also, he got to experience first hand cave dwelling, rickey-style.

we arrived in telfes, austria a couple days before the european mtn running championships. not being european, myself, i was not able to compete in the big race but did manage a come-from-behind win in the open race the day before. i was about a minute slower than my time from last year which i was more than pleased with as i was amidst what felt like the flu. i shivered my way down to the bottom of the mountain and got a good night sleep rather than heading to the gymnasium where the party usually goes late into the night with czeck beer, food and song.

we rode from there to the top of brenner pass and trained down into italy for a night of food and wine with some of the mtn running greats: martin cox, marco di gasperi and paul crake. chris and i left the next morning at the crack of noon for some more passes and a stunning display of the italian dolomites.

currently we are in heiligenblut, austria for the 10th annual grossglockner mountain race. this will be the third time that i have raced here... twice i´ve finished fourth. next week, onto slovenia and then.... don´t know where.

the body is holding up to the pressure, but just barely. enjoying round three immensly.

please go buy a copy of Trail Runner magazine. it has a story in there that i wrote last season about racing, training, biking and traveling in europe. also megan lund is on the cover who´s a lot cuter than me on the cover.

cranmore, us mtn. running championships, nacac

2009-06-28T15:04:00.000-07:00

rickey here. just finished throwing back five pounds of pasta and double that in magic hat #9. matt erholtz has put back only half that for the record.

i raced both carpenter and joseph gray two weeks ago and was able to see a similar drive. they both have a fire that isn't so much fuled by a desire to win but rather on the hatred of losing (and by losing i mean second or beyond). joe came in third at mt. washington. from the finish of that race to the finish of today's race at mt. cranmore in new hampshire (serving as the national mtn. running championships, world championship selection race and north american, central american championships) i knew that he was going to be the man to beat. when he told me that he ran a speed workout on tuesday, while the rest of us were tapering, i knew it for sure.

the two lap course was an improvement from the one that paul kirsch put together a couple years ago... which is to say less masochistic and more competitive.

the field started off at a decent pace, many of the leaders dropping off after a couple kilometers. by the top of the first of two laps all the usual suspects were present. simon g., eric blake, joe gray, shiloh mielke, myself, zac freudenburg and matt byrne. joe led the downhill followed by zac, simon and myself. shiloh displayed the downhill running skills that earned him a top 30 spot at the world trophy two years ago in switzerland by passing me and several others. i can say, without hesitation, that he is the fastest runner on any tretcherous downhill that i have ever seen.

going into the second lap i was able to reel in shiloh, simon and matt but not zack or joe. joe had the race won by this point and i was concentrating on a top-three spot that would secure a spot on the u.s. mtn. running team for the world championships in italy on september 6th. i wanted to put as much distance on shiloh as possible as i knew that the gap between us would only shrink from the top to the finish - it was only a matter of turning it into gap large enough that he wouldn't be able to close it in time. matt and i ran the descent together for sometime before he pulled away.

i was able to maintain my fourth place position through the finish (winning a watch for finishing closest to my bib number - 5), missing a secure spot on the team to matt byrne by 4 seconds. overall, i was pleased with how the race played out. i felt a little flat going in to the race, i think as a result of the amount of racing i've been doing in the past month and the heavy training i was doing before that. i was especially surprised and pleased with the results of both zac f. and matt b. as they were the fifth and sixth men on the team last year in switzerland. closet trainers.

the fourth and fifth members will be selected at the Cheyenne Canon Mountain Race in Colorado Springs on july 26th. the sixth spot will be selected by team managers with input from the team itself. whether i get selected for that spot or not i will either be in italy to cheer the team on or to race. either way it's gonna be a good time.

great event!! i hope to put up some photos of the event in the next week.

we need more race reports from the women!

for more reports check out:
http://ddmountainrunr.blogspot.com/
http://www.usmrt.com/
http://www.whitemountainmilers.com/cranmore/
http://brandyerholtz.blogspot.com

and... and... props to the western states organizers for up-to-the-minute updates. congrats to anita ortiz!

"there is only one hill"

2009-06-22T09:29:00.000-07:00

There is no race that I've run that can compare to Mount Washington. 7.6 miles with nearly 5000 vertical feet of elevation gain. The brutality of it lies entirely in consistency since the race director, Bob Teschek, is entirely right: "there is only one hill". Colorado offers roads with steeper climbs and more net gain but nothing that compares to a steady %11.5 grade for nearly 8 miles.

That's only the mountain. The competition has traditionally drawn one of the most elite crowds in American Mountain Running. Top finishers over the years have included world champions Jonathan Wyatt, Jay Johnson, Anna Pichrtova and other notables: Dave Dunham, Matt Carpenter, Daniel Kihara, Derek Froude... the list goes on. This year the list was no less notable: 2 time winner - Eric Blake, 3 time winner - Simon Gutierrez, Joe Gray (who beat me two weeks ago in the Teva Mtn. Games 10k), all-American and fellow Aspen native - Jon Severy, US Mtn. Running Team member - Matt Byrne... the list goes on.

The race started off per usual - with Simon well off in front. Severy tried to psyche out the field by cracking jokes and foaming at the pits. I took the lead from Gutierrez after the first mile and one mile past that, only Eric Blake and myself remained at the front. The two times that I've run this race before, I've watched Eric pull away from myself and the rest of the field around mile five. Listening to his breath, I knew that I would have to pull away from him early on. By the third mile I put a lead on Blake. The clouds provided an interesting element that I've not dealt with before in this race. You could not see much further than 100 feet ahead or behind, turning the race into more of mind game than I've ever had to deal with. I could never really be sure how far ahead of Blake I remained. The plus side of this coin was, of course, that Blake never really knew how far ahead I was.

I ran through the half way mark in 28:55 which put me on track for a sub-hour finish... just barely. My left Achilles started to flare up slightly which, though it never slowed me down, added immensely to the mental aspect of the race. I was constantly thinking that it might seize up completely and I'd have to deal with a poor finish, or worse - DNF. The problem remained at bay as I focused completely on holding my form.

By mile six the course finally made it's way above the blanket of clouds and I doubt there was anybody in the race in so much pain that they couldn't appreciate the view. You really did feel like you were in an airplane. With only a 1/2 mile to go, I knew that I had the race won. I eased up on my pace slightly, not thinking about the time. With 150 meters to go a friend from the side line yelled "20 seconds!!". I had forgotten about the 60 minute time bonus. Sprinting up the 22% final grade, I watched as the clock ticked 59:53 54 55 56. I crossed the finish line with two seconds to spare, to become the fifth man, second American to ever break the 60 minute barrier.

    1   1/129  Rickey Gates              28 M Boulder         CO              2   59:58  7:54
   2   2/129  Eric Blake                30 M New Britain     CT BAA          1 1:01:19  8:04
   3   3/129  Joseph Gray               25 M Lakewood        WA TEAM INO     3 1:02:35  8:15
   4   4/129  Matthew Byrne             34 M Scranton        PA              5 1:02:45  8:16
   5   1/93   Simon Gutierrez           43 M Alamosa         CO TEVA / S     4 1:04:16  8:28
   6   5/129  Jonathan Severy           27 M Winooski        VT NYAC        15 1:05:09  8:35
   7   6/129  Tommy Manning             33 M Colorado Spring CO NMC         38 1:05:47  8:40
   8   1/81   Jason Bryant              36 M Elkin           NC LA SPORT    16 1:06:13  8:43
   9   7/129  Matthew Russell           26 M Boulder         CO CMS         25 1:06:19  8:44
  10   2/93   Francis Burdett           44 M Worcester       MA CMS        142 1:06:39  8:47

                               *******  TOP 10 WOMEN OVERALL  *******
Place Div Name                      Ag S City            St Team     Race# Time    Pace 
===== === ========================= == = =============== == ======== ===== ======= =====
   1   1 Brandy Erholtz            31 F Bailey          CO             W1 1:10:53  9:20
   2   1 Tara Cardi                40 F East Greenwich  RI NARRA       W8 1:19:52 10:31
   3   2 Jennifer Campbell         26 F Newmarket       NH CRC        W72 1:20:58 10:40
   4   3 Alison Bryant             30 F Elkin           NC             W2 1:22:08 10:49
   5   2 Lisa Goldsmith            44 F Nederland       CO LA SPORT  W133 1:24:58 11:11
   6   4 Abby Mahoney              31 F Holyoke         MA CMS        W29 1:25:05 11:12
   7   1 Cathy Pearce              46 F Chelmsford      MA WHIRL       W5 1:26:29 11:23
   8   1 Tara Breed                38 F Englewood       CO            W17 1:27:33 11:32
   9   1 Donna Smyers              51 F Adamant         VT CVR        W27 1:28:01 11:35
  10   2 Suzy West                 46 F Putney          VT CSU        W14 1:28:34 11:40

video finish: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PWkqm-qLMP8

photos: (AP Photo/Gil Talbot), Dave Dunham

Coming up on Sunday I will be competing against much of the same field (and then some) at the Cranmore Hill Climb/USA & NACAC Mountain Running Championships in North Conway, NH. After that... EUROPE!!!

2009-01-08T10:41:00.000-08:00

Here is a video that I made about my summer in Europe. You can find a higher quality version of this on youtube.

Music by Broken Social Scene.

Marathon

2008-10-21T05:24:00.002-07:00

I understand fulfilling the curiosity of running a marathon once. I'll never understand running a marathon a second time.

I wasn't able to pass up the invitation to run a marathon in Chianti. Free room, meals and entry for a race that weaves its way through the rolling hills of Tuscany. On the Wednesday before the race, sick in bed, being fed potions by Ben's grandmother (bless her), I though maybe I shouldn't. By friday evening I was better. Twelve hours later I was feeling fine only fifteen kilometers (marathon: 42k) into the race (everybody feels good, fifteen k in) and by 30 I was wondering if I'd finish. By 35k I started using tactics that I never though I'd appreciate: "Come on Rickey. You can do it. Just seven more k to go. Come on. It's not so bad. Come on Rickey," as opposed to the normal violent and obsene approach that I usually employ. At 37k I saw the kilometer marker "37 kilometers." "Come on Rickey. 5k to go. Just 5k. Just 5k. Just 5k. Just 5k." If you've run a marathon, you'd understand this. After a kilometer passed I saw another kilometer marker ahead. When it came within my bleary-eyed grasp: "37 kilometers"... that's when I wanted to cry. "37 kilometers" (think four-year-old whining and crying) "but you just said 37 kilometers. i can't run five more kilometers." the tears welled up and almost fell.... Luckly I found out it was a typo. "39 kilometers." I just barely held off the two runners behind me, battling what sincerely felt like broken femurs, dislocated hips and crushed feet, for third place.

Really the race was wonderful. At one point I was headed down a dirt road with an olive grove off to my right, a vineard off to my left and the many towers of Sienna up ahead, mixed amongs the layers of hills that Tuscany is so well known for. Up above - a blue Tuscan sky and a recently waning moon. Later on, a mile long corridor of cypris trees (33k into the race... how dreadful to see first, second, fourth and fifth before and behind me). Hunters in their German camoflauge with their spaniels, gun shots, cobblestones, red soil and "dai, dai, dai!!")

Since I was unable to walk today, I biked the fifty-five miles from Sienna(ish) to Florence. Thinking that my past 24 hours called for a bed rather than a thermarest, I've decided to stay in a hostel for the first time this summer... no comment.

No more running for the trip. Little biking. Ben and I plan on meeting up in Paris, then traveling on to Spain and maybe Morroco. I've sent in my absentee ballot and will return to the States mid-November.

Croatia

2008-10-21T05:24:00.001-07:00

I didn't turn away a free ride from the race director from Lublijana to Croatia. My first night was spent just outside the city of Riyeka, on a presipice, ten feet from the crashing waves. In the morning I rode to the island of Krk (yeah, Croatians don't feel the same need for vowels as the rest of us). Getting advice from two people on how to get a ferry to the next island, I chose the wrong one and ended up back tracking 20 miles in the dusk, leading me to another campsite, again, ten feet from the crashing waves. In the morning I biked from sea level to nearly 5,000 feet, through the fall colors, limestone and oaktrees (there were none on the islands since the Venitians took them to build Venice).

I biked and camped for the next two nights in the mountains. Things I learned - just because a lumberjack sees you coming, doesn't mean that he won't fall a tree directly in your path, seconds in front of you. And, sausage can be eaten for breakfast, brunch, lunch, linner, dinner and dessert.

Split - beautiful. Met a 89 year-old man with a stronger grip than me (that doesn't say much). He told me about biking through Italy after the second world war for three years and six days. Our meeting ended with me loosing an arm wrestling match.

I caught the boat from Split to Ancona, Italy overnight. I cooked pasta on the outskirts of town at 9am at the edge of a roundabout: best breakfast ever. It took two days to ride to the small, hill-top town of Casperia where my friend Ben's uncle owns an appartment. My instructions on how to get to the appartment were "go up the hill, veer left, number 24." In response, my instructions on where to find me: "arriving sunday afternoon. i'll be in the plaza drinking beer." I won. Ben found me around sunset on sunday with a pint in my hand, talking Spitalian to a young couple from Rome and their Venezuelan friend.

Kaputt

2008-10-21T05:16:00.000-07:00

It would appear as though I used every last ounce of energy at the world trophy.

I arrived in Bergen, Germany amidst the cold rain, fall colors, Oktoberfest and fleet of runners hoping to improve upon a World Trophy result that I was already proud of. The race director, Bibi, not knowing exactly which hotel to put me up in, decided last minute on the Gasthause Bibihoff... his own house, that is. Four star, four diamond with his wife, Rosie's cooking and his daughter Barbara's translating.

A test run of the course led me to believe that the race would go well, if not great.

A small canon started the race off forcing us to run immediately through a large cloud of burnt black powder. My legs felt heavy as they often do at the begining of a race. And they continued to feel so for the duration of the race. I finished 14th.One place worse than in the World Trophy and what would equate to five minutes further back. An accordian played a sad, sad song as I crossed the finish line.

Bibi asked why I was biking around from race to race. "for training?" he asked. jokingly, I pulled the inside of my pockets out revealing nothing more than lint and a couple ibuprofine and said "not for training. for no money." he found this hilarious and gave me 20 euro for pizza and two beers.

Following the pizza and two beers (and a grappa bought by an old Bavarian - Casper) I wandered back to Bibi's house. As I was entering, Rosie, on her way out, grabbed me and dragged me the two blocks to the ski shed at the base of the ski mountain. At about the time I thought I should protest, she opened the door to reveal a mini-Oktoberfest. Bibi, the accordian player and eight other blond-haired, blue-eyed locals sitting around, drinking beer, eating sausage, having a grand ol' time. A small herd of deer heads decorated the walls above us while a stuffed crow watched harmoniously over us on a case of beer stacked seven levels high.

In the morning, at the flee market on the outskirts of town, I found a two point deer skeleton to keep me company for the remainder of my journey. Like all of my decapitated animal friends - York is his name. He sits on the front of the bike, ensuring a sure, quick and gruesome death should I crash in that direction.

The ride from Bavaria to Slovenia was incredible. Fall colors and perfect weather. Camping at the edge of alfalfa fields and Lake Bled (how romantic). Eating lots of musli and yogurt, and chasing it with Austrian fire water decorated with grizzled Austrian backwoodsmen etc.

The Slovenian race revealed much of the same, but due to the wretched amount of downhill, I finished 13th rather than 14th. Lucky for me it was a Grand Prix finale... (The Grand Prix is an organized group of mountain races in Europe where you earn points for your finishing places - 100 for first, 90 for second etc. This race, being the grand finale, earned more points). Due to the drop off of competitors after fifth place, my thirteenth place finish combined with my third place finish at Telfes, Austria earned me a thirteenth place finish in the overall Grand Prix. 13th place, twice in one day... how luck am I!

2008-09-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

I doubt that anybody checks this anymore since I've, stopped adding posts, so I'll just write to myself for a few paragraphs....

I made the trip from Norway back to Italy where I raced the very next week. I came in 9th at Susa which is nothing to complain about by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly not where I was only a few weeks earlier while competing in Austria and Slovenia. I raced as hard as my body would allow which really didn't even leave me tired following the race. Symptom - Past the Peak. It happens to all of us if we push ourselves long enough. You race well. You race well again. You begin to feel indistructible and then the next week, you start to slip. Maybe it was just a bad race. Then the following week the same, but worse. Susa was the third week in a row of slipping back. Feeling like I was loosing fitness even though my training was the same, my diet was the same, etc.. I had the same feeling last year. My solution was to slow everything down since I thought that my body was exhausted and simply needed a rest. When that didn't work, I complained to my friend Martin, who has been at this much longer than I have. He told me that I had it opposite. When the going gets tough, you have to pick up the miles.

So that's what I did. I refrained from biking from race to race. I took the train to Geneva and have been basing myself from here for the past month. My good friend Jess (who rode Rocinante back from South America to the States for me) left his door open to me to come and go at will. For three weeks I ran morning and night (something I have never bothered doing). Where my normal weeks consist of maybe 50-65 miles, I up-ed the distance to 90-ish. My initial worry was that my body would not be able to cope with the new work load, just a couple days in, I found that my summer of biking, training and racing has only increased its risiliance. I trained in Chamonix for a little while - running up to many of the beautiful lookouts that the valley has to offer. After training in Chamonix I traveled the short distance into Switzerland for ten days. I competed in a 'cheese race' near where the world trophy was held the week before the race. I came in third overall which did not earn me any cheese at all even though I wanted and deserved a wheel all to myself (placing in the overall group eliminated me from my age group - where the big cheese is won). I instead got sausage and a loaf of bread that had the consistancy of dark matter. From there, I traveled the short distance to Crans-Montana where the World Trophy was being held only a few days later. Since I arrived a few days before the free lodging was available, I camped at the edge of town and made the best of my time by reading, pacing, contemplating watches and swiming in the beautiful lakes. The rest of the American team finally arrived and we set off to preview the course.

The general consensus was that there was too much flat and not enough dirt for it to be considered a 'mountain course' but my thoughts on the matter were that everybody has to run the same course. Just like the weather - people want good weather, or rain, cloud cover, mud, sun, wind. In the end, everybody has to run the same course and you just compete against eachother and the elements together.

Come race day, the discussion of the lack of vertical or the amount of pavement to be found on the World Trophy course was lost amidst the steal grey drisle, the gasping for air, the perfectly planted rows of pinot noir bulging for the harvest and the ever-present thwoping of the helicopter blades just overhead. Still early enough in the race, the unbroken stream of runners worked its way up the mountain side -red, green, white, yellow, blue, black- jersies from thirty-nine countries. With the strongest men's team ever represented by the United States, I found myself in the top fifth of the field within meters of all five of my teammates. I knew we had a strong team before the trophy - my qualifying time up Mount Washington which earned me a 25th place finish in Turkey would have placed me behind all five of my teammates this year (and then some).

Simon lead the pack for the first couple kilometers. Eric Blake took over from there, then Joe Gray and then myself. I was most happy to see our fifth and sixth men, Matt Byrne and Zack Freudenberg so close. In the past, our team has fallen off at the third and fourth man. Joe and I stuck close together for much of the middle section of the course where, true enough, the terrain was reminiscent more of a road/cross country course than a mountain race. I fed off of Joe, knowing that his recent track background would keep his legs moving faster than mine were accostomed to. When the climbing started up again, I took the lead for the American men and the spectators off the side informed me of my 13th place position.
Half way.
The pain was more intense than any other race I've run. I've felt that bad before within meters of the finish, but not 30 minutes from the finish. I stayed focused and tried to think of nothing other than the runners in front of me. The leaders of the race were within view only minutes earlier which told me that I was either making a big mistake and would eventually blow up or that the extra miles had indeed paid off. Again, I found myself battling with the Cani Morti from Italy. The Hirsuit Mufloni. The well-thatched pelt of Marco Gaiardo. We'd gone at it twice already this year. His season is as long as mine and I know that he must be just as tired. For half an hour I focused on his shoes trotting along one foot infront of me. I watched an Engish runner pass us and two minutes later come sailing back. One of the three runners from Uganda also came flying back (the first was stunted by the very first hill). I would not pass the Cani Morti because I could not. I was asking so much more of my body just to be near him.

I crossed the line in 12th place - 2:17 seconds behind the winning time of Jonathon Wyatt. Within moments Joe was behind me, then Eric, then Simon, Zack and Matt. Simon looked dissapointed from his 25th place finish, but when an official came out of the timing van by the finish line and held three fingers in the air, indicating our third place finish, he was all smiles.
It has meant so much to me to medal for the US. To 'lead' the team is a completly different feeling - one I can't claim to have ever felt before. For the past several years, running has been about me and only me. I don't mean this as a form of ego (though I don't deny that aspect of it), but rather that it is something that exhists more in my mind than anywhere else. It has taken me places that I never thought I'd go. I. Me. I. Me. Never Us. But then it was Us and I knew that it was good.

Anna Pichrtova was kind enough to transport a six liter bottle of champagne 1/2 way across Europe for me to the sight of the World Trophy. Two months ago, something inside me told me that there would be a good reason for sharing it. It was consumed by the American in half the time that it took to run the race.
I took this past weekend off from running and traveled to London wonderful friend Bri instead. She gets the blue ribbon for Americans guiding Americans around London. This coming weekend I'll face many of the same top guys in Bavaria, and again in Slovenia the week after. I'll be riding my bike again - getting from race to race and then hopefully a trip down the coast of Croatia.

Norway

2008-08-22T08:08:00.000-07:00

Christian Prestegard picks me up at the bus stop outside Oslo and we immediately start on the five hour drive to Turtagro where the first of two races will take place that I have been invited to in Norway. The time in the car gives him plenty of time to tell me all about the mountain racing scene here in Norway, it's recent birth and growth and much about Jon Tvedt - Norway's greatest mountain runner. "He has an incredible capacity," Christain says. Being the number man that he is, this "incredible capacity" is accompanied by an oppresive number of statistics: 94 VO2 Max, 29:00 1ok, #4 in the world for orienteering, and the number of races that he has won, year after year, in mountain running here in Norway, each of them by five, ten even fifteen minutes. We stop along the way to do some "marketing" as Christian says which means stapling posters of Jon Tvedt and the dates of certain races to power-line poles in the middle of Nowhere, Norway.

At 9:30pm we arrive in Turtagro to run the first part of the course. At 10:30 we're back at the car and the sun is just going down. It's finally dark by 11:15 only to be light again a few hours later.

The first of the two races starts off at 800m/2400ft, going flat for 4k and then climbing steep (20%-35%) for 4.5k to finish off at 2064m/6300ft. Jon Tvedt proves his strength by taking the race out from the start and finishing first, two minutes ahead of my second place finish. At one point during the flat section of the course, I watched from 10m back as he ran around a small, but impermeable, herd of cattle. The schrubs tripped him up and he dissapeared into the thick of the bushes for what seemed like several seconds. I have to admit to being a little dissapointed when he poked his head back up and retained his position.

Checking out of hotel and paying my tab I am shocked to see that the total for my three beers that I consumed over three days added up to $54.00. No typo. So begins my Norweigen beer fast.

Another five hours in the car with Christian gives him even more time to talk about Norweigen Mountain Running. He is the self-proclaimed father of mountain running in Norway (to his credit, Jon Tvedt happens to agree) and is no less than incessant with his calls to the radio, television, newspapers, magazines and websites... exactly what the sport needs in every country asspiring to achieve what only a few nations have in the sport of mountain running. He knows that access to money is one of the biggest draws to any sport, and the next race has this and more.

We arrive at the Alexandria Hotel in Loen, Norway. longest fjords in Norway, this five star hotel has everything I've ever needed to slow me downSituated only 50 feet from one of the and make me fat: a spa with three different saunas, six aromatherapy showers, five hot tubs, a water slide and my personal favorite, the cold bath (fed directly from a 40° underground spring). The buffett leaves me not wanting for even a waffer, thin minty and a constant supply of coffee returns me to my normal quota of 5-10 cups per day.

Tuesday. I run the course finding it even more difficult than the last. 1800m/6000ft climb over only 8k/5miles. The record, held by Jon Tvedt, stands at 1:08.37 which after running the course in preparation, I take very seriously. After getting down from the summit of Skala, where the race will finish on Saturday, the owner of the hotel asks if I'd like to fill a spot in the helicopter that's headed right back up to the summit with supplies for the race. A five minute helicopter ride later and I find myself right back on top of the mountain. Little did I know that I'd have to walk the 6000ft back down again.

Race day. Several of us have our mind set on one thing in this race and that is the 25,000kr to win and 35,000kr for breaking the record for a total of about $12,000.00 (enough to pay off my student loans and put a new engine in my volkswagon bus). There is Jon Tvedt... and also there is Jonothan Wyatt. Wyatt is the gold standard in the world of running... or absolute zero, which is to say something that you can approach but not achieve. He is used as a gauge for most of the top runners to see where there fitness lies. It's not uncommon to hear runners talking about their achievments (with a great amount of pride, might I add) as "two minutes back from Jono," "five minutes back from Wyatt," etc.. He races smart. He has ten years of mountain running experience behind him, two Olympic teams and list of PR's showing just how well rounded he is as a runner.

Jono is a minute ahead by kilometer two and I am out of the race. My only hope is to maintain my fourth position, but the circulation in my legs is so restrained, I know it can only be one thing, with only one cure. I stop, hunch over and begin working on untieing the bullet-proof double-knots in my shoes. I've made the same amatuer mistake before - tying my shoes too tight. One runner passes me, another one and another. By the time I get them loosened to how I want them, I've fallen back to eighth place and nothing to do but start realing them back in again. With only two kilometers to go, I've recaptured fifth place, but the Norweigen at my heels shows no sign of pulling up. Through massive boulders where the running appears more like hopscotch as you jump from rock to rock, landing, regaining your balance, looking for the next rock, I have to wonder what the front of the race is looking like. Jono is fast, but Jon Tvedt is capable of running all out through a boulder field like this. On to the steepest section, where for the first time in my life, I am forced to walk in a race, I finally manage to shake the Norweigen from my tail. Joseph Gray, who will also be racing the Mountain Running Trophy in Switzerland, finish fifteen seconds ahead of me.

The race between Jon Tvedt and Jono was apparently quite exciting as Tvedt took the lead just past the boulders where I had resorted to walking. The last 800meters though were flat enough for Wyatt to take back the lead and win the race with a ten second margin, but missing the record by only four seconds (four very costly seconds). The race organizer has added an additional $2,000.oo to next years purse and hopes for it to be up to $20,000.00 in just a few years time.

Another great meal at the Hotel Alexandria and a good night's sleep before heading back to Oslo and then on to Italy.

Back in Italy. My bottom does not take kindly to the bike saddle's return. Maybe it's the Piedmonte heat or the complete lack of padding (fat) that my toosh has assumed. I stubournly leave my shirt off all day while I'm on the bike and suffer a severe burn up and down my backside that has got me sleeping on my stomach for several days.

I have the wonderful opportunity to ride through the Barolo wine region of Italy - famous for some of Italy's highest quality (and hence, most expensive) wines. I drink what's given to me, then pass out face down on the bed.

A train ride (or rather three) brings me to the very place where this post is being written: Susa, Italy: home of one of the great mountain races in Europe. Beyond being a great predictor of how one might run three weeks later at Worlds, it is simply one of the greatest courses one can find in mountain running. The start takes you through the town of Susa, beneath Roman arches and over cobblestone streets. From there you go up through another small town and onto a rocky path that climbs and climbs through the notoriously hot Italian heat. Into the trees, you begin to pass through the section of the course that maintains the reason the course has been held for the past 25 years. In this section, a battle was fought between the underground Italian army and the Germans in 1944. The Italians won and the race is a commemoration of thier victory and the soldiers that died. The race finishes on 3k of flat dirt road.

Here with me is a complete American team (3 members for this race). Simon Gutierrez who boasts the fastest American time for the course and the 16th fastest time ever, Joseph Gray and myself.

Slovenia into Italy. Race in Austria. On to Norway.

2008-08-05T06:17:00.000-07:00

I reluctanly peddled away from the base of the the Grintovec mountain in Slovenia with a hangover and tired legs... not so much from the 6000 vertical foot ascent of the mountain, as the 6000 foot descent of the mountain. This is not uncommon for many of the mountain races here in Europe. Finish the race having given it your all. Turn around and walk down.

Biking the short distance through northern Slovenia towards Italy, I at first encountered another touring cyclist who measured two heads taller than me and about 100 pounds heavier. Max and I rode together for few hours before I left him in the dust on the ascent up and over a bridge. Only a short while later on the same day a different Slovenian cyclist rode up beside me and began talking. We rode and talked for the next couple hours. Roman was a policeman for several years before switching over to being a fireman. He bought me a beer in the next town and even offered to watch my bike while went into the market for some grocery shopping (pringles and beer). I camped that night in the Triglav National Park at the base of Slovenia's tallest mountain.

It took two more days of hard biking over one more Slovenian pass and several Italian passes to finally reach Telfes, Austria by Thursday evening. I worried up until the morning of the race on Sunday whether my legs would "switch over" from biking to running. Walking up the stairs they felt heavy and tired. Waking in the morning they were sore and every once in a while a muscle would cinch up without any warning.

The race: Up one of the many ski hills in the Stubai Valley just outside of Insbruck - 1300m/4000ft ascent over 10.5k/6.5miles. The profile didn't bother me so much as the start list. In Europe there is a "Grand Prix" for mountaia running - about five races over the course of the summer in Austria, Germany, Slovenia and sometimes Italy and Switzerland. Many of the best mountain runners show up to race, accumulate points and by the end of the season the person with the most amount of points wins the overall grand prix. The men's field included Jonothan Wyatt (#1 NZ), Marco Gaiardo (#2 Italy), Marcus Kroell (#1 Austria), Robert Krupicka (#1 Czeck Republic), and other top runners from France, Poland, Slovenia and Switzerland.

The race started off somewhat fast as the lead group (which I was hardly a part of) weaved through Metropolitan Telfes (pop. 570), into the wheat fields and to the base of the mountain. At the third kilometer I was in 11th place. My legs "switched over" shortly after and as we left the trees and moved into the meadow that marks the halfway point I found myself in second place, ten meters ahead of Marco Gaiardo. We exchanged places several times over the second half of the race. Approaching the final 50 meters of the race he had a good lead on me which I was nearly successful in closing but ended up losing by less than a second and settled for third place.

They served Kaiserschmarrn which is Germana for chopped pancakes with fruit preserves (apple sause). I had three servings. Then walked down. I traveled by train from Insbruck to Bolzano where I stayed with a friend who collects the following: barbed wire, letters (as in A, C, G etc.), bottles, mountaineering books, creamer tops, alpine club identification cards, beer mugs, climbing helmets, ice axes, pins and other things.

I'm at a different friend's house now about 80k away at the base of some of Italy's highest mountains. His beautiful house is converted from an old (in Europe, old is very old) hay barn - doors from the 1600's, a stove from the early 1800's etc. Tomorrow I leave for Bergamo where I will stay with an Italian family that I met last year. The father bailed out the US team for a Sky Relay race by running the marathon portion for us. And on Thursday I will travel to Norway for two races over the next couple of weeks. These races start deep in the fjords - one actually at sea level and finish high up on the nearby mountain tops.

The biking is keeping me very fit and allowing me to consume several thousands of calories per day. I'm regularly eating a half quart of yogurt in the morning mixed together with musli as part of my complete breakfast.

Thank you for the posts and e-mails. I appologize if I am not keeping in touch with people all that well. It is very difficult for me to get to a computer here.

Bike arrives... 500k of biking. 2 Races.

2008-07-29T00:21:00.000-07:00

Where do I begin...

July 17th

My bike arrives a day after I do. I put the pieces together. Everything fits. Nothing broken. I ride through costums (quite literally) where they don't even bother to check my passport. The days of stamps in Europe are a thing of the past apparantly. Swiss Air reinburses me 150 swiss francs for my inconveniences which pays for my night in Zurich and the train on to Austria.

My first ride is at 7pm. Rain. I wake in the morning. Put my bike on the train for about 40k, getting off at the begining of the Grossglockner Highway. Only 40k to go to Heiligenblut - the sight of the first mountain race that I competed in last year and again this year. I failed to look at the map and quickly found myself riding up a 15% grade that would go on for over eight miles. Four hours later I finally arrive at the hotel - fall asleep on the bed still in my bike clothes. Martin Cox - a good friend and accomplished mountain runner of ten years arrives a few hours later. 'This isn't a suite. They promised us a bloody suite.' I'm not complaining though.

July 20th

'Hup, hup, hup! Bravo! Soupair!' The Austrian fans are staggered throughout the 13k course, chearing, clapping, giving out their own water to the athletes. I am in the same position I was last year for this race. 4th place, battling with Marcus Kroll - the number one Austrian mountain runner (he has his own line of running socks). Just like last year, I am leading, pushing the pace and he is only a step behind. I love races like this. It feels as close to a boxing match as I might ever know first hand. Last year, with only 500m to go (and 250 vertical meters, I might add) Marcus left me in the dust. I was told after the race that you should never let it come down to a steep climb with Marcus. He is much too talented. So, as we are approaching the final climb again, him and I, I essentially forfeited my position. But to my surprise, he does not take it. He falls back little by little and before I realise it, I have a 30 second lead over him. I take 4th again, like last year, behind the usual suspects of European mountain running - Jonathon Wyatt from New Zealand (who not only wins nearly every race, but also owns the course record for nearly every big mountain race in Europe), Marco Gaiardo from Italy and Robert Krupicka of the Czeck Republic. My time is a full four minutes faster than last years time. The race organizers ask about Merritt who was with me last year for this race - weloming us both back to the event again next year.

July 23rd

Its a three day ride onto Slovenia from Grossglockner. I find myself enjoying the leisurely pace that is mandatory with touring. 15mph if you're really pushing it. Up mountain passes, I've looked at the speedometer noticing 7... 6 kph. Usually I don't bother converting this into mph as it can get rather depressing... but about 4 mph is about right.

The first night out of Grossglockner I manage to find a window/cave halfway through a backroads tunnel just big enough to lay out my sleeping bag. Not a car passed through the entire night and just below me I had the roaring of a high mountain stream going past. The next night I find a nice flat spot just off the 7th hole of a golf course to pitch my tent. I pray through the night that the Austrians are as good at golfing as they are at skiing... at least enough to not hit a stray shot into the tent.

The border through to Slovenia was anticlimatic - half way through a one mile long tunnel, which was nice only for the break in the rain. As I begin riding through Slovenia and at first only want to cover some ground, I get on the super-highway only to be pulled over by a the police a few kilometers down the road. He gets out of his car and already I can see the broken english being chewed around in his mouth. He gives me a verbal lashing then sends me on my way... off the highway.

By the end of the day I arrive at the race sight for the next race - Grintovec. 10k in length and 2000 meter climb. This is like going climbing Pikes Peak from Manitoe Springs in six miles rather than 13.

July 28th

I took the race out from the start and had only a Polish runner at the front matching my lead. One quarter of the way into the race he falls off my pace and by half way I knew that I had the win. The race was delayed five minutes as the organizers waited for a weather forcast from the airport to let them know if it was okay to finish the race on the top of the mountain - the traditional finish line. As I topped out with 40% of the race left to go, I could see why the weather is so important. No roads, no chairlifts. Nothing. Once you finish, you have to turn around and walk/run back down. Luckly there was a man at the top with a bottle of snapps for me to nip off of before the descent.

In addition to the prize money, I was awarded a six liter bottle of Slovenian sparkling wine - that's the equivalent to eight bottles. Luckly a friend has a car and will be able to take it to the next race sight where many more runners will be able to help me drink it.

i've arrived... my luggage however...

2008-07-16T11:44:00.000-07:00

it's not the first time i've stood at the luggage carosel after all the bags have quite clearly been unloaded, hoping that one more bag (ie. mine) might make it's way on to the conveyor belt. the large cardboard box containing my trek 520 is likely to be in chicago while i am in zurich. hum. i've made the best of it though and checked into a hostel here. i changed into my short shorts and ran around the city. people were out barbequeing, swimming, eating and drinking. i came across an accordion player performing the rachmaninov 3rd piano concerto under a bridge in town. i think that with enough practice, he might some day be able to play as well as i.

okay. say a prayer for my bike... where ever it is in the world. that it may sprout a pair of winds and meet me soon.

leaving for europe...

2008-07-14T13:09:00.000-07:00

i’m writing this from the laundry-mat in boulder, waiting for my last load of clean clothes for the next few months. my bike is boxed up and i said a special prayer for it so that it might arrive in zurich on wednesday unscathed. a final massage earlier today. two new pairs of running shoes. a flask of mezcal. good to go.