Tag Archives: enjoyment

Catch That Sunrise

My feet flew as I barreled down the singletrack, trying to keep an eye on the runners ahead while dodging rocks and roots and stepping on slippery leaves. I’d never run this trail before, it was still a bit dark, and I was fully focused on trying not to become a casualty.

Finally we reached the bottom and emerged onto a paved path for a short segment. The lead runners stopped to let the rest of us catch up.

“Did you all catch the sunrise?” one of them asked us.

It was 7 a.m. in Fayetteville, Arkansas, and I was at the U.S. Trail Running Conference. This event includes a morning trail run before sessions begin. And thus a bunch of us, including a couple of pro trail runners, had set off into the woods in dim dawn light.

We agreed we’d all run together. Well, “together” is a subjective word. Before long I was alone, between the pros and the less ambitious who wanted to take it easier. It was either slow way down or try to keep the leaders in sight. I chose the latter and succeeded, mostly. It was all downhill for the first part, and I was way out of my comfort zone.

Catch the sunrise? Hell, it had been all I could do just to stay vertical. I’d had zero opportunity to catch what was happening around me. From that point we went uphill, so things were harder physically but easier mentally, and I had time to appreciate the beautiful woods we were running through. Which is one main reason why I run trails.

Another trail run, same conference. Had more time to enjoy it this time.

More than any other activity I do, trail running forces me to be in the moment. In addition to studying the trail terrain and trying not to get lost, I need to be body aware. How are my legs feeling? Am I breathing evenly, or too fast? Do I need water, or salt, or fuel?

When the mind strays is when bad things happen. Most of my falls on a trail have happened on level ground when I’ve zoned out a little. This includes last January’s snowshoe 5K, when I successfully navigated the singletrack’s hairpin turns and quick elevation changes, only to face plant twice on the wide, groomed straightaway a quarter mile from the finish line.

That said, in training runs, and even in a large part of trail races, there is time to look at the beauty around me and remember why I’m out there in the first place. At the Grandmaster Ultra 50 last February, just after I left an aid station the trail led into a valley. But I had to stop before the descent and just gaze at the scene that opened before me, a wide vista consisting of the valley floor, the mountains in the distance, and the myriad of colors everywhere.

Stark but stunning. (Pictured: Chris, who I ran with most of the way.)

I don’t have a photo of it, but one wouldn’t even come close to doing it justice. It was worth the couple of minutes standing there taking it all in. That race in particular I was “in the moment” a lot. Desert running will do that, with the scenery and its demands on the body. I was so grateful to have run that race, and others. They reset my perspective.

Do we focus on being in the moment in our regular lives? It’s so easy to get caught up in the thousand little things we “have to” get done that day, or what we have coming up, or reliving what happened the day or the week before. It can clutter up our minds so much we forget to feel alive. And while every moment is a gift, it’s a fleeting gift. It’s here, and it’s gone. So don’t forget to use it.

And take the opportunity to catch the sunrise now and then.

A Smaller Bigfoot, and Call for BHAG Ideas

I WUZ THIS CLOSE.

All this year I’ve had it in my mind that 2020 was going to feature my first 200-mile race. And I had it picked out: the Bigfoot 200 in August, in Washington State.

I’d already started the process; I told my wife and coach, and lined up a tentative crew with our friends on the West Coast. And as the race requires eight hours of trail work beforehand, I signed up to volunteer with the Friends of the Sleeping Bear Heritage Trail here in Michigan.

All set! I just needed to wait until registration opened and push the button. Then would begin a year’s worth of training to get ready.

Well, it didn’t happen quite that way.

Registration for the 2020 Bigfoot 200 opened late last month. There was even a substantial “early bird” discount. I went to the website and dutifully went through the course map, runner instructions, disclaimers, and other stuff they want you to read before registering.

This is good advice. Bigfoot is far different from any other ultra I’ve been involved with. For example, the Veterans Memorial 150, while no walk in the park, passes through several towns and has easy crew access most of the way.

Lest you think civilization makes 150 miles easy…

Bigfoot is 200 miles in the middle of nowhere with little or no cell phone service, aid stations averaging over ten miles apart, and only a few locations with crew access. A GPS tracking chip and survival equipment is mandatory for runners, with good reason.

None of that phased me, though. From previous tough ultras I figured I had the physical and mental stamina to get it done. No worries! And yet, as I reached the final signup page, my fingers hesitated. Something wasn’t right. I took a break to ponder what.

Cost was certainly a factor: a $900 entry fee and travel, lodging, and meal costs on top of that. Not a showstopper – Burning Man last year cost a similar amount – but still substantial. Plus my crew would be making a multi-day commitment and traveling to locations difficult to access. It’s a lot to ask.

But it came down to basic questions I finally figured out to ask myself. Was I really looking forward to this experience? With all the effort I’d be putting into training, preparation, logistics, and actually running the silly thing, would I enjoy it?

After I finish this race I’ll tell you I enjoyed it.

The answer, to my surprise, was No. I just didn’t feel ready for it. And so I won’t be doing it next year. However, I do plan on being there.

While perusing the website I found out there are some shorter races – the “Littlefoot” series – of various distances up to 100K. The 40-miler, a loop around Mt. St. Helens, particularly appealed to me. I’ve been there and hiked some of the trail. And I can do it in a single day, leaving more time to spend with our friends. Registration doesn’t open for that one until January, but I fully intend to push the button then.

So now I need to choose another BHAG(*) race for next year. I’d like it to be a 100-miler or more, although more then one fellow runner has recommended Comrades Marathon, the infamous 12-hour, 56 miler in South Africa. I welcome reader suggestions!

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(*) BHAG = Big Hairy-A$$ Goal

This is Fun? Damn Right!

A COUPLE OF MILES into last Sunday’s trail marathon, as I wound my way along the Potawatomi Trail, a low roar of excited babble came from across the lake to the right. The guy in front of me glanced in that direction.

“Sounds like the five-milers over there,” he said, referring to the shorter race that took a different path through the woods.

“Yeah,” I replied, “but they’re not having as much fun as we are.”

He agreed. “Got that right!” The morning was sunny and cool, and the Poto was in superb condition. Why settle for a measly five miles when you could run 26.2?

Saturday’s half marathon had been gray and bleak, with the wind off the lake driving most runners to warm places elsewhere for their afterglow. Working Zero Waste afterward, I shivered with the race staff and made liberal use of the heater in the volunteer tent.

No such issues on Sunday, the kind of day you’d want for a marathon, or any kind of run. Despite some fatigue from the half, I had good energy throughout. I finished slower than last year (which I’d run on fresh legs) but as I said, I was having fun.

So what exactly is “fun” about running four-plus hours up and down a trail?

I’m sure every trail runner would answer a bit differently, but “fun” and its synonyms are prevalent in our conversations. When someone says, “I nearly died out there. I couldn’t walk for a week. It was AWESOME,” we nod and make a note to look up that race.

This couple shows the joy on Sunday. (Photo from Frog Prince Studios.)

For me last weekend, enjoyment came with “being present” in the event, where outside thoughts and worries slipped away and my world shrank to the race and the trail. Hard effort, discomfort and pain mixed with runner’s high and feeling of accomplishment. The scary thrill of nearly losing control on steep downhills. Encouraging shouts from volunteers and spectators. Sweat-soaked PB&J and cookies in sticky hands. Exchanges of “Good job!” as I pass and get passed by other runners. A surge of adrenaline cresting the final rise and seeing the finish line, sprinting the final hundred yards, and capping it off with a somersault just for the hell of it.

Cruising along the back half of the loop.

Trail Marathon Weekend remains among my favorite events. I like going to new locations and rarely repeat a trail race, but every year I go to the Poto. It’s local and low-key, with, to me, a “just right” mix of smooth running and difficult climbs and descents. Not overly rocky or rooty either, though there are places that require careful footwork. You can spot them by my face prints in the dirt.

TMW also scratches a particular itch I have to push my limits. You mean I can run both the half on Saturday and the full marathon or 50K on Sunday? And it’s called the “No Wimps” option? You sadists! Where do I sign up? (You can read here about how I graduated to this from the 5-miler.) This year I even ran an “ultra half” which you get by missing a turn and running 14 miles instead of 13.1. (I’m thinking of suggesting this become an official category.)

And the marathon has a special award, the Rogucki Trophy, for the top finisher age 50 and older. Each year the male and female winners get their names and finish times put on the trophy. As the 2017 Rogucki winner, I had a title to defend, which reason would argue for resting on Saturday instead of doing No Wimps. Reason lost. (It usually does with races.)

Nearly as famous as the Stanley Cup!

So did I successfully defend my Rogucki title this year?

My name added for 2017 (bottom left).

Well, no. Two guys in the 50-54 age group smoked me like a pork butt. The winner finished second overall in 3 hours 35 minutes, a time I wasn’t going to touch even with a month of rest and an IV line of espresso. And that’s just fine with me. Frankly, I was stressing a bit too much about it. With the pressure off, I can enjoy that I won it once, and have that much more fun next year.

And, BTW, our Zero Waste effort rocked again, with reduced overall waste and a 97 percent landfill diversion rate. That’s three straight years of winning that no one can take away!

The Sunday morning Zero Waste crew – a gaggle of Girl Scouts. They did great! I’m wearing my marathon and No Wimps medals. Wooden! Very sustainable!