Virginia Beach Distance Races 100k

(Photo Credit VA Beach Distance Races. Getting in some quicker miles early in the day)

It's been a while since I could say a race went well, or surprisingly well. All of my ultra PR's are fairly old, set between 2010 and 2012, but I knew my fitness and endurance are better now then when I set them. However, instead of improving on those I've had a lot of lackluster results due to poor strategy, not being recovered enough for races, or just being out of shape. Ultimately, I had a lot of "okay" races, but nothing that stood out.

The Virginia Beach Distance Races, the brainchild of local running guru John Price, consisted of a 50k and 100k distance. The course was designed to be fast and circled a USATF certified 2.31+ mile loop around a local golf course. The 100k would do 26 laps, plus a 1.64 mile out and back at the beginning. The 12 hour cut off was the same for both races and gave runners ample time for the 50k, but made it challenging for the 100k, which was probably why only three people finished. Though flatter than any trail ultra I have ever run, the course had enough little bumps and turns to keep you from getting lulled to sleep. For reference, the course was definitely fast, but not as fast as a typical road marathon course. Per usual for Virginia beach, we also had a stiff headwind for about a mile of each loop. To top it all off, the weather couldn't have been more beautiful for a February 8th day. Morning temps were in the mid 30's and rose into the 60's by the late afternoon.

Interestingly, I was originally signed up for the 50k race, with the goal of cracking 3:50, but switched races the day before to test my chops at a quicker 100k. 100k courses are hard to come by and honestly a 3:50 50k would have been nothing more than a glorified 3:14 marathon with 4.8 miles tacked on. A challenge for sure, but for some reason I wanted something bigger, but also without having to run 100 miles to do it. I did, however, wonder if I was going to regret switching, given my training was for the 50k, and my mileage over the winter didn't feel like enough for a 100k. In the past year, I had also transitioned from 9 years of exclusively running trails to exclusively running roads purely due to geographic location. Several months earlier I had an okay run at the mountainous Hellgate 100k, but part of me knew I was better suited for a flatter course and that my mountain running legs had long since faded. I guess one reason for switching to the 100k was to see if that was true.

(Nearing a 180 degree u-turn on the course)

As for my race, I didn't really have any concrete goals. But, if I did have a last minute goal, it was to qualify for the legendary Spartathlon Ultramarathon, which required a sub 10:30 100k finish time. The qualifier is good for three years, but since the qualifying time drops to sub 10 hours next year, I figured to make that my makeshift goal. If anything, I figured my strategy would be to at least PR my 50 mile time of 7:35 (JFK 50 five years ago) and then shuffle through the last 12 miles and hope to get under 10 hours.

The race started just after 6:35am. Sunrise had not yet arrived, but it was just bright enough not to need headlamps. For the first 20 miles I was on autopilot and tried to stay smooth and relaxed in the cool morning air. I did start out a little quick and gradually pulled back the effort to just over an eight minute pace. Things were good until about mile 20 when I started to develope some tightness in my hamstrings. This forced a handful of short stretch breaks, which continued all day, though I still managed to reach my marathon split in 3:33. While I had plenty of time in the bank, the increasing discomfort in my hamstrings had me strongly considering stopping at 31 miles.

The battle with the doubt monster lasted a few more miles and I decided to just get to 50k, reassess how I felt then, and reminded myself that this was nothing uncommon for this distance. Looped courses can make dropping so inviting that it can cause people to quit when they don't have a good reason to. So, I ran a few more miles and hit the halfway point in 4:10, which was a 50k PR by 13 minutes, and it helped put some much needed mojo back in my race. I'm also glad I was able to push through the temptation of bailing early.

(Photo Credit VA Beach Distance Races. Coming through the start/finish checkpoint)

The rest of the miles just rolled by without much thought. I spent a lot of the day just enjoying the nice February weather and seeing my fellow runners and walkers on the course. Miles 38 to 45 were my slowest of the day and my paced slipped to over 9:30 due to a few refueling and stretching breaks. After six hours my primary motivation shifted to setting a 50 mile PR, which I figured was easily doable on the flatter terrain. I had briefly considered pushing the pace to see how fast I could hit my 50 mile split, maybe in the low 6:50's, but realized it wouldn't be prudent to jeopardize a solid 100k time by running a faster 50. Not worth the risk of a blow up with 12 miles remaining. I came through lap 22, roughly 50.8 miles in 7:05:04 for the 50 mile PR, but still had five laps to go. Unofficial 50 mile split of 6:57:52.

Those last couple of hours were a bit tough. Most of the 50k runners had finished, so the course was very empty and we weren't allowed to have pacers. You couldn't rely on a lot of distractions or fellow runners to help push you along and I challenged myself to not rely on headphones and music. It really became a battle between me, my thoughts, and the solitary strip of pavement. Four laps to go. Now three. 57.6 miles completed in 8:12. I do some quick math. If I could cover the last two laps in 48 minutes, I could break 9 hours. It caught me off guard. I came into the race wanting to break 10 hours, and here I was on the verge of dipping under 9.

Nearly 60 miles completed. 8 hours and 33 minutes elapsed with one final lap to go. I was feeling it a bit during the previous lap, but on this one I had to dig in a little bit deeper. I'm not going to lie, those last few miles felt a little rough. I said a small farewell to all the little parts of the course I had become so familiar with over the previous 25 laps. It made the time pass and I soon turned into the final curvy stretch and made a sprint towards the finish. I never looked at my watch during the final two laps, so I was relieved to look over at the finish line clock and see that the first digit was an eight. A few moments later I reached the end of the lap and tagged the stop button on my watch. 8:53:45. It was 100k personal best by 87 minutes, signified three ultramarathon PR's in one day, and also qualified me for Spartathlon.

(Photo Credit VA Beach Distance Races. Finishing 62.2 miles and realizing I had just run under 9 hours)

I knew I had it in me, but this was still a pleasant surprise. The crazy part is my marathon PR was a 3:33 only 11 months ago, and today my marathon split was one minute faster. I also admittedly went into the 100k event with a mental block thinking finishing under 10 hours would be a stretch. As the race progressed I decided not to worry how far ahead of my split goals I was and ran based on how my body felt, not my brain. I think sometimes the expectation that we are going to fatigue and slow down can become a self fulfilling prophecy. I am now somewhat curious to see what I could do if I focused from the start on running a fast 100k, or 50 miler. I can already think of 8-10 minutes lost that weren't necessary like chatting and stopping to eat instead of eating on the run. It's all pretty trivial, but it's good to know there's some room for improvement. Overall, my pacing was good, but could be better. I ran the first half in 4:10 and the second in 4:43, but I also spent 2 minutes getting aid the first half versus 8 for the second. With more specific training and gained experience I think I could achieve 100k splits closer to 4:05 and 4:25.

I'm certainly keeping all this in perspective given that 100k world champion Max King ran a 6:27 100k, which was roughly at my 5k pace. Elite women are also running in the 7:10-7:45 range, and quite a few others have run 8:00-9:00 hours in the mountains and at high altitude. Still, I reminded myself that my first 50 miler took me 10:39, and today I ran 12.2 miles more and 1:46 faster.

(First time off my feet all day. A well earned little break)

(With race director John Price just a few minutes after finishing)

Approximate splits:
13.1 miles: 1:45
20 miles: 2:40
26.2 miles: 3:32
31 miles: 4:10
50 miles: 6:59
62.2 miles: 8:53:45
Time at aid: About 10 minutes, and mostly in the second half.
Overall pace: 8:34
Running pace: 8:25

Lastly, thank you to all the volunteers who were out there today, Running Etc. for their support, and John Price for directing a fun new event. If this event continues next year, I definitely encourage runners to come check it out. The looped course wasn't as monotonous as anticipated and you got to give and receive a lot of support to your fellow runners during the day. Time for a beer, and then a nap. In that order :-)

(Me and my friends Jon and Virginia, who ran the 50k, enjoying some post race rest and unseasonably warm winter sun)

Nutrition:
-Gels every 25 minutes (Honey Stinger and GU Roctane)
-S Cap every hour after 4 hours (4 total)
-A few handfuls of pretzels
-Approx 2,200 calories consumed during race
-Pre-race Little Debbie brownie (530 calories)
-Post-race Samuel Adams (150 calories)
-water, Gatorade, and some soda
- No NSAIDS

Make a Wish- Hellgate 100k

When you see a shooting star, it is usually tradition to make a quiet wish to yourself. The Geminid meteor shower, caused by debris from object 3200 Phaethon, gave runners on a certain magical night plenty of opportunities to make such wishes. Of these, some included just wanting to finish the Hellgate 100k, finishing the Beast series, wishes to the family of a fallen soldier and friend, or the simple wish to make it through another journey. Like Cinderella once said, a dream is a wish your heart makes.

It was a late autumn eve, and one could say it was the kind of night that could bring back the nostalgia of childhood campfires, scary stories, and smores. The time was moments after midnight in a silent stillness that only a secluded mountain forest could provide. It was chilly, but not cold, and actually a bit warm compared to other years. The only noise to be heard was the frantic and excited clammering of 148 hearty souls and a cluster of volunteers and crew people. Though being dropped off in the middle of the night, in the middle of Nowheresville, VA could be hauntingly ominous to some, for me it was a warm homecoming to the Blue Ridge mountains that I called home for over one third of my life.

I've run over 100 marathons and ultras, but none of them were the Hellgate 100k. I've been a sweeper at Hellgate, a crew member and pacer at Hellgate, and I've even applied twice and been accepted twice to run. However, twice I've had to withdraw before even starting the race. Deep in my gut, I knew 2014 would be the now or never year for running this fabled race. Of course, I had not run a mountain trail in over a year, and two, I lived in arguably the flattest part of Virginia. Not the best training for a race with 13,500 feet of climbing.

If you wanted a race report full of details about what food was eaten, what clothes were worn, or what the splits were, this probably isn't the report for you.

I will say that my Hellgate experience was much like the pursuit of a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman named top 10 male that is. At first she was the unapproachable beauty across a dimly lit ballroom. We exchange quick flirtatious glances. Surely she's out of my league, but I've never been one to shy away from a challenge. However, the crowd between us was far too dense and there were far too many eligible suitors to make any kind of move plausible. I could only admire her from afar as I became a second tier bystander to the symphony of roots, leaves and rocks. Behold, a serpentine trail of lights leading up to Petite's Gap. This orchestra is just tuning up. The dances and partners were many and the element of the dance floor ever changing. With the bitter windy chill of Floyd's Field she takes a step back. A brisk Paso Doble over leaf strewn rocky trails, a slow Mambo with the a gentle climb, and a Rumba with the dipping and sweeping trails entranced by the curvature of the mountain. 37 miles in and the sunrise reflects a familiar twinkle in her mysterious gaze. "13th male" she whispers to me, but laughingly taunts with a "But, you are still a distant arm's length away." I work to find the footing, to find a groove, and never once unlock eyes with the dame so close.

Sacrebleu!? What dost appear before thine eyes but the beauty herself. 46 miles into this dance and she has shrugged off not just two, but three bachelors. From far across the room she has made her way through the masses and into my arms. I finally have her. 10th male. For the next hour we float along in a harmonious Tango. Up close there's something unique and a bit off from what I had previously pictured. I could see it in her eyes that their was a vacantness, a lack of empathy, and she was beginning to distance herself from me. Though we continued to Waltz hand in hand, I knew I was losing her. Over 11 hours on our feet, and just as swiftly as she swooped into my arms, another man had just as easily stolen her away. Beauty can be both cold and fleeting, and perhaps more so when so unceremoniously left for another.

And just like a banshee in the night, the mystical temptress of a men's top 10 dissipated into an ephemeral mist. The multitudes came and went, and by multitudes, I mean 9 people. My energy was still surprisingly strong, but the legs had grown weary. Up a final mountain and down a final hill. The orchestra was now playing its final notes. One last stretch of road into Camp Bethel and into the outstretched arms of the composer himself, Dr. David Horton. The dance was over.

As I looked back at the night and day, I realized that like Cinderella at the royal ball, it was only a matter of time before my chariot turned back into a pumpkin. I also realized that while I was momentarily enamored by the deceptive charm of a top 10, that the only dance that really mattered was the 66.6 mile duet with myself and the Hellgate 100k. She was the real beauty on that Van Gogh(esque) starry night, and one that never left my side no matter what mountains were crossed, what streams were waded, or what cold mountain roads traversed.

But who was she? I'd like to believe she is many things. She's the culmination of a year's worth of running, races, life, and the people who make it. In future years I look forward to spotting Hellgate at the royal ball and asking for another dance.

(Photo credit Frank Probst. Finishing my first, but not last, Hellgate 100k)

10 Years- There and Back Again

Today marks the 10th anniversary of my first race/ultra. Wow. Part of me clings to the notion that it feels like it was just yesterday, and part of me knows just how much life has happened in those ten years. Where does the time go my friends?

On November 20, 2004 I completed the JFK 50 miler having never run more than six miles. Though it occurred exactly one decade ago, I remember the day quite vividly. In all honesty I had no idea what I was doing, or getting myself into. My freshman college roommate, Matt, dared me to do the race with him in September of 2004, and a few weeks later, for reasons still unknown, I signed up. This gave me, a beginner recreational jogger, a whopping two months to prepare for running 50 miles. Gulp. Matt had already been training for six months at that point, with 20 mile long runs, and in the past year I had only just started running a couple miles per day.

In October, my grandmother, whom I was very close to, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. The news was numbing, as well as the fact the doctors said she only had about a month to live. On that timeline, she would be lucky to still be alive on race day. For obvious reasons running took a back seat to frequent trips to help take care of my grandma, in addition to working over 50 hours a week at my stressful first post college job. Every now and then I would make it out the door to run, but it provided more therapy than training. Eventually, I did manage to build up to one six mile run, which took me a sluggish 67 minutes. Needless to say, I was as physically and woefully underskilled and untrained as one could be. My co-workers semi jokingly and semi seriously placed bets on how far I would make it on race day. The overall consensus was if I made it more than 25 miles they would be pleasantly surprised.

When race day finally arrived I was relieved to have the wait be over. My grandmother was still alive, but just barely hanging on at this point. What started out as a silly dare to run 50 miles became a solitary mission of dedication. Race morning was a bit of a blur, but I do recall never feeling so out of place as I did at the start of JFK. It was cold and I had on a long sleeve shirt with black fleece sweatpants and $40 running shoes. I didn't even know to carry hydration and food. I remember being told to walk the first big climb and then running out of pure excitement to be doing my first ever race. I recall how surprisingly light and fresh I felt for the first 10 miles as myself and Matt found ourselves passing many people on the Appalachian Trail. Then, I also recall how reality hit as I reached the C&O Canal towpath in 3:17 and began to feel a heaviness that my legs had never felt before. My hydration and nutrition started to fall behind from not carrying anything, and rapidly my easy jog turned into walking with intermittent spurts of running. My body was hurting and I was in over my head. Mile 25 came and went, and soon I reached the "marathon" distance of the race in 5:16. "Holy sh*t" I thought to myself. I just ran a marathon!? Normally, the completion of such a bucket list item would be accompanied by celebration, but not when there's still 24 more miles to go.

By mile 30 my body and mind started to slowly descend into the deep dark pain cave. That's when I started thinking about my grandma and her battle. I realized nothing that I would experience on this day would hold a candle to the hell she was currently going through. My mantra became "She fights, so I fight. I am enduring, but she is enduring more." One foot in front of the other. Though I was surrounded by fellow runners, much of my time on the 26.3 mile portion of the C&O Canal was spent alone in thought. For some reason the physical pain I was experiencing created a spiritual bridge to my grandmother. In this brief place in time, on this chilly November day, we were united in our suffering, yet in a way that was emotionally and inexplicably empowering.

42 miles had gone by and the night was ushered in by a bitter cold rain. The soft flat towpath turned back onto rolling country roads signifying the final chapter of the race. Oh the sheer brutality of the sensation of hard pavement under weary legs. I had now gone seven times farther than I ever had and each step ached that much more than the previous one. My body was no longer just in the pain cave, but deep into its darkest bowels and depths. The darkness of nightfall balanced harmoniously with the battle raging in my mind. Just. Keep. Going. All I wanted to do was be done, but the torment of the final miles were not done just yet. My grandma occupied my mind as much as she could, but even so I could not block out the stinging numbness in my hands and swelling in my feet and calves. The mile markers counted down to the finish in a most mocking fashion. 5 to go. 4. 3. 2. Oh, thank the heavens, just ONE more mile.

I turned right. I could hear a voice over a loudspeaker in the distance. Cars filled with cheering friends and family members became more plentiful. This had to be it! I crested one more small hill before seeing the illuminated finish line. After 49.8 miles of the worst beating my body has ever taken I found myself accelerating. My lungs and legs engaged and for the briefest of moments my body felt no pain. I was grimacing, floating, my heart pounding towards that clock. 10:39:32.

My brain could barely assess what had just transpired. I had just run, walked, slogged, and sprinted my way through 50 freaking miles. The elation was short lived as my body started shutting down to a nearly catatonic state. My mind was buzzing, but my body now hardly able to move. It didn't matter though. I was a marathoner. No, I was an ULTRAmarathoner and my grandma was with me the entire time. WE did it.

A week later, during Thanksgiving, I saw my grandma and showed her my/our finisher's medal. I thanked her for being with me, both in spirit at the race, and in person for one last holiday season. She passed away two months later, but survived three months longer than the doctors said she would. That is what fighting the good fight looks truly like. That is real endurance.

After my 2004 JFK 50, I swore I would never run another ultramarathon ever again. Apparently, never again means 85 more ultras and 15 more marathons in the following decade. In 2010, I returned to the JFK 50 and ran over three hours faster than my time from 2004. I have to admit, when I showed up to that starting line in 2004, little did I know what a wild and crazy adventure that was beginning.

100 Marathons and Ultras in Perspective

I will start by saying, I'm not taking any of this too seriously, and neither should you. I'm also not saying that reaching 100 marathons/ultras isn't something to be proud of. It is, but on the grand scope of things, running statistics, key word statistics, are trivial. It's like asking someone on their birthday if they feel older. Fair warning though, you'll get to see a bit of my analytical nerdy side in this post.

At an age of 33 years 119 days, I am now officially a member of the 100 Marathon Club of North America. Yes, it's a real club. I am also, unofficially, the 12th youngest North American ever to reach 100 marathons. My first marathon/ultra was on November 20, 2004, and my 100th on October 18, 2014. It took 9 years, 10 months and 29 days. The moment came to fruition at 11:45am on a beautifully verdant, albeit unseasonably warm autumn day in Hollister, NC. The site was the Medoc Trail Marathon, a delightfully fun, smaller, and yet incredibly charismatic event. In retrospect, it was a far better setting than some larger race with more fanfare.


The 100 Marathon Club of North America currently has 450 members. However, I know there are more because I know a handful of others who qualify, but probably don't know, nor care, to be in the group. Safe to say there are probably 10% more people then what is listed, so roughly 500 total.

The top 12 youngest Americans to 100 currently looks like this, but I am sure in the next few years I will get bumped out, not that it really matters.

1) Brenton Floyd (18)
2) John Lui (24)
3) Laura Skladzinski (28)
4) Ian torrence (reached 100 ultras by 29, probably much younger to 100 marathons/ultras)
5) Justin Gillette (29)- Has the fastest average time for his 100 marathons
6) Steve Walters (30)
7) Matt Jenkins (30)
8) Hideki Kinoshita (32)
9) Leslie Miller (32)
10) Jonathan Young (32)
11) Keith Knipling- I have no idea where he would rank, but I'm fairly sure he's in the top 5-6
12) Me (33)


I will also note that one distinct difference, again it really doesn't matter, is that a majority (86 out of 100) of my marathons occurred while completing ultra distances of 31 to 103 miles. Only 14 were actual races of 26.2 miles, whereas most of the 100 marathon club members totals are soley from marathons. Based on the statistic of having ultras comprise over 50% of "marathons", only Ian Torrence and Keith Knipling completed their 100 faster. That's pretty good company.

One final crazy statistic is that in 100 marathons/ultras I completed a total of 4,198 miles, or an average race distance of nearly 42 miles. What is the significance in that? If I had run exclusively marathons, like most of the runners in the 100 marathon club, my 4,198 miles would actually be equivalent to running 160 marathons. Since 100 marathons, for most folks occurred at 2,620 miles (26.2 x 100), I was curious to figure out when I may have reached that total.

As it turns out, to the exact mile, I unknowingly reached 2,620 miles at the Crooked Road 24 Hour on December 6, 2011. The funny thing is the distance I chose to do that day was completely arbitrary, and I chose to run 62.7 miles because I had never done a 100k. Thus, I completed the equivalent of my "100th marathon" at age 30 years 168 days, which in 2011, would have made me the 5th youngest American to 100 marathons. Subsequently, after 2011 a handful of younger runners hit their 100 marathon milestones, hence why I am now 12th on the list.

I will say for certain that running as many marathons and ultras as possible has NEVER been my objective, nor ever will be. I simply run to have fun like anyone else, sometimes to push myself, and other times just to enjoy the freedom of the outdoors among friends. If I had really wanted to, I could fairly easily run a marathon, or two every week (like the Marathon Maniacs Club) and be somewhere around 400-500.

In all honesty, not that it isn't a big deal to do something like 52 marathons in 52 weeks, but most fit and experienced distance runners could trudge through a marathon any given day or weekend, but choose not to. Like me, they have a life outside running, and can't afford, or don't want to spend that kind of money constantly traveling and paying entry fees. They would probably also rather select a few focus races per year and keep the emphasis on quality over quantity. I also don't encourage, believe it is healthy, or admirable to run too many races. Running too much, especially before we physically mature in our early 20's, and even after, will no doubt lead to unforeseen health risks years down the road.

That being said, I've had tons of fun along the way and shared the miles with many cool characters. I'm looking forward to the next 100, but alas, as I alluded to before, it is JUST running ;-)

Reaching 100

When I graduated from college in 2004, I could jog 2-3 miles, and on a good day I could push it for 3 or 4. At the time my only real bucket list item was to finish one marathon in my lifetime, but given my personal best for distance was six miles in an hour and seven minutes, it was a longshot. However, I figured if I kept at it for enough years or decades, I’d eventually get there and it would be something I could tell my grandkids about.

This Saturday I will be running my 100th marathon/ultramarathon. It is a statistic that caught me off guard as it had arrived one month shy of the 10 year anniversary of when I ran my first ultra. Sometimes I am humbled when examining what a span of a decade truly looks like. I am no longer the over whelmed, clueless college graduate toeing the line of his first ultra. In the following ten years, that clueless guy who only ever wanted to run ONE marathon ran 86 ultras, 13 marathons, and enough total miles to circle the earth. Life, in a similar fashion as the many miles on trail, has transformed me in those years. Running has become like clothing in that it has come to mirror my trends, my mood, my culture and my expression. A hobby fit to be worn on the sleeve. As the athletic world, and running in particular, is enamored with numbers, times, and totals, it occurred to me that there was something drastically different about reaching 100. I don't really care about it....

For some reason, we always seem to have some grandiose idea in our minds of what it will look like, and what we will be like, when we reach a specific milestone. Will we celebrate it with a bucket list race, maybe among friends, perhaps try to PR a certain distance, or maybe have it align with an event that holds some special place with us?. We can often lose ourselves in believing we will ascend to some higher level of runner nirvana once we finish a certain race, complete a certain number of races, or run a certain distance. I, myself, would like to believe that after running as much as I have, that surely I would walk away from it with some profound new understanding of myself and the world. And yet, at best, in brief and fleeting flurries we will attain moments of clarity that only running can provide, but at the end of the day I am the same person with the same doubts, strengths and flaws. Maybe running just makes them clearer without the clutter of life’s peripheral caterwaul. However, arriving at the point of 100 marathons/ultras, maybe with some enhanced maturity, I’ve come to the realization that 100 is just a number. And running is just a hobby.

Don’t be mistaken, hobbies are important, and at times they can define us. They tend to embody the ideals that we strive for, ones that by their very nature are unattainable in the frenzy of the mundane daily grind. For the personality types that the lure of running attracts it can offer us everything that our wild at heart needs desire; adventure, danger, testing limits, comraderie, or just being outdoors. For those of us who have been fortunate enough, our hobby has grown to a place of such significance that it transcends the conventions of everyday life and forms a symbiotic relationship with life itself. Sometimes the boundaries of life and the “the run” dissipate into a place as blended as the horizon line of the sea and the sky.

As I type this, it’s become evident that maybe I have actually learned a few things. Do I attribute them to running, or just getting older, or perhaps the combination of both? Either way, here are a few simple things.

1) Failure is just as much a choice as success. Nobody’s definition of either matters except ours.

2) In the end our successes and failures matter only to us. I’ve never once thought differently or disparagingly about a friend, or stranger, because of how poorly, or well they ran. When I run poorly, or well, I need to remind myself that others view me the same way.

3) Appreciate what your body can do. Sometimes our accomplishments get so dilluted and lost in the deluge of what other people are doing that we can forget how special they are. Remember that our friends who reguarly run 100 milers and a dozen ultras a year make up an incredibly small percentage of athletes, let alone runners. Remind yourself that completing the distances and races you do is incredible, no matter how many times you've done it. Some people struggle to run a 5k, and others a few steps. Keep the perspective. Keep the appreciation.

4) Running will provide as much companionship, or solitude as you seek.

5) Running will not fix anything.

6) Sometimes running is the problem. Realizing it can be both sobering and scary.
a) Running should never be your only source of fulfillment, because the ability to run/walk can be taken away any given moment.
b) Running should never be your constant escape. We run ridiculously hard races to prove to ourselves that we can take on all life's challenges, so why not have that attitude with things outside of our running life (ie. Marriage, work, sickness, family). Don’t be afraid to bring the heroics into your everyday life.

7) Your body speaks to you all the time. Listen to it. I have only reached 100 marathons/ultras because I did a majority my races in my 20’s when my body was much more resilient. If I want to run until I’m 80 years old, I need to be a smarter more balanced runner now.

8) Keep it fun. Nothing sucks more than when the hobby you are most passionate about begins to suck.
a) Slow it down. This is doubly necessary for faster runners. Not every race has to be raced. Run a couple races just to have fun and enjoy the simple nuances that you might miss when in competition mode. Get to know your fellow runners and meet the volunteers. Plus, you’ll finally get to try some of that home cooked aid station food you were always curious to try, but skipped in favor of more gels. Doing this can make an event you’ve “raced” many times seem like a whole new event.
b) Speed it up. If you always tend to run easy, and know you can go faster, try running an entire race at full effort. You might be surprised what you are capable of.
c) Try something new. Getting a 10 time finisher’s award might be cool, but take the time to try out new events. Some of the best events are small grassroots efforts.
d) Volunteer

9) Have a bucket list. Don't do it all at once.

10) You will always run the way you train.

11) At some point we are all going to get older and get slower. We have no choice in that. However, how gracefully we do it is our choice. The ability to inspire is ageless.

12) It’s just running. Keep a healthy perspective on it. Running should help make life easier, or at least provide more clarity. It should never make it tougher, or less enjoyable, especially for those closest to you. The wide expanse of life will always entail triumphs and tribulations far greater in meaning and purpose than running.

Belmead Trail Fest

(Some of Belmead's lush greenery courtesy of Belmead Trail Fest)

A common theme that I have adopted over the past few years is trying to get the word out about smaller local running events. I have also gotten a lot of joy out of spontaneously showing up to first year events that nobody really knows anything about. I find that it keeps the running hobby fresh, full of zeal, and often directly supportive of the local community.

Belmead Trail Fest ended up being a delightfully low key and fun event with all the charm of a local race. The late September date means it likely won't be blazing hot, nor cold, and there's still ample sunlight to keep the 50 mile cut off time at 12 hours. Race day weather was in the high 50's at the start and hovered near 80 all day. While it felt plenty warm in the sun, about 70% of the course is on shaded single track trail, so it was quite comfortable most of the day. The event also boasts three separate race distances of 26.2 miles, 50k, and 50 miles that have a group 8am start. The 8am start is great for people like myself who don't necessarily like, or can't because of family, to get up at 4am to start a race in the dark at 6am. It's also nice to finally have an ultra option where you don't need to wear a headlamp for the start, though 50 milers who might take 11-12 hours would need to carry a light at the end.

As for the course, all three race distances run the same 10 mile loop with various add ons for the marathon and 50k. The 50 miler was simply five loops. The trail itself was both very runnable, but also surprisingly technical. Per other's gps accounts the 50k had roughly 1,840 feet of gain, which meant nearly 3,000 for the 50 miler. While the elevation gain for the course is fairly benign in comparison to a Mountain Masochist, all the twists and turns, roots, snakes, corn, and short little climbs made it slower than a course like JFK 50 where the elevation gain is about the same, but you have long flat sections to stretch out the legs. Still, on the grand scheme of things, I'd say the course is on par with running trails at Bear Creek Lake, Holiday Lake, Prince William Forest, Bull Run, or Lake Anna, all home to a lot of local ultra events. The course was also very well marked, though it didn't prevent myself and three others from going a mile off course.

The course itself race could be broken down into two main parts. Miles 0 to the 3.7 mile aid station (more like 3.0 miles?) were are on bridle paths that circumnavigated rolling corn fields. It may very well be the only race where the possibility exists to roll your ankle on the many ears of corn strewn on the bumpy grassy horse trail. In all honesty, while scenic, this was probably my least favorite part of the course and the only place where you are out in the sun. However, later in the day the sun shifted enough so that there were sections around the cornfield that became shaded. It should be noted that this 3 mile section will probably be replaced next year by trails that go down to the James River and the Belmead estate. Miles 3.7-10 were mostly singletrack through the woods and some wider service roads. These 7 miles were by far my favorite of the race as they brought you into some wonderfully green wooded areas with enough variety in the trail to keep it exciting, even after 5 loops. At the end of each loop you had access to aid and drop bags, so you never had to go more than 4 miles without support.

My personal experience at Belmead was very positive. I like the fact you feel like you are entering a civil war battlefield just driving to the start. The morning mist rising up from the fields served wonders to transport us back in time 150 years, even if for only 4-12 hours. In addition, I spent most of my day running alone and never really knowing who was running what particular race. In essence, it allowed me to let go of the race vibe and feel like I was on a nice long solo run in the woods. Since moving in January, I've only had limited access to trails, and run almost exclusively on roads, so for me a day in the woods was just what I needed. The finish was just as low key as the rest of the day. By the time I finished the 50 miler almost everyone doing the marathon and 50k had completed and gone home, and the only people remaining were still out on the course. So, it was definitely different to come in with just a handful of folks, but I didn't really expect otherwise. I loved the finisher's medals, which were hand crafted cross sections of wood. It was a pleasant deviation from the standard race medals, though I suspect next year they'll have something else unique and cool for finishers.

All in all, I definitely suggest giving this event a try. The entry fees are cheaper than most races, the course was fantastic (if you don't mind loops), and it's a great time of year to work it in as a fun run, or training run for a fall race. I hadn't intended on doing any more ultras until at least 2015, but the proximity and forests were just too tempting, and I was able to register on race day. The best thing is that all proceeds from the event benefit Francis Emma, the non-profit organization that maintains Belmead. The best way to keep history alive is to support it!

Ironman Final Thoughts

It's hard to believe the Ironman has come and gone already, but it has. In the past ten days I have thought a lot about what I experienced during my 13 hours and 45 minutes at Ironman Louisville, as well as the months that lead up to race day.

The big question, will I do another Ironman? The quick answer is yes. I really loved the experience and given the growing number of sanctioned Ironman events in the US, there are plenty of amazing new courses I would love to tri...um, I mean try. Lol. That being said, Ironman Panama City Florida and Beach 2 Battleship are likely the best fits for my next triathlon since both courses are flat and best suit the fact I cannot hill train where I live. There are certainly some trade offs with doing another Ironman, but mostly due to costs and the time of year. Ironman Panama City is in November, the heart of fall marathon/race season, and the total cost to participate (including entry) will again be close to $2,000. However, Beach 2 Battleship, in late october, is only five hours away in Wilmington, NC and costs $200 less than an Ironman, though it is also full distance. In official Ironman events, you are literally paying extra for the title, which I already have. Beach 2 Battleship is known to be a very fast course (the run was 0.7 miles short, unless they added distance since 2012) and typical race day temperatures should be about 40 degrees cooler than what we had in Louisville. I also have to consider the fact that qualifying for the Boston Marathon is now higher on my bucket list then a second Ironman. If I am capable of running the same time I did in my last road marathon (3:07:17) in two years, I will qualify for Boston and most likely get entry into Boston 2017. But, that's still a fairly long way off.

What I learned about Ironman training: Despite being a three sport event, the bike is the most important portion by a long shot. For most people, including elites, the bike makes up roughly 55% of the total time out on the course, the swim compiles 10%, and the marathon the remaining 35%. Despite a five hour time gap, these percentages were nearly identical for myself, as well as the top finishers at Ironman Louisville. Being stronger on the bike allows you not only the ability to finish the bike leg faster, but also have more muscular reserves leftover for the run. In the case of Ironman Louisville, where it was 103 degrees and likely hotter on the pavement, less time on the bike meant less time for the heat to effect your hydration and overall fatigue.

I also learned that the difference between tri bikes and road bikes like mine isn't just cosmetic, but rather they are designed to use less of the muscles needed for running and thereby allowing you to be fresher for the marathon. I had always wondered how the top triathletes could still run sub 2:50 marathons after a knocking out the bike at average speeds of 25 mph. I figured they must all be be capable of sub 2:20 marathons, which some are, but I later found they were mostly running within 15-20 minutes of their marathon PR's. The key was simply very dialed in muscle efficiency on and off the bike. I've also done some research to see what I "should" eventually be capable of by reading a bunch of Ironman race reports. To my surprise, there are a lot of 3:20 to 3:30 marathoners (somewhat "bigger boned" ones at that) who are doing sub 11 hour and sub 10:30 Ironmans, which seems super fast in relation to their running ability. In my case, I can outrun most of them by 15-20 minutes in a marathon, probably get close to their swim times, but these guys absolutely kill it on the bike, often going under 5:30 for 112 miles. Their Ironman run times aren't terribly fast either, usually in the 3:50 to 4:00 range, which is within 30 minutes of their PR's, meaning I could potentially get my run down to the 3:40's. However, once again, we circle back to the fact that being very strong on the bike basically establishes the framework for most of the event.

So, since it's been determined the bike dominates the Ironman, I can safely say that too much focus on running and swimming is not a good strategy. For someone like myself, 2 to 3 swims of 1 to 1.5 miles per week was adequate, as well as running only 30 miles per week. For someone that was used to running 60-80 miles per week on a regular basis for much of the last five years, it was difficult for me to understand that dropping to 30 miles per week for Ironman training was enough. I even tried to rationalize that since the Ironman's run was 26.2 miles that I had train like I would for a marathon in addition to the swimming and cycling. The bottom line was that training for the Ironman's marathon meant spending more time on the bike. Twilight Zone stuff, right? I mean, I was riding a bike to get faster at running a marathon, but that's the difference between just a road marathon and the Ironman. Some elites don't even exceed 10 miles for their long runs prior to race day, so in essence I had to throw out everything I thought I knew about marathon training.

Future goals: I will be the first to admit I played it safe at Ironman Louisville. Don't get me wrong, I was still plenty tired from the race, but I didn't want to risk going 100% either and end up like the other 250 DNF's. My only goal was to secure an Ironman finish, and due to some very real IT band issues near race day, I was forced to take the bike portion very easy. This was coupled with the fact that I was learning everything for the first time and the extreme heat slowed everyone down, especially during the run. My initial time goal for Louisville was to break 13 hours, and possibly 12, but both of those went out the window with the heat forecast and my IT band problems. I am fairly confident that with significantly more than the 3 months of bike training I had, and sans IT band issues, I should be able to cut a solid hour off my monstrous 7:31 bike time from Louisville. On a flat course in milder weather, a 6:15-6:30 bike time looks even more plausible.

For the swim, it's tough to tell how much room for improvement I have. Louisville was aided by 1.5 miles of down current swimming and has to be one of the faster swims. Typically, I'd consider my 1:11 swim surprisingly fast, especially considering it took me a good 15 minutes to get my act together, but it may have only been average. I think in the same conditions I could do the swim closer to 1:05. As for the the run, I think in more seasonal weather I could have gotten much closer to my goal time of 4:30, but, that is still much slower than my marathon time. As I get stronger on the bike, and perhaps if I eventually get a tri bike, I would like to get the marathon down to the low 4's, and potentially under 4 hours.

Lastly, my transitions were slow simply because it was the first time I have ever done a triathlon transition. I could probably cut that time in half just from what I learned the first time around. So, what does this all project out to? It means, I am pretty sure that I should be able to take two hours off my rookie Ironman time. However, it also means, even if I trained full-time ( which I can't, nor want to), I will probably never be able to break 10 hours which is necessary to gain a Kona qualifying spot for my age bracket. It would appear my best chance for Kona is either the lottery, or to the compete into my 80's and 90's where I will gain entry due to lack of anyone else in my age bracket.