NIETZSCHE WAS WRONG. AGAIN.

Yep, German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche was wrong. And Cory and I proved it last weekend. Admittedly, Nietzsche has been wrong about a lot of things. Like with his dating advice for impressing the chicks, "You go to woman? Do not forget your whip."

The thing he was wrong about last weekend was his advice, "What does not kill me makes me stronger." Really, Fred? Stronger? Is that why after last weekend's 100 mile race, Cory and I were going through the airport like Walter Brennan on qualudes? It seems to me, Fred, that you fell for the old "fallacy of the excluded middle", meaning that there is a third alternative between "dead" and "stronger"--call it, "beaten down to the last ounce of fortitude."

Or, to put it in other terms, CORY AND I BEAT THAT 100 MILE RACE LIKE IT WAS A RENTED MULE! Yes. We did it. We completed a 100 mile race. With 8 hours to spare. We weren't fast. But we found ourselves passing a lot of the fast guys over the last 40 miles of the race.

One of the tricky parts of a race that long, though, is that with 60 or 70 miles remaining, you have already gone 30 or 40 miles. So you have had body parts get squirrelly on you. You realize, "those toes have developed blisters" or "my shoulders are knotted up and sore" or "I have chaffed in that spot already where Vasaline won't help"or "if I sit down, I won't be able to get back up". And you know these things are going to keep getting worse. To the extent that you can shut out "what's going to happen" and focus on the immediate "I'm only an hour away from a cup of instant coffee", it helps.

For me, at least, the biggest payoff was the last 2 miles. I knew I was going to finish my first 100. I was far faster than I had thought possible. I was still able to run. Other runners who were outbound on the last 10 mile out-and-back were congratulating me as we passed. The sun was just starting to come up. It was quiet, peaceful and beautiful. As close to perfect a moment as I can remember.

ROCKY ROAD 100 RACE REPORT (Preliminary)

     We made it. We both finished and Jim had the run of his life. He smoked it in 24 hours and 38 minutes and won the age group. I was well behind him at 26:02. Details to follow.

OK, HERE WE GO AGAIN--Rocky Road 100

               They say you can't really remember pain with the same intensity that you felt while going through it. They say that's how women can have more than one baby. Well, I don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies but I guess Jim and I can be as forgetful as any women because the day after tomorrow we're going to give a 100 another try. This time it's the Rocky Road (not the Rocky Raccoon) 100 miler in Coto De Caza, California. I've never been there but what I know is this: it's not has high as Leadville, it's not as steep as Leadville, it's not as rocky and technical as Leadville. It is, however, exactly as long so we'll find out if it was really just the altitude that stopped us in Colorado.

          This time we're not going out weeks in advance to get familiar with course or the conditions. We fly out tomorrow, check into a hotel, get up Saturday morning, and start running at 6:00 am. With luck, we'll finish Sunday morning, probably between 11 and noon, get a shower, drive back to Los Angles, hopefully grab a beer and catch the red-eye back and arrive in Indy at 9:30 Monday morning so Jim can teach college math classes. (I have trouble making change for a dollar after a full night's sleep so I have no idea how he can do that).

          Anyway, that's the plan, such as it is. As Jim's favorite Mike Tyson quote goes, however, "Everybody's got a plan until they get hit in the mouth". I guess we'll see how well we can take a punch.



           

"It Could Affect Your Judgment"

I haven't written anything on this blog since the Leadville Race, and with good reason. I've been sulking. The race was mean to me. Yes, it was. Expecting me to do all that hiking and climbing and running. Not willing to take my word for it, that I could do it, but had too many other important things to do to actually do it.

So, I came back to Indy and began a new plan, on how I was going to train so much better and be such much faster next year that Leadville would be begging my forgiveness. Starting with running a good 50 mile race in Texas at the end of October, and continuing to race longer races at faster paces until even the Kardashians would say, "No, no, let's not talk about us--let's talk some more about that Dobson guy!"

Well, you know what my favorite philosopher, Mike Tyson, says about plans. Or, if you don't, take a look at my October 22, 2010 post. And, like many other geniuses, Mike's wisdom stands up to the test of time. Because here's what my plan earned me:

The race started at 5:30am and about 11 miles into the race, while it was still dark, I showed that rocky, hilly trail who was boss. Yeah, I showed it, all right. I really showed--that it was the boss, by bouncing my head off of one of its rocks.

4 miles later I reached the next aid station, where the race personnel made me stop. Well, they made me stop long enough to take the picture on the right. Then they sent me on my way, after telling me how annoying my whining was becoming.


The picture on the left was at 25 miles, when I let them "force" me to stop. It was at that point that the doctor warned me about the danger of a concussion, emphasizing "It could affect your judgment." If she hadn't had the ultimate leverage--free pain meds--I would have suggested, "Take a close look at me, doc. How could you think I had any judgment before my fall?!"


Anyway, that was 3 weeks ago, and I am a reformed and reasonable runner now. No more ultras. No more trail races. No more falling down. Well, except that Cory wants to do a 50K trail run in December. And it would be just downright unneighborly not to run that with him. And he is talking about a 100 mile trail race in February. And that's such a bad idea, that I have to enter the race with him, to protect him from himself. And, of course, the Leadville Race still needs to cry "Uncle" to me. But, other than that, I'm rigid in my resolve. No More Crazy Races!

WHAT HAPPENED AT LEADVILLE

     Well, it's been three weeks since the race, the blisters are almost completely gone, and I've been waiting for clarity to settle in as to exactly what happened at Leadville. Little by little the fog has cleared and I think I know now why I didn't make it to the finish. IT WAS JUST TOO DAMN HARD.

     The facts are these: they give you thirty hours to do the 100 miles but they also have check-points with cutoffs at various points along the course. If you don't make it to these points within a certain time, they give you the hook. We knew that, of course, and planned our pace with those cutoffs in mind. I made it to the forty mile cutoff at Twin Lakes in good shape and started up on over Hope Pass which, at 12,600 feet is the signature feature of the Leadville 100.


     The research we'd done said the way to handle the altitude is to never go completely anaerobic. You always keep moving forward but you never get to the point where your heart is beating so hard you can feel it all through your body--even if it means slowing down to a barely moving shuffle. I thought we'd done enough work and been at altitude long enough before the race that I wouldn't have to slow down too much. I was wrong. Whenever I pushed the pace my heart felt like it was going to jump up and explode out of the back of my head. At some points I was moving so slowly I'm sure the untrained observer couldn't have discerned any movement at all.  Once I got up and down the pass I had to really hustle to make it to the turn-around check point at Winfield. I made it with a few minutes to spare and took off back toward the pass, hoping that lighting would strike and I'd find a way to go faster on the way back. That really isn't as ill-logical as it sounds. The far side of Hope Pass doesn't drop down as far as the way up--it's steeper but shorter so, maybe..... In any case, it didn't work. The further up I went the slower I had to go and I didn't make the cut-off at 60 miles.

     The funny thing is, once I got back down off the pass, I felt like I could have finished the last 40 miles if they would have let me keep going. Unfortunately, it was no dice. Nineteen hours of effort and the hook. So, the question is, now what? I feel like I need to know if I could really go a full hundred. Maybe the thing to do is to try one without a double mountain crossing in it. I'll have to give that some thought.

Leadville Report

Excuses to
follow.
                                                         

Countdown to Leadville, Part Deux

                 OK, let's review:

         This is all you need to go out for a run in Indiana:

            

  This is just some of the stuff you need to go for a run in the high mountains in broad daylight, in good weather:

                                                            
     In fact, you probably don't even need the shorts in Indiana, depending on your speed and your level of modesty. We're learning, however, that the mountains are not as forgiving. The preceding post covered the requirements for a daytime run, or at least most of them. This post will cover the essentials for running through the night. But, before doing that, there's one very important thing that applies at all times. The need to carry water. I am old enough to remember when people simply said "Drink plenty of water." These days that just won't cut it. It seems to be a law that all the experts must say "Remain sufficiently hydrated at all times". If you are one of those people who insist on saying "hydrate" when you mean "drink" I won't judge you for employing that stupid, supercilious, pseudo-scientific affectation. As you read this you are free to mentally substitute "hydrate" or  "consume replacement fluid substances" or "infuse facial orifice with liquid" whenever you see the word "drink" or "water". However you say it, you can't do it if you don't have it and if you want to have it, you've got to carry it with you.  That's where these things come in:



The gizmo on the left is a CamelBack 50 oz fanny pack and the
one on the right is  Nathan backpack that holds 70 0z.

                                                               
                Whether you wear your water on your fanny or your back, it gets to your mouth the same way. There's a tube that runs from a plastic bladder in the pack around your back to a clip that attaches to your shirt up by your head. When you want  a drink you detach the tube from your shirt and raise it to your mouth and suck out a mouthful of water. Not only is it an efficient way of drinking without stopping, sucking on a tube while running at altitude allows you to see some very interesting hallucinations.  I prefer the Nathan backpack because it has pockets of various sizes  in the front that hold about anything you want from power bars to little things, like say pharmaceuticals, if the altitude hasn't already altered your mind enough.  The Camelback has pockets in the back, which means you have to run along holding a tube to your mouth with one hand while reaching around to your butt with the other, all while running along cliffs. I have enough trouble remaining upright as it is.

                So much for thirst. Now on to a couple of problems specific to night running: Cold and Dark.

                First: Cold. Not much mystery here. The higher the elevation, the lower the temperature. Add in the fact that, after 18 or so hours, all of your energy is being spent just putting one foot in front of the other and there's not much left your body can do to generate heat. Hence the advice we've gotten that if the temperature is expected to be  about 30 degrees,  you'd better dress for 10. Here's how I intend to do that:
                

Base Layer: Nothing new here. Polypro turtleneck, fleece vest, gloves, half-tights, warm pants, wool socks.
Pretty standard stuff.

        Next is the outer stuff:

Outer Layer: Knit Ski Mask/Hat, kerchief/scarf, Patagonia waterproof jacket

                  Again, nothing really different from what you might normally wear for a winter run in the mid-west. As always, additional layers can be added or, in Jim's case subtracted. (There seems to be little doubt that Jim will end up in Hell because his body was specifically designed for it. His normal body temperature seems to be just short of the boiling point of water. Often when we run in Indiana I will resemble the Michelin Man and he will be shirtless. Concerned people have actually stopped and yelled "Put a shirt on!", although they may have simply been  commenting on his body. It's hard to tell.)

       Having now addressed the cold we now turn to the dark. Sure, you can carry a flashlight but here's the problem. As you recall from the previous post, there are sections of the course where we will use hiking poles (Black Diamond Carbon Cork, Flicklock---I just like saying "Flicklock" for some reason). Then the question becomes how do you carry a flashlight when you've got your hands wrapped around your Carbon Cork grips? Use your head--literally:

                 Continued. Click "read more".