Beautiful

Kate Upton does not need my defending. So, when I read an article that is making the rounds on Facebook about Kate Upton being fat, I didn't feel like I needed to defend her, but I do want to add my small voice to counter this nasty article and the idea of beauty that it espouses. I married an amazing, beautiful woman and I have two daughters who are well on their way to becoming strong, beautiful women (and the youngest is only 6, but she sasses me like the best of them). I want to speak to them.

I want them to know that the true ugliness in that article (which I refuse to link to, because traffic is what those bottom-feeders thrive on) is that there is some impossible ideal of beauty that every woman should judge herself against, but is forever unattainable. I am personally offended because Kate Upton is on my island. You don't know about the island? It's what we talk about after a few drinks in the cul-de-sac on a Friday night. Who is on whose island. Mine changes a lot, but recently, it's been Kate Upton, Erin Burnett, and S.E. Cupp. I don't know, I have this thing for confident, smart women. That's beautiful to me. And before you call me sexist, the other women on the block, including my wife, are full participants in the island exercise. My wife's constant island-mate is Ewan McGregor (she has a thing for pasty guys with bad teeth; that's a good thing, I guess). Bill Clinton even made the cut for one neighbor.

Everyone has a different idea of beauty. For me, when I see my daughter practicing ballet, and the grace of her movement makes my throat catch and my eyes water, and it's more than just fatherly pride, her beauty steals my breath. When I see my youngest daughter fight through a scrum in soccer, the smallest player out there, throwing a couple of elbows and emerging from the pack with the ball, and remembering her in the neonatal infant care unit, born two months premature, and struggling for life, and seeing how far she has come, that is beautiful.

When I helped a woman as she passed through our 45-mile aid station at last month's 50 miler, one of the last through, a mother and grandmother, running 50 miles and hitting our aid station with an exhausted smile, a smile that is there often, a smile you can see in the radiant wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, that is beautiful.

When I see the women in a race, ahead of me, climbing faster than me, I don't think about being "chicked," I cheer them on, they are strong, they are beautiful. And the women struggling, and pressing on, pushing their limits, they are beautiful. I am lucky enough to train with some very strong and fast women, they are beautiful. I cherish the times I have been able to be at the finish line to cheer on my wife at the end of a race, sweating, stinky, exhausted, and beautiful.

Tearing other people down is not beautiful. Smart is beautiful. Strong is beautiful. Climbing mountains is beautiful. Standing up to your boyfriend who treats you like shit is beautiful. Smelly feet are beautiful. Dirt under fingernails after climbing a rock or a mountain is beautiful. Leaving an abusive relationship is beautiful. Waking up at 5 AM to fit a run in before making the kids' lunches is beautiful. And no matter what your body looks like, or what you think it looks like when you look in the mirror, making an effort, no matter how small, to be stronger, to be healthier, to be a better example to your kids, or your mom, or your husband, that is beautiful.

Thanks for reading my rant.

So now you know who's on my island. Who's on yours?

How to Get Faster

Nothing about this is fun.

My legs are screaming at me to stop, I can see the banner at the finish line, but nothing around it, there are people lining the streets, clapping mindlessly as they crane their necks looking past me, down the road for friends and loved ones, they may be cheering but I don't hear anything except for the hollow, low, muffled sounds adults make in the Charlie Brown cartoons. I'm seeing stars now, taking short, sharp breaths, and trying to keep the black tunnel vision from closing, trying to decipher the red numbers on the clock as I cross the finish, seeing the first two, 39, and I can't remember if I smiled then or not, probably not as I staggered to the curb, dodging the first aid guy with fear in his eyes and arms ready to catch me. I sat on a curb, staring at my shoes with two immediate goals, trying not to vomit and trying not to pass out. I remember smiling then, at that moment, a combination of joy, relief, and most importantly, knowing that I had reached my limit. It's a feeling that every runner should experience, at least once.

The number 40 was arbitrary, a number that I picked out about eight years ago when I started running, a long-term 10K goal to break 40 minutes, a goal that was out of reach, and a time that was a lot faster than I could run, but with proper training and dedication, was within the realm of possibility.

I don't enjoy racing 10Ks. 5Ks are fast, fun, and over quickly. Half marathons are hard, but you can ease up a little, letting endurance take over for the speed. Marathons and longer, for me, are more about conserving energy for the later stages, and getting the nutrition and fluids right than trying to run hard for as long as I can hold on. There is no taking the foot off the pedal in a 10K. In order to hit my goal of a sub-40 minute 10K, I would need to set a 5K PR in the first half of the race, and then keep going. There is nothing fun about that, but having trained hard, tried, and failed twice at breaking the 40 minute mark (running just under 41 minutes each time), I was determined to do it before I turned 40 in mid-February. It was a romantic idea, fight the slowing due to age, give 40 the middle finger, and prove to myself that I can still improve.

Fast is relative, that's why I didn't want to title this post "How to Get Fast." For a lot of the guys I run with, a sub-40 10K is a hard training run, and most could crank it out without much preparation. For some, a sub-40 10K is unreachable, but this is not about a certain time, it's about finding your limits, pushing harder than you thought you could, and running faster than you ever have. I'm not a coach and am not a certified anything. I kind of subscribe to the Roomba Training Philosophy (TM) of bump into enough walls and eventually the floor will get clean. But the following strategies helped me and I wanted to share them in the hopes that they will help you run faster, and find the outer edge of your own limits.

1. Pick a convenient race. For me it was the Cardiff Kook 10K. It was local, it started at 8:30, and it's a fun event with a lot of community support. The simpler the race, the fewer the variables, and less that can go wrong. It is a familiar route along the coast, and I knew each turn, twist and hill. I was able to sleep in my own bed, eat what I wanted, and get to the race start with enough time to warm up and use the port a potty about 20 times.

The race's namesake, The Cardiff Kook

2. Have a time goal that is out of reach (within reason). A good way to do this is to take a current race time, and use that pace to help set a goal for a longer race. For example, you may be able to run a 2 hour half marathon, but think that a 4 hour marathon is out of reach. It isn't. If you can hold that pace for 13 miles, you can train yourself to hold it for 26. Shut up, yes you can. And don't sandbag it, either. If you tell me you're trying for a sub 4 hour marathon and you come in at 3:10, I'll still congratulate you, but you're going to get one hell of an eye roll when you're not looking.

3. Share your goal. One of the things that kept me running when I was ready to take a walk break (thanks to ultras, now every hill is walkable), was thinking about the people that knew I was out there running, trying to run sub-40. I probably told too many people (I even posted it on the blog), and I started to get annoyed in the weeks before the race when people told me that I was going to break 40 easily. My response was "I'm just going to try to have fun." Bullshit. I was scared of not meeting my time goal and already preparing excuses for my failure, but when it came down to it, pride is a powerful motivator and I didn't want to show up to our regular morning run with excuses.

4. Get in a pack. It sucks running alone in a race. When my 10K started, I watched the elite field (all the fast locals were running...the winner came in at 30 minutes) fade into the distance, and I was caught between 3 or 4 runners in front of me and a big pack behind me. I pushed to join the pack in front of me and tucked in between two strong women (this is starting to sound like a dream I had once) that I recognized. I knew they were both capable of finishing sub-40, so I stuck with them. There is an extra push that you get when you run with other people, a "whole is greater than the sum of its parts" thing that can help you during a race. Pace groups for marathons, and half marathons are great for this.

5. Track. More than anything else, this is the one thing that I attribute to making me faster. My goal pace was 6:20. I bumped my goal to 39:30 after my friend and training partner, James, told me that I was probably psyching myself out with 40 minutes, and I should shoot for 39. I compromised at 39:30, and figured that this would be the small cushion I needed and I would finish just under 40 minutes. The one major change that I made in my training schedule was that I added a weekly track workout to my regular routine (4-5 maintenance runs, one longer run of 8-15 miles, and a rest day). I focused on drills and longer intervals at just under race pace. As Richard puts it, in order to run fast, you have to run fast. I became (somewhat) comfortable at running at a 6:20 pace. I remember a track workout about a month ago. It was Friday morning, and I was scheduled to run 4 X 2000 meters at race pace. I was alone in the dark, the temperature was hovering right around 30 degrees, and I was in pain. My legs were tight, my lungs hurt from the cold air, my motivation was low, and the workout was really, really tough. Looking back on that workout, I realize that was the day I accomplished the goal, it wasn't at the race. I ended up running 6:21/mile at the 10K for a 39:28 finish, almost exactly the pace that I trained on the track.

Early morning track work at CSUSM

6. Have a mantra. It is so easy to drift and lose focus in a race. This is great for ultras, let the time and miles slip by. But in shorter races, losing focus can be the difference in accomplishing what you set out to do, and failure. Repeating a mantra when my mind starts to drift helps me to focus on the moment, and to bring my attention back to my form. My ultra mantra (inspired by Phil Dunphy) of "slow is smooth, and smooth is fast" wasn't going to cut it for a 10K. I changed it to "strong is smooth, and smooth is fast" for the first 5 miles, then spontaneously changed it to "fuck 40" (I apologize to any of the kids on the sidewalk who were able to read lips) in the final mile. Anger can be a great motivator.

7. Drop some weight. I bounce around between 165-180, and I know I'm faster when I'm lighter, especially in the short races. Want some motivation to lose weight? Check out this online calculator and pay special attention to the weight adjusted race times. I realized I could gain valuable seconds just by dropping a few pounds. I went from 2-3 drinks a night to a glass of wine with dinner and dropped 5 pounds in 3 weeks without changing anything else. It wasn't a major, drastic, hard to maintain lifestyle change, but it did have the desired effect.

That's all I've got for the tips, the rest is just sweat. No, it's not fun, and I don't want to re-visit that place too many more times. Finding your limit hurts, it's stressful, it's risky, you could fail miserably, and I can't even really describe the payoff, except to say that it's worth doing, at least once. For now, I'm looking forward to getting back to long, slow, fun runs on the trails and some good, solid hill training to get ready for the Miwok 100K (in three months?!).

Thanks for reading.

A Normal Saturday Run

It's the usual group, minus a couple of guys, one lost to a triathlon coach and another working a local golf tournament. We meet at the normal spot, on a corner near a playground, at 6:30, too early for most on this wet Saturday morning. It's a quiet walk to the meeting spot. No traffic or early morning dog walkers. I feel fresh, having slept in an extra half hour. I left the headlamp at home, wouldn't need it today as the sun tries unsuccessfully to burn through the thick layer of clouds and fog.

The rain always seems to start falling just as I step out the door. The thin wool shirt starts to absorb the mist that turns into a light rain, and the light shirt becomes heavier.

We start at an easy pace, all except for Chris who doesn't have an easy pace, short, fast, compact strides popping off the pavement as we chase him out of the sleeping suburban neighborhood into an area that quickly transitions off the grid, littered with old barns, rusted machinery, RVs surrounded by high fences and barking dogs.

We duck between two strands of barbed wire, pulled up enough to let an average sized runner through, a barb catches my shirt, creating a long, thin red scratch down my back.

I walk slowly, not running for fear of tripping and tangling my feet in the barb wire hidden in the long grass. The trampled grass becomes a narrow trail, wider and wider as we ascend to the power line trails, jeep trails. We call them jeep trails, but I'm not sure a jeep would make it through here today, I think as I slip through the heavy, red clay mud.

We leave the wide jeep trail in favor of a narrow single track. The banter comes to a halt, the dick jokes, the war stories, and the other things we say on the trail (and should probably be left there), comfortable enough after hundreds of shared trail miles to know where the line is, and to occasionally cross it, stops as the trail descends.

The trail is steep and muddy and I scan ahead, searching for the line that is not as wet, muddy, slippery, jumping from one side to the other and ducking under overgrown branches or holding my arms in front of me, protecting my eyes from the sharp barbs. We are spit out one by one, on the wide jeep road. The first few wait as the rest of the group appears, most smiling and breathing a little harder.

We cross the road to the preserve. I notice a sign on the bridge, the trails are closed, but the trails that we are headed to are always closed. But, early on a Saturday morning, in the rain, all the trails are open. We pass the bridge, closed do to the rising water level of the stream that can now safely be called a river and run alongside the river to a new crossing, a crossing where, on a regular day, can be crossed by jumping from rock to rock to the other bank and the trail that starts on the other side. The rocks are covered today by the swiftly moving water and we wade through, waist deep. Someone takes their shoes off in a fruitless effort to stay dry. I slip on a submerged rock and my shin hits hard, there will be a bruise. Once across, we run again, discussing the manhood scale and where crossing a waist-deep stream fits in (somewhere between mustaches and steak). In the past, some have turned back here, not wanting to get their shoes wet, but today, we all go through.

We are on closed land now, land that is overgrown, but a narrow trail still winds past foundations of old, deserted buildings that crumbled long ago, running over what used to be a road leading underneath a bridge that is no longer used and is marked with graffiti, one word...Shitface. I tell the others I was down here a few weeks ago, tagging the bridge with my street name, Shitface.

We run along the stream that is now a river, noticing the fog sticking stubbornly to the mountains. My shirt becomes too heavy and starts to rub in the wrong places, so I take it off and wrap it around my waist. Someone takes a group picture.

We emerge from the trail and closed off land and onto the guardhouse for The Bridges Golf Course, and surprisingly there is a guard there, so we cut back down towards the river. Already wet from the river and the rain, there is no discussion, we just wade into the knee-deep water, then waist-deep, then chest-deep for some and neck-deep for others. I slip on the rocks underneath, but there is no point now in keeping my feet on the bottom, I wade with my hands and arms towards the other bank and climb up on the slippery grass. I think I feel leeches, but they are only small leaves and I brush them off as I work my way through the thorny bushes that leave red marks on my legs, like the lines my 9th grade English teacher, Mrs. O'Donnell, used to crisscross over my bad grammar.

Back on a familiar route, steep concrete, so steep that I wonder aloud how they could have laid it without gravity pulling it down to the bottom of the hill, and we are back to the houses on the outskirts of the neighborhood, people who want to be left alone and who probably wouldn't like us running through their horse trails. We are way past the 10 or so miles that I had planned on, but I keep going, sucking down a gel. We head up and over the hill with the green water tower, and down the long, gradual decline on the other side. This is one of my favorite trails, just the right steepness for some fast running, opening the stride and feeling the pull of the bottom of the hill.

We wind through the neighborhood on the groomed trails, behind Albertsons, behind the school where I point out the new multilevel classroom being built over the grass field that now forces the kids into an ever-shrinking play area. They dance in place for P.E. now.

One last climb, then home to the kids, home to smiles and wet, stinky hugs, and eggs, and coffee, and sausage, and fresh orange juice. Time to take the kids out to soccer and the skate park. Time to start the day.

Choose Your Own Adventure -- The Why and How of Adventure Running, Part 1

I recently was asked to give a presentation for Trasie Phan's "Beyond Ultra" series for her ultra running workshops, Ultra University. My presentation was about adventure running and it was called "Choose Your Own Adventure." I spent a lot of time creating a cool, animated presentation. I'm not a very polished public speaker and the thought of getting up in front of a group of people frightened me, but I thought if I had a pretty presentation, it would take some of the focus off of my public speaking skills (or lack thereof). Unfortunately, when I loaded the presentation onto the computer, a cable wasn't working, so I did the talk without the presentation. All things considered, I think it went well, and I wanted to share what I said here on the blog. It was kind of long, so I'm going to separate the post into two parts. Part one will be the why of adventure running, and part two will deal with the how of adventure running.

The "Choose Your Own Adventure" Slide-Show

I don't feel like an expert on this topic, but I have been lucky to connect with people who are good at planning these types of runs, whether it be a run across Zion, the Grand Canyon, or a creative linking of local trails. I see myself as that one guy in every prison break movie who doesn't come up with the prison break plan, but maybe floats the idea, or is the first one to volunteer. This person is also usually the first person to die.

To make sure you are in the right place, I want to start by having you think of a downhill section of your favorite trail, and I want you to imagine running down that trail, maybe a little too fast, outside of your comfortable, safe speed, running at a speed that if you fall, you may roll a couple of times, and their might be blood, and I want you to imagine that you are coming to the bottom of that trail and there is a stream just wide enough that if you jump it you might be able to clear it, but you also may come up short and get a little wet. What do you do at this moment? How do you feel? Did you jump? Was there a slight smile on your face as you took that leap, and did your heart rate go up a little bit? If you jumped the stream, even if you were a little scared, but still took that leap, then you are in the right place. If you skidded to a halt and looked down the stream for an easier way to cross, or if you imagined yourself turning around and walking back up the hill, you might be a triathlete.

That feeling of being scared and excited at the same time, of feeling alive, that is the feeling that connects runners, especially trail runners. That feeling of childlike exuberance, and of knowing that this is what you were meant to do, and that this is what human beings have done for thousands of years, that is the feeling that keeps us coming back and that really gets to the heart of why I like to run, especially in remote areas, and across beautiful trails.

So, the question is why not just race? We have such a wide variety of ultra races that we can take advantage of. These races come with awesome t-shirts, big buckles, cheering supporters, food and drink every couple of miles, and well-marked courses (for the most part).

I love racing, especially trail racing. I love the struggle, and overcoming the pain to finish. I love meeting people on the course and sharing miles of conversation with complete strangers. That's all good, and I don't plan on quitting trail races anytime soon, but when I look back and think of my most memorable moments on the trail, moments that literally take my breath away (or maybe it was just the altitude), moments where you feel that lump in your chest and you look around in amazement, those moments have come on a trail with a small group of friends on a route that we planned ourselves. These are the times when you know that no matter how many pictures you take, or stories you tell or blog posts that you write, there will be no way to convey that feeling unless you are there, sharing in that moment. Those are the moments that stick with me, and that I'm sure will stay with me for the rest of my life.

But why run these routes? I get this a lot, why not slow down and enjoy them, you go too fast to take in the views. Ben Horne, a friend of mine who passed away last year and who still continues to inspire, wrote something that really resonated with me. When he was running across the Appalachian Trail, he ran into a guy who said the same thing, why not slow down and enjoy it? Ben's response was

When holy people pray in the church, don’t they close their eyes? And then they can pray better, talk to God more clearly, without distractions? Staring wide-eyed at a stained glass window, taking a hundred photos, doesn't get me any closer to understanding why the building was created in the first place. Pushing hard and moving fast, too fast for this man’s liking, helps me see God like closing my eyes to pray.

I remember running through Joshua Tree with Ben and watching him count each different variety of wildflower that we passed, and exclaiming how big and beautiful the trees were here in the center of the national park, as opposed to those on the outskirts that have been stunted by pollution. Ben was a fast runner, and he didn't miss anything.

When I visited the Grand Canyon a few months ago, I overheard ranger saying that the average tourist spends 15 minutes at the canyon, taking in the view, getting the postcard picture, visiting the gift shop, then going on their way. As I sat at the South Rim, waiting for friends who were running across the Canyon and back, I watched these tourists, most were more enthralled with the squirrels than with the vista behind them. This isn't an exaggeration. I watched one guy take pictures of squirrels for about half an hour, I even snapped some pictures of him, but then I became the guy taking pictures of the guy taking pictures of squirrels, so what does that say about me? I don't want to be too judgmental  but when you're standing on the edge of one of the most amazingly beautiful places in the world and you don't take the time or effort to even walk a few feet into the canyon, I think it's a waste of time (unless you are some kind of squirrel biologist or something).

Squirrel

A couple miles down the South Kaibab trail

I love to run, and running through these spaces, connecting something that I love to do with the beauty of the outdoors, it makes me happy. When I run across these trails on self-supported runs, I experience the outdoors in a way that makes me feel alive, and on a deeply evolutionary and psychological level, I am doing what I feel I was born to do.

A couple weeks ago, on my kids' third week of winter break, I could overhear them fighting in the house, yelling at each other over which TV show they should watch. I couldn't get any work done, so I loaded them, along with the dog, in the car, and we headed to a local trail, Elfin Forest Preserve, which is a couple miles from my house. The route starts with a steep climb for about a half a mile, and my kids were dragging their feet, but when we turned the corner and hit the downhill section of the hike, all my kids started running. It was some kind of complicit agreement that they had with each other. No one said anything, they just ran, and as I watched my son, his arms helicoptering wildly at his sides, I heard him scream, "I feel so alive."

That joy in running, that wild, happy feeling of being alive is what connects us. I've watched the video below probably twenty times in the last couple of weeks. I love the images, the words, and the message. When I watch this, it makes me think of lines, routes on a trail map, lines that connect us, start lines, finish lines, and the lines that limit us. A few years ago, I never thought I'd run longer than a 5K. That was my limit, but luckily my line was not not drawn with a permanent marker. My line is constantly moving, being adjusted, moved closer by fear, and pushed out by enthusiasm, or something as small as seeing a picture of a trail in the Sierras, or reading an article about a stranger's experience on the Wonderland trail.

My line is drawn in chalk, and I know that it's okay to erase it and move it around. I hope that you draw your limits in chalk and that by the time that we lace up our running shoes for the last time, our pieces of chalk will be slivers, and our erasers will be worn out from overuse, then we can sit quietly and talk about those breathless moments on the trail.

Thanks for reading. In part 2, I'll go into the how of adventure running, planning tools, recommended equipment, and some online resources.