First Spin of Vorberg Gulch and the New Lumix FH27

It's a rite of spring for me - the photo-chronicle of the first passable trip around the Vorberg Gulch loop here in Hailey.  Being one of the first trails with a backcountry feel to shed the winter snow, it's always a bit of a hosannah moment for trail runners in the Valley, so I always feel compelled to take a handful of photos. 

This year, it also gave me the chance to test out my new Panasonic Lumix FH27, the replacement for my aging Coolpix, which drowned during the deluge that was Coyote Two Moon last month.  There are a few kinks to work out with the new machine, but I'm excited to be reunited with a Leica lens, and so far it gets a thumbs up. 

Beginning the ridge section, heading south toward Carbonate

Looking toward the corral at the mouth of Vorberg Gulch

Tree, sun, and snow on the ridge

The Run Junkie requisite shot

Tagged foundation near the bottom of the Carbonate switchbacks

200,000-Step Program: Ultra-Running on Discovery's "My Strange Addiction"

One of my brilliant wife's guilty pleasures is B-grade reality TV, the entertaining yet brainless vortex of which I sometimes get caught up in as well.  One of these shows she occasionally watches is a Discovery Channel offering called My Strange Addiction, which chronicles people's addiction to things like glass eating, chalk eating, detergent drinking, and, of course, ultra-running.  Yes, ultra-running.

That ultra-running may be viewed by some as a fringe pursuit is not a revelation to any of us, but to equate it with chalk eating and glass eating (glass eating!) seemed a bit unfair.  Yet, it was pretty fun to watch the show couch the sport we have such passion for in an abnormal light.

The episode that highlighted the runner lost to the ultra addiction (which actually ran last year sometime), focussed on his wild mileage - which was actually pretty modest for anyone serious about ultra - and used the fact that he'd run through the night and through fatigue, blisters, and nausea as a sure sign of disordered behavior.

It all culminates with his trip to the Javelina Jundred, where he makes it to the finish line, haggard but ready for more.  His girlfriend, however, isn't so sure she wants anymore of him.

Unfortunately, there isn't a clip highlighting just the ultra section of that episode.  I've been putting off posting this hoping (fruitlessly, it seems) for it to happen.  The "Expert" clip bellow, though, gives enough of a flavor of things.

Nordic Dayz in Sun Valley: SuperTour Finals - Sprints

OK, the SuperTour Nordic race series may not be directly related to running, but it's one inspiring spectacle, I have to say.  I spent the morning yesterday out at the Lake Creek Nordic area in Sun Valley watching the classic sprint finals (prelims, heats, and finals), and it was quite a show of grit, athleticism, and technical prowess.  I stationed myself and my camera atop the final climb (Coaches' Climb) of the 1.8 k course and snapped away.  

Check out the  HD Vimeo slideshow (below) to see some great athletes in action and get a taste of how we snow-bound runners spend a good part of our winter.  It's best viewed full screen.  There's also a lower res version.

SuperTour Finals - Sprints 2011 (High Res) from Run Junkie on Vimeo.

2011 Coyote Two Moon 100 Cancelled Mid-Race

AJW and Jared Campbell getting word
at Cozy Dell (mile 68( on cancellation.

For the second year in a row, the Coyote Two Moon 100 in Ojai, CA was dealt extreme weather.  Unlike last year, though, the weather won this time.

Heavy wind and rain on the valley floors and heavy wind and snow on the frequently travelled Nordhoff ridge caused the race director to stop the race for safety reasons shortly after midnight Saturday night (very early Sunday morning).  In the 100 mile race, Jeff Browning, Karl Meltzer and Justin Angle were in between miles 68 and 75 when word of cancellation came through. Ty Draney, Jared Campbell, and Andy Jones-Wilkins had just entered the Cozy Dell aid station at mile 68.

As conditions deteriorated and the night went on, the race director took stock, allowing fewer and fewer runners to continue the race unless they were well-prepared for the wet, cold, and snowy weather, eventually cancelling altogether.  Aid station captains and communication staff then began scrambling to account for all runners.

Rain is still falling heavily in the region and is expected to continue doing so through the rest of the weekend, which may affect to some degree Sunday's running of the LA Marathon.

Clark Zealand & Scott Wolfe beginning
Cozy Dell climb, before cancellation

2011 Coyote Two Moon 100m/100k - A Preview of Sorts

Through twist of kizmet and school break schedules, I get to do a little light crewing during the 2011 running of the Coyote Two Moon 100m/100k in Ojai, CA (March 18 - 20), and I'm pretty excited about it.  C2M holds a special place in my heart.  I did the 100k in 2009, and it was the first ultra I did that took me through the night, that took me well over 12 hours, and that had close to 20,000 feet of elevation gain.  Plus, it was my first exposure to the ultra-as-performance-art stylings of race director, Chris Scott, who puts on a premier event while also using the runners as actors who are there to amuse volunteers, race directors, and any standers by.  This is not Western States; this is not Wasatch (though it has as much climbing); this is its own beast.

RD Chris Scott briefing the troops

The first hint of that, apart from the amusing prose that makes up the C2M website, is the format.  Starts are staggered so that everyone finishes within a 2 - 4 hour window on Sunday morning.  Slower hundred milers will start Friday afternoon, and therefore, run through the night twice, seeing two full or nearly-full moons; faster hundred milers will start Saturday morning; faster 100k runners will start Saturday afternoon.  While being a late starter (as I was in the 100k) can make for some pretty lonely early miles, the convergence in the closing miles, and then right into the awards/breakfast afterward, is a unique touch that makes C2M stand apart from most other races.

Other hallmarks of C2M:
Bonus/Boner minutes.  Do something fun, interesting, or otherwise generally pleasing to the race director or volunteers and you can get bonus minutes that are deducted from you official C2M time.  Singing Sade's "Sweet as Cherry Pie" at the Gridley Top aid station could well be worth a minute per mile in total time.  Do something that irritates, and the boner minutes add to your time.

Leader beanies.  Yes.  Current leaders or whoever the director designates must wear a felt beanie with an honest to god propellor (see photo below).

Aid station pate'.  Or is it cat food?  Try it and earn bonus minutes.

Costumes.  Previous incarnations saw RD Scott on the Nordhoff Ridge in full Holstein and Eastern Bunny regalia (handing out Peeps).

Goody bag.  In addition to the best Patagonia race wear going, the goody bags are the most esoteric collection you will ever receive at a bib pickup.  In 2009, as I chronicled here, mine included among other things: golf tees, old iron curtain beer coaster, brochure from the Intercourse Canning Co, C2M labeled toothbrush, hotel soaps, and the romance novel, "And the winner gets...married."

Elevation gain.  Despite its good-natured ethos, C2M is a hard race.  The 100k boasts 19,000 feet of vert, and the 100m about 26,000 feet.

Bowling.  A near-must for all entrants is the bowling matchup the night before the race.  Meltzer's pretty good from what I hear, though, he didn't run the year I did it so I'm getting this second hand.  RD names teams and gives each bowler a special nickname - which may or may not (likely not) be too flattering.

Now on to some of the players at this year's event.  It seems a large chunk of the Patagonia Ultra team will be on hand.  Among the notables:

In the 100 Mile
Justin Angle, AJW, Jeff Browning, Jared Campbell, Ty Draney, Karl Meltzer, Brian Polley, Betsy Nye, and Wendy Wheeler-Jacobs.

In the 100k
Eric Clifton, Scott Wolfe, Clark Zealand, and Maggie Beach.

I'm excited to get out there and see some of the action in person.

Dan Waddle and Meredith Terranova on the line (with leaders' beanies) for the afternoon 100k starters (2009)

From the Annals of Unlikely Places: Comic Strip Insight on Endurance Sport

Ever since I was in junior high, when my love for endurance sport really started to express itself, my father's been an ardent, if at times bewildered, supporter of my various adventures -- something I believe most of us could say about at least one of our close family members.  Being a long time lover of comics, he will occasionally send me links to comics he thinks might speak to me.   Two days ago he forwarded one along from the strip Frazz, which really seemed to capture not only how we as ultra-endurance athletes define happiness but also how many, likely most, others view us and our crazy sports.  It seemed like it was worth sharing, so here it is. 

Scene: Two people talking - an old teacher and a young student - while watching Frazz bundled up and riding his bike under dim light and falling snow.

Old teacher: That lunatic Frazz.  He'd be a lot happier home in front of the television.

Student: I don't think he's ever confused comfort with happiness.

Old teacher: How is he with bewilderment vs. admiration?

Student: Don't think he gets those confused with his happiness either.

Click to visit larger version on comics.com

Science Wire: From Chinscraper to Handies - They're Not Really as Steep as They Look

It may not matter too much in the realm of ultra-running, where one pinnacle of the sport is a race like the Hardrock 100, but a recent paper in the journal Psychological Sciences had some pretty interesting insight into the  manner in which people overestimate - and grossly so - the steepness of climbs or descents (study). 

That people overestimate the percent grade of a climb is nothing new - not to scientists who study these things, nor to those of us who run with you. It's just second nature to enrich our lives with a dash of hyperbole.  What the findings in this study did, though, was show that this overestimating was very consistent across a number of settings.

The researchers asked about 400 passersby in a shopping mall to estimate the steepness of a set of stairs from the top and bottom; and the steepness of an escalator, also from the top and bottom.  This latter chosen to see if perceived effort to get up and down affects perception of steepness.  Effectively: Does Chinscraper look a lot steeper when you're actually having to go up it and continue on another 90 miles than when you're just a spectator at the bottom?

What they found was that none of this made a difference.  Whether people were looking up, looking down, looking at an escalator or looking at static stairs -  the difference between actual and estimated steepness was about 18 - 19 degrees. A fairly large amount.

So the take home message seems to be that we're all hard wired to spin wild tales of our exploits on the trail, but when it comes down to it, those climbs really aren't as hard as they look.

More on this:

60-Second Science. People Overestimate Steepness. SciAm.com. 2011.

Shaffer & Flint.  Escalating slant: increasing physiological potential does not reduce slant overstimates. Physchol Sci. 2011. Feb 1;22(2); 209-11.

"I Hate Hank Dart" and Other Reflections on the 1985 Prep Track Season

Not holding public office and considering myself to be a generally amiable person, I was surprised to get word a few years back that someone I didn't even know actively hated me.  It was a strange feeling, to be sure, that, without my knowledge, I had done something to some stranger that raised his pique to the point that it transformed to actual hate.

Of course, I am fully aware that people who actually do know me may easily tire of me and eventually come to hate many parts of me.  But, a stranger?  I had no idea what I could have done.  Dinged his car?  Insulted his girlfriend?  What?

What I had done, it turns out, was win the 800 meter race at the Condor League Championship high school meet in the spring of 1985.  Yes.  1985.

In the land of small schools in Southern California - in a time of short shorts and white Vuarnets - I was a decent runner who was good at, but also hated, the 800 meters.  I'd cut a deal with the coach my senior year that I'd run the 800 meters whenever the team needed the points, but that I'd get to run the 200 all the other times.  It was a great compromise for everyone, except for one accomplished 800 meter runner from a rival school.

This runner - who shall remain nameless to protect him from my convoluted story - had dominated the 800 meters throughout the 1985 season - and, as I've been told,  never went head-to-head with me in the event that year.  The day of the Championship meet arrived, and anticipation of his victory had been such that all manner of family had come out to support him and video tape the event.  Unfortunately, things didn't quite unfold as planned.

With the league championship on the line,  my coach had me run the event, which as images show, I ended up winning pretty handily - and, it seems, scarring this person for a number of years; so much so that when one of my friends mentioned my name in passing a few years back he blurted:  "Hank Dart?  I hate Hank Dart!"

To stir things further, this runner - who is actually a great guy who graduated from Harvard College, eventually married one of my best high school friends, and is more successful professionally than I may ever be, recently came into possession of the video tape of the infamous 800, which it turns out shows an uncalled false start on my part (body movement, but not forward motion).  The discovery made for some entertaining Ahabian Facebook/YouTube posts (videos below), with his calling for my relinquishing the ribbon, and my using Orwellian logic to the effect of:  if the false start wasn't called, and there wasn't a chance for restart, it didn't happen.

To be honest, I don't know what the ruling should be on a 25 year old race in a rinky-dink league.  But, since I can't even find the ribbon, it looks like I'll have to keep it regardless. 

I will admit that the Way-Back Machine aspect of all this has been pretty fun.  That day was one of the prominent memories from my senior year.  I took home four blue ribbons (counting the one in dispute) and League MVP - which was awarded to me by Olympic Decathlon medalist Jürgen Hingsen.  The sun was shining.  And life was waiting to be explored. 


YouTube Videos - Posted by Runner Up

Check out those short blue shorts....

...and tight gray sweats.

January Thaw: An Early Trip Up Carbonate Mt.

After a cold and snowy November and December, we've had a bit of January thaw in our part of the Northern Rockies.  So, it seemed time to abandon the diagonal stride for some real striding on the Carbonate Mountain spine - a short, steep 1,300 ft climb that gets enough foot traffic in winter, barring a big snow fall, to make for a pretty enjoyable up and down with Yak Trax or, my favorites, Kahtoola KTS crampons.

The longer switchback route up Carbonate is our go-to run in the spring, as anyone who reads this blog is tired of hearing (posts), but the climb up the spine is a great way to get some good vert up and down and begin to season the quads for those early spring outings.

As the iPhone photos show (which may be of local interest only), there's some bare earth, but the up and down switchback laps of spring are a ways away, especially with La Nina haunting the west this year.  Regardless, it really felt great after a long early winter's rest to step into my running shoes, hop on to some familiar ground, and put in a good effort.

At the flag, looking north.

Looking west.

A bit of traffic on the Jeep trail descent.

Looking down the spine toward Hailey.

Upper switchback junction with spine.

Lower switchback junction with spine.

"Are You a Runner?" [Long Pause]

Maybe I'm naive, but I don't generally prepare for a head on collision with existential crisis in the middle of a holiday party, but that's just what I should have done a few weeks ago.

It was a little before Christmas, and my wife and I were at a gathering at a friend's house.  We began chatting with a woman who we'd never met before, a new transplant to the area who also happens to be a trail runner.  After talking a bit about the races she'd done and where she had lived before moving, she asked me what I'm sure seemed an innocent enough question: "Are you a runner?"

Now, having  been a devoted runner most of my teenage and adult life (now in my forties), having in the not too distant past completed many races in the 50 - 100 mile range, and having logged a number of miles in 2010 that would make the Surgeon General ecstatic - I was surprised to find myself silenced by the question, not really knowing what the true - what the exact - answer was.

As I've chronicled ad nauseam on these pages, I've been plagued by a knee injury for over a year now that has kept my running haphazard at best, and that simple question posed amidst cups of spiced wine and canape's brought to a pinpoint all my machination of thought on the subject over the last 13 months.   It was existential crisis on 34th street.

After a very long pause, my wife gently answered "yes" for me, either as an easy way out of the tiresome "knee" conversation or as a generally truthful answer to a simple question.  Not surprisingly, the woman soon found an excuse to find more engaging, less doltish company.  And that was that. 

Yet, I've been turning this exchange around in my head for the past few weeks, and I still don't know exactly how to answer it.  In gross terms, I am a runner, of course.  Barring the occasional and now regular flare up of my knee injury, I run regularly week in and week out.  And my miles would usually put me in the high end of the recreational category.

In many ways, though, I am no longer a runner - at least not in the sense that I've come to define it.  No longer possible are the 5 hour training runs, the 100 mile weeks, and the epic-distance races - the weekly dance on the edge of the possible that at the same time leaves you feeling exhausted, exhilarated, and triumphant.  For now, I am so removed from these things that it doesn't seem quite right to apply the label "runner" to myself.  That my injury may be getting more pronounced over time rather than better (and with no ready fix for it) makes it ever harder for me to do so.

"Are you a runner?" It really laid bare what's made the last year rough for me, and I don't believe it's the immediate answer that made me pause for so long, but the answer that might come after looking a couple years in to the future, and the possibility that I might have to answer: "I used to be."

Like so many of us, I cherish running's purity of effort, its strangely direct line to the human archetype, and its natural camaraderie.  It'd be a difficult thing to lose completely.  Likely, it won't come to that.  It'll be a continual and slow adjustment to a new normal - for mileage and for races and most importantly for me, for expectations.

I do know, however, that wherever things wind up - high mileage, low mileage, no mileage - running will always be a major part of who I am, whether I get to label myself a runner or not.