Athens Big Fork Marathon - This One Is Difficult

Races that are billed as particularly difficult within their specific class are always intriguing to me, and I know that I'm not the only person who is easily drawn in by a race that is inherently difficult. It's the same syndrome that results in people who might otherwise be considered sane and reasonable turning into masochistic freaks and "running" "events" such as Barkley. To be very clear, the Athens Big Fork Marathon does not reach any of the extremes that makes Barkley such an unreasonable feat, nor does it attempt to present itself in the same manner. Athens Big Fork is a race that can be completed by reasonably fit and adequately prepared and experienced trail runners without undue risk to health, and with comparatively moderate amounts of mental torment. Athens Big Fork is, however, a great "moment of clarity" race for anyone with an inclination in the back of their head that maybe it would be sort of cool to try Barkley some day, just to try it. What I mean by this is that it will almost certainly convince a person with any delusions about the enormity of an event like Barkley to never, ever, ever even think that considering participating in such a thing is reasonable, much less fun.

My perspective on this became clear to me yesterday as I was nearing the end of the Athens Big Fork course, considering that I had just run up and down steep mountains on poorly marked and maintained trails contending with deadfall, briars, jumbled rocks, and cold damp weather for somewhere between four and five hours. In comparison, Barkley is 60 hours of far, far worse versions of the same sorts of conditions. It was in that moment that my understanding and appreciation of the physical and mental extremes experienced in some of the toughest ultra endurance events expanded just a little bit, and I was once again humbled by the relative normalcy of the challenge that I was about to complete.

The back-story to how I came to run the Athens Big Fork Marathon originated in the intrigue of it being a difficult event. Back in November I was looking for a race to run in early January. My criteria were to find a course near marathon distance in a place that I could find inexpensive transportation to with a course that looked both interesting and at least moderately difficult (sorry, no repeating butterfly loops through the 8 mile trail system of some state park). There were a few options that caught my eye but once I began looking at the events in detail I was immediately drawn to the description for the Athens Big Fork race. For starters, it appeared to be a very low profile event with a simple website describing very basic information on the event, the route of the course, and past results for the race. The website also presented the disclaimer that the race is very difficult and is designed for experienced and well prepared trail runners. The race is billed at 26.2 miles and 9200 feet of elevation gain, however both of these statistics are up for debate. No pre-registration is available for the event, and the registration process on race morning consists of signing a waiver, picking up a number, and dropping a donation into a box for the Big Fork community center which allows the race to use their facility. The picture that was painted by the sparse information I was able to pick up from the race website and race reports from past competitors deepened my level of intrigue, and before long I had decided that this was a race that I must do.

After arranging my travel plans and doing the routine preparation leading up to the race, I finally began my journey. On January 4, the day before the race, I flew to Tulsa and made the four hour drive to the tiny town of Big Fork, Arkansas in the middle of the Ouachita Mountains. I arrived in Big Fork in the early evening and drove to the beginning of the trail that I would be running on the next day. I wanted to scout the course just a little bit in order to give myself an idea what I was getting into, so I threw on my running shoes and headlamp and headed out up the first hill. The course for the race consists of an initial ~2.5 miles on paved and dirt roads before reaching the beginning of the trail. Once on the trail, the route follows a pattern of steep climbs and steep descents over 8 distinct mountains before reaching a county road and the turnaround point. The route then reverses back over the same 8 mountains, and back along the roads the final miles to the finish. The portion of the course that I scouted in the dark the evening before was the first and last of these sixteen sets of climbs and descents. I learned during my recon mission that the trail appeared to be lightly traveled, not well blazed, and fairly overgrown in places. I did, however, note a few pieces of pink ribbon strung along the trail that appeared to be course markings, along with white blazes on the trees which are the official markings for the trail. I could definitely see how losing the route would be a very easy thing to do, but I was somewhat assured by my preview of the course.

I camped that night at the trailhead and in the morning made my way to the small community center along the state highway that runs through Big Fork. After registering and getting my gear together, I jogged up and down the road a bit to get my legs ready to move. At about 7:45 the race director called all of the 100 or so participants into the community center to give the pre-race briefing, which mostly consisted of instructions of how to avoid getting lost on the course. The instructions seemed clear enough at the time, but I remained leery after hearing stories of most people doing significant off-route mileage at least once during the race, even if it wasn't their first time running the course. After the briefing, we made our way out onto the road and the race director said something to the effect of "let's go" and we were off running.

I settled in with a group of three others just behind the leaders as we ran up the road and enjoyed some good conversation. When we hit the first climb, the conversation mostly stopped as we pushed a good running pace to the top of the first hill. At the top of this hill, I moved ahead of the small group I had been running with and let gravity take over while keeping an easy but fast pace on the descent. I quickly caught up to the two leaders along with another guy who had stayed directly behind me, and the four of us grouped into a pack that we would keep together for the next 11 miles.

For the next several climbs and descents we traded leads several times among our group of four, and I started getting to know the guys who I was running with. It turns out that one of the guys in our group, Tom, is a many time winner and long time course record holder for Athens Big Fork. I felt comfortable with the pace that our group was keeping and it was easy to let the miles and the hills roll by as we had some good conversations. At the aid station at mile 8.5 after the fifth climb, I chose to run through and in doing so put a small gap on the other three behind me. The gap would not last long however, since at the top of the next climb I became confused about the direction we were supposed to descend, and Tom yelled out directions to me as he neared the top with the others. This pattern continued for the next few hills: I would maintain a short lead but then get confused and have to stop and try to determine the correct trail to take, then Tom would yell out to me which direction I should be going, and then I would take off once again.

The turnaround for the course was a short run up a county road after exiting the trail at the bottom of the 8th descent, and our group of four came into and left the turnaround aid station all together. Once we were back on the trail, however, was when the wheels started to come off for me, and as we made our way up that next climb I quickly fell behind the others. The onset of fatigue had come relatively quickly and I was now hiking grades that just a few minutes before I would have comfortably been running up. By the time I got to the top of the first climb after the turnaround I had lost sight of the others and had determined that I needed to pay attention to maintaining my own condition rather than focus on catching back up to them.

As I ground through the next couple of climbs, passing by the rest of the marathon runners still on their way out, I slowly began to realize that the reason for my fatigue was probably largely due to not having kept up with my nutrition well enough during the first half of the race. I had been drinking perpetuem, but not enough of it, and I had neglected to take any gels or salt tabs. I began downing gulps of my perpetuem mix more frequently and added in a gel and a couple of salt tabs periodically, and after a short while I could begin to feel their effect kicking in and I began returning to life to some degree.

Through most of the return trip I was able to stay vigilant of the places where we had made turns on the way out that I would have to repeat on the way back. I had also brought along a topo map of the course area with the approximate route of the trail marked on it, which I referenced several times to make sure that I was turning the right direction in the proper places. Despite my care to stay headed in the correct direction, I encountered a bit of confusion about halfway through the return trip when I reached a creek at the bottom of a descent. I knew that I was supposed to turn left to head upstream in the valley so I crossed the creek and started up what appeared to be a trail, but the trail quickly disappeared into a thicket of trees. I then spotted what looked like a trail a bit further south in the narrow valley and bushwhacked my way over, just to find that there was no trail there either. After double-checking my map I determined that the trail must have stayed on the opposite side of the creek so I bushwhacked back across the valley and across the creek, then quickly found the trail running along the opposite side. I feel very fortunate that this was my only off-trail mishap of the day, as I talked to many runners later who had ventured much further off route, many multiple times.

With three climbs left to go on the return, my general fatigue level continued to grow higher but some of the deadness in my legs was subsiding due no doubt to the aid provided by the salt and gels. As I finished out the last of the climbs I was truly dreading those last miles on the road to the finish. At that point I would have much rather faced another climb or even two rather than having to push out those miles on the flat road. When I hit the road, it hurt just as badly as I had imagined it would. My body was taking a beating with every step, but it would have been ridiculous to slow to a walk or a shuffle at that point on such easy terrain so I made every effort to push it out and maintain some semblance of a decent pace. As I turned onto the asphalt and neared the finish, a wave of relief hit me and I was finally able to celebrate the fact that I would get to stop running.

I crossed the finish line to the rowdy cheers of three people sitting in the back of an SUV next to the finish. I stumbled into the community center, wrote down my name and my time on the yellow legal pad of results, and plopped down in a chair. Tom, who had once again won the race, was curled up on a bench nearby, appearing to be in a good bit of pain. Josh and Cole, the other two guys I had been running with were sitting by the wood burning stove with their shoes off, looking a little bit dazed. Thus is the effect of running for hours through rough and indistinguishable terrain.

It didn't take long before we all started regaining our normal faculties and started discussing all of our individual experiences with the course. As the rest of the runners began trickling in we discussed and rehashed all of their experiences, and so it went for the next few hours. Despite being small in total numbers for the race, the support among the runners for their fellow competitors finishing the race was fantastic. Even though the weather was still somewhat cold, a crowd maintained their position near the finish line cheering in every finishing runner and filling the time between runners with sharing stories and having a general good time. One guy, upon finishing the race, made the comment that he had matched his personal best 50 mile race time, which is an impressive feat depending on how you look at it.

My closing thoughts on the race event are all very positive. I truly enjoyed the laid back community feel of the event which encouraged conversations rather than competitiveness. The course was just as tough as its reputation had suggested. I have tried to make a comparison in my mind between this course and other routes that I've completed with similar overall statistics such as Barr Trail, Four Pass Loop and others, but it's difficult to make a comparison because of the unique nature of this particular route. I've never done a route of any distance with so many distinct climbs and descents, and that factor alone sets this race apart from most others. Factoring in the grade and quality of the trail, as well as the general setting of the course, makes it one of a kind in my experience.

A Whirlwind Tour of the Marin County Trails - Coyote Ridge Race Report

Last weekend I had the pleasure of spending 50 wonderful hours in Marin County north of San Francisco. My primary excuse for making this trip was that I had a canceled reward flight booking that I needed to use before the end of the year, and the Coyote Ridge trail race in the Marin Headlands just so happened to coincide with this particular weekend. I had actually planned before to make the trip the weekend prior for the North Face Endurance Challenge Championship, but due to real-life logistics happening to me, I was delayed by a week. This turned out to be a great thing in the end since The North Face event was largely an exercise in misery and disappointment (by no fault of the organizers), and the race distance that I would have been running ultimately ended up being canceled.

My weekend in Marin Co was, however, faced with its own challenges; namely a sickness that I had started to feel coming on the day before leaving Denver for the race. I spent the majority of Thursday and Friday before leaving focused on convincing my body to not become sick. It only marginally worked, and as I flew to San Francisco I was accompanied by some nasty body aches and lack of any real energy. Despite feeling lousy, I was still able to appreciate the beauty of watching the sun set on the Sierra Nevada mountains as we flew over them.

After arriving in San Francisco, I got into my rental car and drove directly north across the Golden Gate Bridge, and felt immediately relieved to be outside of the crazy cluster of a city that is San Francisco proper. I stopped at a grocery store in Mill Valley and picked up some of the essentials I would need for the weekend including two pounds of chicken wings and a six pack of delicious IPA from 21st Amendment Brewing that just so happened to contain some the best beer label artwork I've ever seen.

Since it was very dark and I was interested in doing little other than preserving every bit of energy that I could for the next day's race, I made my way along the dark and winding Hwy 1 to the Muir Woods road and settled on a nice roadside pullout where I could set up lodging for the night inside the Hotel Camry. When morning came, I realized that some of the aches in my body had subsided to some extent. I got out of the car and walked up and down the road a bit, and although I was still far from feeling energetic and lively, I was in a place physically where I knew I could at least start the race and just see how I felt from there.

After making my way to the start area at the Muir Beach parking lot, I began warming up on the initial section of the course, which would serve both as the beginning and end of the race course. I always like to warm up on the initial and final sections of a race course if possible in order to gain familiarity and comfort with the terrain and to visualize and plan how the crucial beginning and finishing sections of the race will play out. On this course, the beginning of the course was a steep climb out of Muir Beach on a fire road that still contained plenty of mud from the previous week's Pineapple Express storm system. As I climbed up this hill and looked down to see the ocean waves crashing into the cliffs below me, I finally started to feel myself become more lively and excited to start racing. I still didn't know how my body would hold up, but I was ready to give it a good solid effort for as long as I could.

I was doing the 20 mile distance, which was the middle of five distances offered in the race event. The reason I chose the 20 mile is because it was the longest distance that consisted of a single loop without repeating sections or re-visiting the starting line before actually finishing. The more trail races I do, the less tolerant I'm becoming of uninspired multi-loop courses on uninteresting terrain. I applaud the efforts of every race director and course setter for using the trails available to them for putting on an event, but not every event is going to present itself as interesting enough for me to make the effort to participate in, and for me the quality of the course is the overall most important deciding factor. This particular 20 mile loop in the Marin Headlands did not at all disappoint my standard for a beautiful, interesting, and exciting race course.

As the race started, two guys doing the 10 mile race bolted up the first climb, and I found myself hanging back at an easy effort level with two other guys climbing steadily. As we crested the first steep hill and dropped toward Pirates Cove, I began to really feel the thrill of running returning to me. With the sun rising, the clouds lifting off the surrounding mountains, and the waves crashing below me, the setting was just as I had imagined and hoped that it would be. During this section I passed one of the guys I had been running close to since the start, and found out he was doing the 50k race. He must have decided he had started too quickly because he slowed down considerably on the descent and subsequent climb out of Pirates Cove, and soon I was not aware of anyone close behind me, with only the two 10 mile racers still in front of me. After descending to Tennessee Valley and running up the road to the trailhead, the 10 mile runners split off to ascend the Old Springs trail, while I would be ascending the Marincello fire road.

Once turning onto Marincello I again became aware that there was no one close behind me. I began to think that this may be a very different sort of race and that it was a real possibility I would not see any other competitors until after I finished. I decided to enjoy not being pushed to race hard at this stage and settled into a nice easy effort in the climb up the road. I felt great on this climb and probably enjoyed this section of the course more than any other, with the occasional views through the clouds of the bay below and Mt. Tamalpais to the north. After the climb up Marincello, the route began a traverse filled with shorter ascents and descents along the mountains, staying generally on the west side of the crest with views of Rodeo Cove far below. As the route began descending toward the southern portion of the Coastal Trail which would lead to Bonita Point, I glanced behind me and for the first time in several miles saw another runner. I decided I had no reason to push myself to try to stay in the lead at this point, especially since I didn't even know whether this guy was in my race distance or if he was a marathon or 50k runner.

After stopping briefly at the Bonita Cove aid station to refill water, the route led in a short loop on the road around Bonita Point, and after exiting the loop I was able to see several other runners coming down the road about to enter the aid station. This reassured me that there were others still running this race. After rounding Rodeo Lagoon and just before beginning the climb out of the valley, the runner who I had previously seen behind me came quickly up to me and passed me. We exchanged a few words and confirmed we were both in the 20 mile race. As we started the climb, the runner ahead of me was moving very well and seemed to be comfortable keeping a good pace on the climb. I stayed a little more conservative on this climb since at this point I was aware that I was starting to become more fatigued and I knew that the current climb and last climb on the course would be the two most difficult sections.

As the guy ahead of me slowly pulled away, I focused on continuing to enjoy my race and not feel pressured to chase him down. At this point I was just thankful to be running the race at all and was more than happy to be in the position I was in, so there was no need to over-work myself. The race continued over Wolf Ridge, down a short section of the Miwok trail, then down the Old Springs trail back down to Tennessee Valley. Back on the Tennessee Valley road, the guy in front of me was only about a minute ahead, but I could tell that he was still running comfortably. I stayed at an easy effort down the road in order to save my remaining energy for the last climb up the Fox trail fire road. I figured that if I had enough energy left in me maybe I could catch the guy in front, and if not, he had been running admirably well and deserved to win. The final climb up the Fox trail was made tough by exposure to the sun which was now warming everything considerably, but I still felt solid through the climb. Despite putting in an honest effort on this climb, I wasn't able to make up any time on the lead, and by the time I crested the hill and began the final descent down the Coastal fire road, I had resolved to cruise into the finish and happily take second place. Even though I was thoroughly tired at this point, I was able to enjoy and savor that last descent and crossed the finish worn out but happy - just as it should be.

I had put in a solid, consistent effort through the whole race and it had paid off in my final time of 2:53:00, which I was pleased with. I had figured before starting the race that I would be doing well with a time under 2:55, and considering that my body was physically not at its peak due to being sick, I was more than happy with my time. Having never run in the Marin Headlands before this, I now understand what all of the hype is about, and I can see why so many races choose these trails to conduct their events on.

Later that afternoon, I decided to explore one of the coastal sections of trail at the southern end of the Point Reyes National Seashore. My goal was to take the run nice and easy and be able to watch the sun set over the ocean as I ran along the cliffs above.

I don't often get the chance to run in coastal mountain areas, and to be able to run up and down the hills while remaining directly next to the ocean shore is a real treat for me.

The views both to the south and the north along the coast were fantastic as the sun dropped lower in the sky, and as I made my way up the trail I was constantly drinking in the beauty of the surroundings.

I came to my turnaround point a few miles up the trail at a small, peaceful lake which was perfectly calm and reflective.

On my way back down the trail, I stopped several times to watch the sun drop over the ocean and to take pictures of the scene this was creating.

I had taken the run very slowly and could tell that my body was tired from the race that morning, but that I was recovering well and that the following day I should be able to put in some decent miles on the trails that I still wanted to explore. The next morning I was awake as soon as it was light and on my way to Muir Woods National Monument. I had to park alongside the road since the park had not yet been opened, and as I made my way along the boardwalk through Muir Woods, I was thankful to be the only person around. I'm sure that the experience would have been diminished if I had been forced to share it with thousands of tourists clogging the boardwalk.

Attempting to capture the beauty and scale of the old growth redwood stands inside Muir Woods without some decent camera gear was difficult to say the least. I had never seen old growth redwoods and the sight that they provided was truly remarkable. Even though having the designation of National Monument causes this place to become a tourist trap, I am glad that these unique stands of trees have been preserved in the manner that they have so that they can continue to inspire and be enjoyed by many people.

After leaving Muir Woods I climbed up the valley on the constantly branching and converging trail system to the Pantoll ranger station, along the way continually enjoying the cool lush foliage around me, and the continuing stands of impressive trees.

From Pantoll, I began traversing then descending the Matt Davis trail toward Stinson Beach far below. The views along the trail opened up as I dropped down the mountainside, and I enjoyed the sight of the green mountainside in front of me slowly falling away to meet the shore of the ocean below.

Some of the lush growth within the narrow drainages that the trail dropped through made the descent very enjoyable, and gave a lot of variation to the scenery.

Once in the town of Stinson Beach, I made my way onto the beach and spent a little time just watching the peaceful morning unfold up and down the long crescent shaped beach.

I made a visit to the small grocery store in Stinson Beach and got a breakfast burrito, which I munched on while sitting in the quiet town park. Once I finished eating, I made my way back up the hill out of town and caught the lower end of the Dipsea trail, which I would follow back over the mountain to Muir Woods. The vegetation and views along the Dipsea trail didn't disappoint, and neither did the famous flights of stairs that I had read so much about.

As I ran the Dipsea trail from Stinson Beach to Muir Woods, I considered and attempted to envision running the historic race that takes place along this trail every year in the opposite direction, from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach, and took note of some tricky sections of the trail. It certainly seems as though running down all of the flights of stairs toward Stinson Beach would make the run very tricky, and good skills at descending stairs would be needed in order to do well in the race. Before reaching Cardiac, I stopped briefly to admire the views to the south across the Marin Headlands and down to the San Francisco peninsula, with Sutro Tower visible beyond the city.


This iconic view embodies so much of what I've come to enjoy about running trails in this area of the world. As I descended the last of the trail to Muir Woods and crossed Redwood Creek, I was disappointed that my short visit was coming to an end, but at some point I'll take an extended visit to the area to explore many more of the beautiful and distinct trails that this region offers.

Alaska Adventures Part 1 - Lost Lake Run Race Report

Staring out the window of the Boeing 737 as rain starts falling at the Denver airport, I can hardly believe that that I'm actually about to depart on this trip I had looked forward to for so long. Alaska has been at the top of my list of places to travel to for as long as I can remember and I was finally about to go there.

This is a CFM56-7 turbofan engine, and it is about to carry me to Alaska.

Usually when I fly, I'm asleep before the plane leaves the ground, despite the miserable sleeping conditions usually found outside of the first class cabin of major airliners. I've always been great at sleeping in uncomfortable places, which is something I'm thankful for. Tonight though, the vibrations and drone of the engines is not enough to overpower the excitement and anticipation going on within me, and I'm forced to stay awake and watch the sun set behind the clouds. It was just terrible.

I was flying up on a Wednesday evening and would race the Lost Lake Run on Saturday, giving me two full days to explore and face every opportunity to tire myself out and ruin myself before the race. I was determined to not waste any of the precious time I had to explore Alaska, but was determined to take Thursday and Friday relatively easy physically so that I could push myself during the race.

Waking up at daybreak Thursday morning, the rain which had been sporadic through the night was now coming down in full force. I thought to myself "The rain should be a great incentive not to do anything too physically demanding today." Half an hour later I was running through the muddy trails of Kincaid Park on the western edge of Anchorage, overlooking the mud flats of the Cook Inlet as the rain continued to fall. As I was making my way back to where I had parked my car, I saw two enormous bull moose grazing in a large field next to the trail about 100 meters from me. This, of course, stopped me dead in my tracks. I've seen bull moose before, but never any this big, and never this close. After watching the moose graze for a few minutes, not seeming to care about my presence, I decided to try to run back to my car to grab my camera and come back to snap a few pictures. The moose didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave that area any time soon so I was hopeful that I had adequate time. Ten minutes later I returned to the same spot in the trail and slowed my pace rapidly to a stop as I spotted one of the moose just a few feet off the trail directly in front of me. I made my way cautiously a little bit closer, then stopped and started snapping pictures. As I did so, the moose continued to graze on the plants on the side of the trail and move slowly toward me, once again unbothered by my presence.

As I attempted to make my cold and wet hands function enough to snap a decent picture of this moose standing not more than 20 meters from me (sorry for the blurry picture; my hands were numb), I heard a rustling in some bushes just below me, and when I turned around I saw the second moose just below me, about 15 meters from where I was standing.

These being urban moose, I expected that they're very used to seeing people which explains why they were so calm in my presence, however I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable as they continued to walk slowly toward me as they grazed. I'm fully convinced that if I had stayed in the middle of the trail the two moose would have passed within a few feet on either side of me and then gone along their way. I wasn't about to test this theory though, and after I was satisfied with the number of pictures I had taken and had let the excitement of the position that I was in sink in a little, I got out of there and made my way back to the car. First adventure of the trip: complete.

After recovering from the excitement and numbness of my cold, rainy run I spent some time completing the boring tasks of grocery shopping for a week in the mountains, going to the Anchorage REI to get some maps and a few forgotten gear items, and checking out downtown Anchorage (which was thoroughly unimpressive). After lunch, I was ready to get out of Anchorage as quickly as possible, so I did just that. I drove south along the Turnagain Arm to a small trailhead, admiring what I could see of the still mostly cloud-covered mountains around me. I hiked a short distance up the trail and found a good place to cook lunch by the creek, which was especially convenient for keeping the essentials nice and cold.

 After eating, I noticed a nice waterfall along the trail below me, and I went down to take a picture of it. This is one of a select few pictures that I took of waterfalls on this trip. The reason is that I quickly discovered that there are far too many waterfalls in Alaska to waste time trying to take pictures of all of them, so generally I didn't bother unless the waterfall was especially spectacular.

 I spent the rest of Thursday exploring some of the areas along the Turnagain Arm. A good bit of this time was spent simply sitting on the shore watching the tide come in. Seeing the bore tide along the arm was a real treat, but even just watching the water churn along the banks and over the mud flats as the tide was rising was pretty spectacular.

I chased a pod of beluga whales up the arm and watched them from several vantages along the highway, then finally watched the sun set over the arm.

Waking up the next morning, the clouds were starting to break up some on the surrounding mountains and the sun began to shine through. The views across the arm were spectacular with the sunlight playing off the mountains and the remnants of the clouds surrounding them.

The drive from my campsite to the Primrose campground along Kenai Lake should have taken about 90 minutes, but instead took over three hours due to the fact that I would drive for 5-10 miles then would have to stop somewhere to admire the views, drive down a side road, stop to get out and walk along a trail for a while just to see what I could see, and of course take countless pictures of all the scenery.

After coming back home and going through all of the photos that I took on this trip, I was amazed at the fact that some of the photos appeared more like a painting under gallery lighting than an actual photograph. All of the pictures in this post were taken with my iPhone, and none of them have been edited in any way. I point this out in order to emphasize the spectacular beauty of the Alaskan scenery and not to boast on my abilities to take a good picture, which is pure coincidence if and when it ever occurs.

I arrived at the Primrose campground, which would be the starting point of the Lost Lake Run the following day, and saw the organizers setting up the starting area as I headed out to scout the first couple of miles of the course. My goal in scouting was primarily to determine which shoes to wear during the race, and I decided that the Inov-8 X-Talon 190s would be the best choice for handling the soft and sometimes muddy trails below treeline. I felt great as I ran along the trails and could hardly wait to be running hard along these sections the next day. I also found some cool looking mushrooms along the trail.

After returning to the campground, I cooked and ate lunch on the banks of Kenai Lake with the backdrop of the mountains to the east providing a perfect setting.

I hung around the shores of the lake for a good two hours just admiring all of the views before driving down to Seward to scout the finish of the race.

Just in case you were wondering if and when I was going to actually talk about the race, the answers are yes, and now.

I woke up Saturday morning and made the short drive from my campsite along the Resurrection River to the fire station at Bear Creek, which was hosting the finish line for the race. I was early, and I stood with some others in the parking lot for a good while until a bus showed up to take us to the start line. Upon reaching the start, I did some additional waiting then decided to go for a warmup run up the trail. After warming up for 15 minutes, I did a few drills and stretches, then waited some more.

During my waiting, I began to notice a theme among my fellow competitors - in my estimation, more than half of the other runners around me were wearing Adidas shoes. Some of these were road running shoes, but most were Adidas trail shoe models. Of course scattered among the remainder of the people were plenty of Brooks, Salomon, Asics, Nike, Mizuno, Montrail, and a sprinkling of others including several people wearing the Inov-8 X-Talons. My conclusion was that Adidas must have some really good reps in this part of Alaska to get so many people into their shoes. Finally, in the latest race start I've ever experienced, we headed up the trail at 10:10 am.

The initial 5+ miles of trail were all below treeline on nice, mostly smooth trails, and I felt good pushing hard on the ascending portions. The trail made a rolling ascent through drainages until it popped out above treeline around mile 6. The views that opened up above treeline were spectacular. The weather the day of the race was immaculate and the surrounding mountains rising from the high alpine bench that we were running across were impressive. The run across the rolling terrain on the alpine bench among the small tarns and the much larger Lost Lake was easily the highlight of the race. Since I'm used to being at 10,000+ feet of elevation any time I'm running in an alpine environment, the fact that I could actually breathe easily and have my body be capable of running fast through this section was a wonderful sensation. The last 5 miles of the race was steady, fast downhill to the finish at Bear Creek. I tried to open up my stride and keep a hard, consistent effort all the way down to the bottom. I managed to hold my position on the downhill section, but was unable to go as fast as I would have liked - an indicator of my lack of speed fitness. The finish came quickly after a short dirt road section at the bottom of the trail, and I immediately made my way to the beer line, ready to celebrate the finish of what I am sure is the most beautiful course of any race I have ever run.

I finished an unimpressive 27th overall out of a very large 700+ person race field, which I was just fine with. I was just happy that my body felt like it was actually functioning properly when I pushed it, which has not been the case the last two races I've run. Shortly after the race, I began scheming of how and when I could return to run this race or one of the other spectacular races in this area. I talked with a group of people about the Crow Pass Crossing, and it sounds as though it would be a very fun race. Even though I visited Crow Pass during this trip, I still haven't actually seen any of the scenery in that area, so that would be nice (that story will come later).

Parts 2, 3, and 4 of my Alaska adventures will follow shortly.

Golden Gate Dirty Thirty vs. Mount Evans Ascent - A Comparison/Contrast

I had been considering whether to post race reports for either the Golden Gate Dirty Thirty or the Mount Evans Ascent - my two most recent races. Both were enjoyable and interesting events, but lacked any real drama or associated adventures that would make for a really good race report. I started thinking though about the comparison of these two specific events and realized that a comparison/contrast of the two races, and specifically the way I viewed the races and my performances in each of them, could actually make a decent report.

Basic Stats

Mileage: Golden Gate Dirty Thirty (candy-ass route) - 12 mi
               Mount Evans Ascent - 14.3 mi

Elevation Gain/Loss: Golden Gate - 3800'/3800'
                                  Mount Evans - 3600'/100'

Starting Elevation/Course High Point: Golden Gate: 7700'/9200'
                                                            Mount Evans: 10,600'/14,100'

Running Surface: Golden Gate - Typical Rocky Mountain dry, sometimes rocky trails
                             Mount Evans - Asphalt paved road

Personal Results

Overall Placing/Overall Percentile: Golden Gate - 3rd/97%
                                                         Mount Evans - 31st/91.6%

Subjective Enjoyment Ranking (out of 10): Golden Gate - 7
                                                                   Mount Evans - 5

Diggers taken: Golden Gate - 1 (+1 destroyed water bottle)
                        Mount Evans - 0

Free Hats Scored from Cute Montrail Girl: Golden Gate - 1
                                                                   Mount Evans - 0

Narrowly Avoided Inclement Weather Systems: Golden Gate - 1
                                                                            Mount Evans - 1

Race Reflections

Golden Gate: This was a good no-frills type event. The 12 mile race started at 9 a.m. which was late enough that the heat had started to set in even in the early miles of the race, but it wasn't to the point of being truly uncomfortable. It was hot enough that I was convinced I needed to carry a second water bottle, which turned out to be a great idea since one of my bottles was obliterated while I was tumbling down the rocky trail, and having bottles in both of my hands probably saved my hands from being turned into a bloody mess. The course was well graded on both the climbs and the descents, which meant that there were no sections quite steep enough to justify hiking on the ascents and just enough grade on the descents to make things really fast and wild. By the time I finished, I was truly worn out, happy, beaten up, and ready for a beer.

Mount Evans: The highlight of this race was the fantastic views. All but the first 3 miles of the race were above treeline and the mostly clear weather made the mental aspect of the run more enjoyable. The downside is that we were running on a road the whole way up the mountain. I considered this to be a stupid idea, but a lot of people seemed to like it. The average grade of ascent was just under 5% with a maximum grade of approximately 8% which meant that it was relatively fast uphill, with the altitude being the biggest objective challenge. By the time I finished, I mostly just wanted to quit running and have a beer.

I look happy in this picture because I'm wearing the hat I got from the cute Montrail girl at the Dirty Thirty, not because I'm loving running on the road.

Excuses/Whining

Golden Gate: All things considered, I'm happy with the way I raced and where I ended up in the standings. The only avoidable thing that really slowed me down was the hard fall I took at the top of the final descent, which really messed with my mojo for the next few miles and made it hard to descend as quickly as I would have liked.

Mount Evans: The paved road and mellow grade were my biggest setbacks in this race. Not that I would have gone faster on trails than I did on the road, but relative to a lot of the people who beat me who are road runners by discipline, I would have been at an advantage on more technical and steep terrain.

Closure

I hope that someone finds this synopsis somewhat informative or enjoyable despite the lack of content that would actually lend itself to being informative or enjoyable. The question for me is now whether I will plan to do either of these races again in the future. With them both being local and easily accessible, I imagine that I probably will. The 50k in the Dirty Thirty is an intriguing option that I would certainly consider. With Mount Evans being my first hill-climb race on pavement, I'm considering trying Mount Washington next year. Maybe the steeper grade at that race would suit me better.

The Land of Enchantment Strikes Again - Jemez Mountain Trail Runs Race Report

I'll come right out and say it - I've never considered New Mexico to be one of my favorite states in the country, despite some of the obvious draws that it has for me. I think that it would rank much higher on my list if it were not located in such close proximity to so many other states with truly amazing and unique features. When compared with the rest of the four corners states - Colorado with its' striking and rugged mountainous terrain; Utah with its' mixture of mountains, canyons, and desert landscapes; and Arizona with THE canyon - New Mexico doesn't have a great amount to add, topographically, that is unique to itself.

What New Mexico does have that is somewhat unique is its' strangely designed roads. The layout of the highway system in the northern part of the state in particular has always baffled me and seems haphazard at best, and the road systems in the towns never seem to be very conducive to efficiently traveling from one place to another. The funny thing is that although the nonsense of the road systems in New Mexico sometimes annoys my sense of logic, the affected result - longer driving times between locations - has never really bothered me. The scenery and culture that is experienced when driving through northern New Mexico is always enough to keep me engaged and not let the miles wear on my mental state. I can't help but think that maybe the seemingly random road systems were actually strategically planned to route the traveler near and through all of the most scenic and interesting parts of the landscape so that the travel would become more of an experience and less of a means for getting from point A to point B.

So does all this mean that I consider the roads to be the best or most unique attribute that New Mexico brings to this country? Not by a long shot: that honor belongs to the New Mexican green chile.

The roads, the topography, the scenery, the culture, and the green chile are all things that I experienced during my most recent venture into the wild lands of New Mexico. The main event on this excursion was the Jemez Mountain Trail Runs - specifically the half marathon event which was part of the La Sportiva Mountain Cup. The friendly town of Los Alamos is home to the Jemez Mountains and, appropriately, the Jemez Mountain Trail Runs.

The course for the half marathon starts on a small mesa in town and descends into a canyon at the base of the mountains. The trail then climbs steadily through the canyon as it runs along the outskirts of town before it turns decidedly upward and begins to ascend to the highpoint on Guaje ridge, which is seen in the picture above. Once atop Guaje ridge, the trail snakes along the ridge crest descending gradually, then more steeply back into the bottom of the canyon where the climbing first began. The final two miles of the course consists of rolling uphill climbing out of the canyon and onto the mesa for the finish. The result of the course layout is a good, tough, honest challenge that makes sure you know that you've worked for the finish, but isn't so brutal that you're not able to enjoy the course.

If you look closely at the picture of Guaje ridge above, you'll notice that the mountain appears to be growing a thin covering of whiskers. Those whiskers are the remains of what used to be trees that got burned up last year in the Las Conchas fire, which at the time was the largest wildfire in recorded New Mexico state history. Because of the lack of trees, the exposure on the course was high and the temperature on the ridge got a little bit toasty during the run. I can only imagine that the 50k and 50 mile runners who descended the ridge later in the day would have been heating up as they ran this section. Along the ridge, the remnants of what used to be the forest consisted of sparsely scattered standing tree trunks that had been mostly consumed by the fire yet somehow managed to remain upright. The sound of the wind whistling along the ridge while running through the burn area coupled with the sweeping views into the valley to the east made for an interesting setting.

Due to the open terrain that allowed for good visibility, I was able to play spectator to the battle among the lead runners for all of the first half of the race. Rob Krar, Kris Houghton and Ryan Woods all went out at a steady pace on the intial road section, then started pushing the pace once on the single track. Jason Bryant fell in behind the lead group, and I stuck with a group of five other guys that kept a steady pace through the initial gradual climbs through the canyon. Once our group began the more direct climb up the slope to the ridge, I could see Rob in front with Kris close behind him. I could also see that Ryan looked to have dropped off the pace somewhat and Jason was pushing to catch him. Our following group began to string out some as we climbed to the ridge and once I left the aid station at the top of the ridge I found myself alone running through the burned forest.

As we descended off the ridge and back into the canyons, I could see that I was gaining some ground on the two runners directly in front of me, but wasn't feeling confident that I'd be able to catch either of them as they appeared to still be running strong. As we began the final rolling ascent over the last two miles to the finish, I began gaining ground more steadily. All of a sudden the guy directly in front of me seemed to hit a wall and slowed down dramatically, which allowed me to pass and put a gap on him quickly. Less than a quarter mile from the finish line we had to scramble up through a rocky washout with some pretty technical footing. As I began ascending this section I was trying to give a last hard push. I could see that the next guy ahead of me was struggling to push through that final climb, and he stepped to the side and told me to pass him. After unexpectedly gaining two positions in the last mile of the race, I crossed the finish line in what I thought was sixth place.

After doing a short cooldown run with Kris I came back to the finish line and people were starting to ask "Where's Jason?" I hadn't seen Jason since he crested the ridge halfway into the race and I assumed that he had finished well before me, but no one had seen him show up at the finish line. Shortly after, we also realized that Gina Lucrezi had not shown up at the finish line yet as people who had been running behind her were finishing. As it turns out, both Jason and Gina had missed a turnoff during the descent and had run down a canyon in the wrong direction. Jason ended up continuing down the canyon and caught a ride in a truck with a guy who was cutting fence posts, and Gina ended up reversing her path and hiking back in to the finish. At the time that they missed the turnoff, Jason was running as the third place man and Gina was running as either the second or third place woman, and they both ended up not finishing the race. Due to Jason's excursion off the course, I ended up in fifth place in the standings rather than sixth.

Once the confusion of the missing runners had been sorted out, we had a good time just hanging out eating the post-race meal (including some great spicy green chile enchiladas), drinking beer that Santa Fe Brewering Company had provided, and enjoying the sunshine. The awards for the race were beautiful handmade pottery bowls which were made by a local family. The bowls were freehand painted in a theme that depicted the race course and the effects that the recent fire had on the course.

After leaving the post-race party I started making my way out of Los Alamos and back into the valley, catching a good look back at the mountains and the runout of the canyons below them.

I drove to Taos and stopped over briefly to eat some food containing copious amounts of green chile, then continued up to Taos Ski Valley and set up camp near the ski area base. After a night of peaceful sleep, I packed up camp and got ready for my next adventure - a "run" up Wheeler Peak, the New Mexico state highpoint. After the hard race effort the day before, I wasn't pushing myself too hard on the climb up the peak, so the ascent was split into about 60% power hiking and 40% running which still made for a good consistent effort.

As I gained the ridge and began to climb toward treeline, I got some good views to the east into the Red River valley.

I also experienced a large number of the local bighorn sheep. My total count of bighorn for the day was well into the 40s.

After passing treeline, I gained the top of a ridge point and got my first view of the true summit of the peak.

I was able to make good time once above treeline and didn't feel much effect from the high altitude. After completing the roundtrip I cleaned myself up in the creek, stretched out and spent some time sitting in the sun, then hopped in the truck and booked it back north to Colorado. Although brief, my visit to New Mexico was full of adventure, good times, and green chile; which is all that one can really ask for.

Everyone Needs Some Montana - Don't Fence Me In Trail Race Report

The Rant

According to the internet, Montana means "mountain" in some other language. This makes sense until you realize that if you divide the state down the middle from north to south, the eastern half contains approximately zero mountains. This trait places Montana high in the rankings as the American state with the most confusing land allocation, geographically speaking, behind Texas, Michigan, and all of the Mid-Atlantic states.

Therefore, I've decided to formally propose that the state of Montana be divided into two separate states, with the western half retaining the name "Montana" and the eastern half being named "Planici" which, according to the internet, means "plain" in some other language. An acceptable alternative would be to re-define the borders of Montana to include the western half of the existing state, northwest Wyoming, and all of Idaho. That would be a state worthy of the name Montana. The left over parts of the former states of Montana and Wyoming could become part of the Dakotas or something. I'm sure that few people would notice, and even fewer would care about this change being made, which is good enough reasoning for me.

I arrived at the above conclusions during the early miles of the Don't Fence Me In 30k trail race last weekend in the foothills outside of Helena, which lies within both the currently accepted and newly proposed borders of the state of Montana. Apparently when I run, I spend my time thinking about the nonsense of American geography. I'm sure I'm not the only one.

The Place

View of Helena and its' hills at sunrise

Downtown Helena

During my three days in Montana, I experienced many of the things that make the state great, including the mountains:

the water:



and the trees:

In addition to these, I experienced Taco del Sol and their exquisite menu of tasy meals. I would gladly go back to Montana just to partake in the food from Taco del Sol. I'm pondering ways that I could score a sponsorship with those guys. At the very least I plan to pitch an idea to them for putting together an event in the same vein as the Moe's Burrito Dash 5k (click the link to read Ryan Woods' account of his impressive and ill-advised performance in this race).

The Race

This was the third race for me this year in the La Sportiva Mountain Cup, which basically guarantees that it will be a fun race in a great location with really tough compitition. It's been fun getting to run with (or more realistically, behind) the same bunch of people who are participating in the Mountain Cup at races all over the country. It's arguably even more fun hanging out with them and drinking beer after the race. As it turns out, it doesn't take much beer for things to start getting crazy when you're drinking with a bunch of runners with 7% body fat. On a related note, the Blackfoot River Brewing Company is a great brewery with a top notch staff who are nice to their patrons even when said patrons are still drinking beer and loudly discussing running store inventory strategy well after the taproom has been officially closed.

The race resulted in a poor performance on my part, but despite this, the event as a whole was great and the people were wonderful. Athough I admit that I had to resist the urge to puke, lay down in the grass and pass out during what should have been the most enjoyable part of the course, the route for the course was very well designed and offered great views, lots of fun smooth single-track, tough climbs, and fast descents. The organizers and volunteers for the race were a great bunch as well. Huge props to the Prickly Pear Land Trust for preserving these lands for recreational use and for organizing events such as this one.

The Aftermath

After waking up at daybreak the day after the race, I drove to Missoula to get in some additional time in the mountains before my flight out later that day. Along the way I discovered a magical spring with special healing powers.

Apparently the water from this spring cures hangovers

I did about 12 miles of exploration of the Stewart Peak Trail within the Rattlesnake NRA north of Missoula and took a scenic drive along the Bitterroot river. Before leaving, I closed out my time in Montana in the most fitting way I could think of: eating more Taco del Sol. That stuff is seriously excellent, and I think their logo would look great on running apparel... on me. Just saying.