My Introduction to Team RWB

Motivation Monday – Meet Joseph Shearer

One defining characteristic of mine that has often dictated the direction of my life is that I like to take things to the extreme. If something peaks my interest, or strikes me as worthy of my attention, I tend to become obsessive. This was certainly the case during my senior year of high school when, among other things, I had to decide what to do upon graduation. I applied to several schools, was accepted by some, and rejected by others. I also made my rounds through the local recruiting office; I sat down once with the Navy, a handful of times with the Army, and even more often with the Marine Corps. I was, and still am a brick in the water, so the Navy was out. I didn’t consider the Air Force or Coast Guard, but I did pursue the Army quite a bit. However, the bait of signing bonuses and that particular recruiter’s tactic of outlining what they could give me for joining quite frankly turned me off. The language of the Corps, however, drew me in. The few, the proud…always faithful…first to fight…once a Marine, always a Marine. I had a high enough Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) test score to pick any Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) that I wanted, but when I signed the dotted line I had only one in mind. I wanted to be a grunt, one of the guys that kicks in doors; one of the people out front and center.

My other passion during my last days before adulthood was trail running. I had started running because I wanted to play varsity soccer, and had no illusions that my level of talent at that time would get me there. If I wanted a shot then I would have to be the best-conditioned player on the field. I ran all summer between my junior and senior years, and quickly developed a love for the sport that I originally started only as a means to an end. The event that pushed me to the extreme side of running happened in the Spring of my senior year. A friend and I wanted to hike the 70-mile Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail in my home state of Pennsylvania over Spring break, but due to excessive snow days our break was shortened to only three days on the trail. We called ahead to confirm our two nights at the trail shelters and we were met with skepticism. “It takes at least 4 days to hike our trail, and that would be pushing it.” We scoffed at the nay saying; after all, we were both teenagers and athletic ones at that. Long story short, we made it in our three-day window, but both of us were hurt and I even had to see the doctor for a strained quadriceps when we returned. It got me thinking though, could we have been the fastest people to hike the trail? A quick Google search of the topic both humbled me and changed my life forever. We weren’t the fastest, not by a long shot. I discovered that human beings can run further than the farthest I had heard, which at the time I assumed was the 26.2 miles of a marathon. There was an annual race on that same trail we took three days to hike… the course record was, and still is, 10 hours 43 minutes and 34 seconds…for 70 miles! I was instantly obsessed. I bought trail shoes, researched running, and ran longer and longer distances. I wanted to run this race; I had to know if I could do it. However, fate and my decision to join the Marine Corps put my running ambitions on the back-burner.

In June of 2004, I graduated from high school and boarded an airplane destined for South Carolina. I was going to Parris Island to become a Marine. My parents weren’t thrilled about my decision, despite my father having served in Vietnam and my oldest brother in the Gulf War. They thought I was too smart to join the Marine Corps infantry, and that I had better options in front of me. They wanted me to go to college, at least become an officer instead of going enlisted. My compromise was that I would join the reserves and go to college at the same time. I always thought that I would go active a year or two down the line, and when my family was more comfortable with the idea, I would make the Marine Corps my career. I graduated boot camp in October 2004 and then the Marine Corps School of Infantry in December – just as I had planned. Then something happened that I did not expect. The day I checked into my reserve unit, I pulled into the drill center thinking that it was a bit strange that so many cars were in the parking lot, after all, this was a reserve unit and it was the middle of the week. I began to put the pieces together and when I went to the admin office, my suspicions were confirmed… we were being activated. I called my Dad to tell him the news, I wasn’t going to college in January, instead I was headed to Iraq.

The next year of my life, my first as an adult, wasn’t spent worrying about exams and class schedules, instead I was worrying about my friends (and myself) being shot, blown up, or killed. Through seven months in the Al-Anbar province, I saw my unit lose 48 Marines and Corpsman – the most of any Marine unit since Vietnam. Somewhere around five months into the deployment, I began to notice I wasn’t okay, not even remotely. I stayed awake for days at a time, even when it wasn’t necessary.  When I did sleep, my dreams were invaded by morbid scenarios of things I had seen and things I feared to come. I was extremely superstitious about my actions and my role in the unit. Whenever we lost Marines to either death or injury, I was making connections in my mind that put the blame on me – what if I would have been there? What if I had done this or that? I had no intentions of going back to a life like I had before Iraq, mostly because I didn’t think it was possible, and partially because I felt I wasn’t worthy to make it home unscathed.

After Iraq my life was consumed by survivor’s guilt, and a sense that I lacked purpose outside of combat. At just 19 years old, I thought my life was one that should have already ended. I began drinking heavily, not knowing that what I was experiencing was PTSD. At a case of beer a day, I had all the signs of a budding alcoholic, but that was only the tip of the spear. Nightmares, panic attacks, and hallucinations were all a daily reality. I just wanted everything to stop, so I moved on from booze to drugs. Weed to calm me, cocaine for a rush of adrenaline, painkillers and sleep tablets to bring it all down. The abuse wasn’t sustainable. In just 6 months, I ran out of the money I had earned in Iraq, more than almost any normal 19 year old would ever have in their bank account. Suicide attempts landed me in the VA psychiatric ward on multiple occasions, but I still wouldn’t admit that I had PTSD.

My turn around was slow and drawn out over the next several years, but the depression and nightmares were a constant. My new solution, healthier than the outright self-destruction I had pursued at first, was to distract my mind by basically working myself to death. I had moved to Columbus, Ohio from my home state of Pennsylvania to get away from the atmosphere of drugs and run-ins with the law. I was in a new city, working 60+ hours a week while taking 19 credits at the local community college. I didn’t have time for PTSD, so the symptoms, at least on the surface, began to wane. It was a good plan in my head, and at first it even seemed to work. But after a few short months my body couldn’t keep up with the lack of sleep or rest. I fell asleep driving from one job to the next; I couldn’t stay awake in classes. I ended up quitting one job, getting fired from the other, and dropping out of school. I was back to square one.

Through a strange turn of events, I found myself working for minimum wage as a hotel housekeeper, estranged from the Marine Corps, my family, and all of my friends. Turbulent times seemed to loom ahead, but through a chance meeting after work with a man in a similar situation, I once again had hope. After I met Dane, who became one of my best friends and eventually my roommate, I was introduced to a whole host of other people that would change my life. One of these individuals, named David, gave me the spark I needed to take control of myself using an old love – the love of running.

David told me that he was training for a 50-mile race in Virginia that coming November, making him the first person I had ever met that actually ran ultra marathons. I told him about my dream of running Laurel and told him I would help him train and run a shorter race in preparation. In February, I ran my first ever race, the Holiday Lake 50K. I followed it up with a marathon, and then another, and then ran the 50 mile Masochist. By next year I was addicted, running marathons and ultras every other month. In addition to my running, I started a blog about my endeavors, detailing each race that I completed through race reports. Running and writing became my outlet and my therapy. I don’t buy into the belief that PTSD can ever fully be mastered, but it can certainly be curtailed.

I used my growing experiences to secure a spot in the Brooks Inspire Daily program; I had discovered a gift in running that I could use to help others and make a difference in their lives as well as mine. The relationship with Brooks enabled me to play an active role in starting the now annual event, called the Memorial Day 100. This relay, composed mostly of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans, consisted of running from the Virginia War Memorial in Richmond to the Iwo Jima Memorial in Washington, DC. The first year we raised over $10k for the Wounded Warrior Project, the second year we almost doubled that amount for Hope for the Warriors. The event, that I now follow from afar, continues to grow and takes place in New York with the relay ending at Ground Zero.

I am now in my 4^th year of running, having done 7 marathons and 10 ultras. I am also in my 3^rd year in the Brooks Inspire Daily program. In 2013, I am proud to continue my running career and helping my fellow veterans as part of Team RWB.

Semper Fi!

Race Report: 2013 Nueces 50K

After setting a new PR in October at the Nothin's Easy 50K, there has been some what of a challenge in navigating through the new realities of my life. Finding out how my running and personal aspirations fit in with the arrival of my son Connor were at first daunting, but I think I have finally got the hang of it. Running in between classes instead of after, running as a family once a week with the jogging stroller, and as a whole, just being more intentional with my time. November, December, and the first part of January were all pretty dormant on the running front as I worked out the newness of being a parent, but that itch to run facilitated my return to training.

My newest training partner... his parents met at an ultra so I think it's

safe to assume he is going to tear some trails up in the future.

 Getting back on the horse in the dead of Winter historically is a difficult task... but down here in San Antonio a long cold Winter means 60 degrees... perfect running weather. I had ran a few miles here and there, including a half marathon with Wounded Warrior Project in January. I also got the opportunity to crew for my friend David who came down from Ohio to run the Bandera 50K. So I hadn't been completely off the grid with running. One thing I kept hearing, especially at Bandera, was, "You just HAVE to run one of Joe's races!" This, referring to Joe Prusaitis, the RD for Bandera, Rocky Racoon, and several other races under the Tejas Trails banner. I decided to take the advice and sign up for the Nueces 50K which was also doubling as the USTAF 50-mile championship. Gabe, my current ultrarunning padawan that I helped train for Nothin's Easy, decided to join me again on this adventure and registered as well.


We had about a month and a half to knock the rust off, train a little bit, and be ready enough that Nueces would be, if nothing else, a solid training run for a 50-miler in April. The preparation wasn't nearly as much as we had done for the race at Government Canyon, but we both felt ready. But maybe we felt a little too ready. Two days before the race we had done no scouting whatsoever... didn't know where this race was, let alone where we would stay or what the course was going to be like. You would think that the green gill would over prepare and the salty dog would know better than to walk into something blindly, but yeah, I guess we are lazy?

Finding the course map for this report is literally the first

time I've seen it... guess I'll know for next time?

We determined two days before the race that we would be camping at the location the night before as opposed to leaving San Antonio early on the day of. This decision was made pretty flippantly but in hindsight if we had tried to drive up the morning of, we would have never made it to this place to run.

It was about a 2 hour drive from San Antonio, but the last 45 minutes of it were spent in an area that gave the same impression I get when I watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre. No cell phone service, no gas stations, no anything, just Texas hill country. Even when we got to the access road for Camp Eagle where the race was being held, it was still another 8 miles back a very thin and unmaintained dirt road.


When we finally arrived, it was well worth the wait. I have been to a lot of parks and natural areas since moving to Texas, but this place is among the most beautiful I have seen. Steep cliffs, rock formations, rolling hills, and even a river that actually had moving water... a rare sight in these parts. As we set up our tent near the course, Gabe and I had determined that no matter what happened the next day that this trip was already worth it.

"I want to see mountains again

 Gandalf! Mountains!"

One criticism I have of the race in general, and I say this knowing that some of it is outside of their control... the additional costs on top of the race registration. There was a land access fee, camping fee with a two-night minimum, as well as a separate charge for each meal. It wouldn't have seemed so bad if some or all of that was either included in registration or at least to have an option to pay ahead of time. But I digress.



After the pre-race dinner, which was particularly good, night had fallen, but it was still much too early to hit the rack. To make good use of our time, Gabe and I decided to hike on the course for a few miles to get a feel for what we would be seeing in the morning. The short walk led us alongside tall cliffs, over a river via a suspended foot bridge, then up a steep climb to a giant steel cross overlooking the camp. By the time we headed back the stars were out and we couldn't help but to be in awe of the surroundings. Then we saw a freaking giant porcupine. This place was awesome.

Yeah... it's a freaking porcupine. 

 Back at the campsite we prepped our gear for the next day, pinning on our race numbers, filling up bottles, and pounding water. It was getting cold and it was time to rack out.

In the tent I got the best sleep I can remember having in the last few months, almost 9-hours solid, waking up about 45 minutes before the alarm. We changed over, put on some warm outer layers to brave the walk to breakfast, and tried to hold back the pre-race jitters. We watched the start of the 50-mile race before making the last minute adjustments for our own outing.

At the starting line I was freezing my ass off in the uncharacteristic 30-degree weather. Knowing that it would warm up, I wasn't going to wear more than a singlet, but looking around, myself and only about two or three others had the same idea. The countdown started as we waited under the pavilion which served as the start, finish, and half way point. Then the race began.

A short stretch of running and we hit the woods, climbing up a rocky single track trail. Runners began to bunch up as the "walk all hills" crowd slowed down. In hindsight I should have started the race further up in the pack, but easing into the day wasn't a bad idea either, just so long as I was warming up. I began passing on the wider stretches when the speed of the pack picked up and thinned. More than a couple of runners were having issues with the terrain and I was witness to some nasty spills. Within 20 minutes the sun was up, my muscles began loosening,  I could feel my hands again, and I was out of the herd. I could see a few runners ahead and my goal was just to keep them in sight without breaking out of a comfortable pace. The course was beautiful and technical, with rocky rolling hills and valleys that at times skirted some pretty gnarly drop-offs. At about 40-minutes I was on the heels of the runner in front of me. He was a better climber than me and overall a better runner, so I knew that this was only a temporary motivator. At the first aid station he stopped, I didn't, so I was briefly ahead of him before relinquishing the spot back to him. After a little bit longer in the woods, the course opened back up and took us to so amazing views of Texas hill country. The terrain became more consistent, with lots of loose rocks. The course was pretty challenging, but I managed to keep my pace, never needing to walk, and the weather was perfect so managing my water was easy. I bypassed the second aid station, even though the quesadillas looked pretty freaking good.
We were know coming through the area that Gabe and I had scouted out the night before, running alongside a huge cliff and then crossing a small stream via a suspension bridge before climbing towards the giant steel cross.

I was able to cross the bridge just seconds before this asshole showed up.

The course stayed high for a long while after that, giving more scenic views, winding past a huge windmill and staying pretty open. Around this time I started catching a ton of runners which at first kind of concerned me. I have yet to get lost on a course, but it is always an underlying fear.  I eventually, to my relief, realized that I was catching back of the pack 50-mile runners. I ran on.

When I hit the next aid station I still had a little water in my handheld and all the bottles in my waist pack were untouched. I was having some stomach issues so even though I probably should have been eating, I hadn't touched anything since the unwise breakfast of tacos... complete with jalapenos and hot sauce, and coffee. To delve into the crass world of ultra running ailments for a moment... my diet from the night before and morning of the race resulted in incredible gas, which in turn contributed to even more incredible chaffing in an area I'll simply say that you don't want chaffing in.

The course from the last aid station to the start finish wasn't long, but it was certainly pretty cool. You winded through the woods and then down from them to the main road that we drove in on. At point of crossing there was a decent amount of water running across the road that we had to kind of hop scotch through to the other side of the river, run along it's far bank and then use stepping stones to come back across. The course then Y-ed off, left for the 50-milers that had the privilege of crossing a second foot bridge, and us 50K runners going right to wrap around through the woods. During all this time I had never once looked at my watch, mostly because of a conversation Gabe and I had the night before about being a slave to the device (he never wears a watch during training or racing, while I religiously document my mileage and pace).

I came back out of the woods, hauled ass across the grass to the pavilion and on through then looked up. I was looking for the Port-a-Potty mostly, but my eyes caught the timing device and I couldn't help but do the math. I did the first loop in 2:26, almost exactly my half way mark for Nothin's Easy, except on an infinitely more difficult course. The only difference was that at that point in Nothin's Easy I had a lot more gas left in the tank and I didn't hurt nearly as bad. I hit up the facilities, performed some routine hygiene that had some rather unfortunate pain and blood involved, and then headed back out on the course. The climbs I had mocked in the first loop seemed like mountains the second time around. I was trying my damnedest not to walk what was runnable, and having a hell of a time doing so.

No one had really passed me yet, so I figured I was sitting around teens or something near it. When I got to the first aid station I refilled my bottles for the first time, tried to eat, but couldn't. I was headed for a wall and I could see it coming, you can't run hard for that long without needing calories and I had foregone all nutrition and even left my chia seeds and goji berries back home, drinking only water.

I plugged along at a pace I knew wasn't close to that of the first half, but who cares, I was still moving forward. When I came to the second aid station, I noticed my nipples had started to burn... I forgot to put on bandaids... yet another of many  rookie mistakes I made that day. The quesadillas this time may as well have been diesel fuel and feces from Iraq, the sight and smell of them made me want to vomit... I skipped all the food again, but did top off my water as the temperature was rising.

I was feeling more and more like hell and it didn't help that I could see the edge of the field where my tent was staked. I had those stupid thoughts of just DNF'ing. I ran from the aid station, across the footbridge and then just stopped. I went to the side of the trail, laid down on some rocks, took a pepto tablet, and basically sunbathed. As I lay there, runners kept coming by, more and more of them, people I had passed early on, people that had been behind me the whole race, maybe twenty runners, maybe more. I drank my entire hand held while I sat there, my stomach cramping, my legs burning, and all the pain of a hard run descending upon me. My body was starting to move from racing to being done. Some climbers that were passing on their way to go up the cliff face just a few hundred feet away from me stopped and asked if I was okay. I told them I was and commented on what a beautiful day it was. It was time to man-up and get to running. I filled my handheld with two of my waist belt bottles, stood up, stretched, and took off. I remembered that I had said that after Connor was born that I would never DNF so long as I was able to physically complete a race, no matter how bad I was doing. I also remembered the last time I dropped out of a race and the unforeseen consequences of that day, it was the last opportunity my Mom ever had to see me finish a race and I failed to make it there for her to see. Perhaps I was being overly dramatic, but those thoughts got me off my ass. Besides, I have yet to drop out of any distance less than 50-miles, and I wasn't going to let my padawan make it to the finish while I sulked on the side of the trail whining about a stomach ache and some chaffing.

There isn't much to say about the rest of the race. After my 20-minute mental breakdown things remained pretty painful, but I kept an even pace, following my mantra of "just keep moving forward".

I crossed the finish line in 6:08:23, my slowest 50K that I have ever run. To be honest it was one of the hardest 50K's I've ever run, comparable to the demoralizing Capon Valley race a couple years ago that broke me off and spit me out. I had a breakdown during that race too, sitting on a log for what seemed like an eternity after I had been well inside the top 10 for the first half of the race. Gabe and I said that no matter what had happened that this was going to be a good trip, and it was. It wasn't a great finishing time, I didn't prepare like I should have, I certainly didn't race well in the second half, but I did something I love for 6 hours on a beautiful course.

Gabe finished an hour and some change after me, beat to hell. He had blood all over him and looked like he fought a mountain lion on his way in. He had a rough race as well, but shared my consensus, it was totally worth it. I imagine and I hope that running these crazy things always will be. Sometimes I'm pretty good, but I'll never be an elite guy. I want to get faster, but it's not why I do it in the first place.

Run Happy.

Race Report: 2012 Glacier Ridge 50-Miler

Last year I was a bit overzealous... even for me. I had signed up for far too many races and the result was a hot start and a cold finish. By mid-Summer I was burnt out, drained of enthusiasm and unmotivated. After what was the highlight of my running career when I finished the 77-mile Laurel Ultra after years of chasing down the dream, I took a nose dive. I didn't even bother to show up for 4 races I had signed up to run and the remainder that I did attend, were either disappointing DNF's or sub-par performances that became some of my slowest times for their respective distances.

I hadn't realized it until last month that I had not completed an ultramarathon since Laurel and the one marathon I had run was my worst race to date. This year I wanted things to be different, more intentional, more calculated, and I expected better results.

My first challenge of the year was Glacier Ridge, a 50-miler just down the street from my parent's house, a newer race in just it's second running. I had heard good things from the inaugural class whose only complaint was an obscene amount of mud, which could only be blamed on that old harlot, Mother Nature. I was excited to finally run a 50-miler not named the Masochist and have a real good shot at crushing my PR which came during my first attempt at the distance back in 2009.

The challenge and the benefit of running races in Pennsylvania both stem from the fact that I was born and raised in the Keystone State. To my benefit I know the terrain well, have been to a fair amount of the parks where races take place and I get to stop at Sheetz on the way to and from. However, anytime I cross the PA/OH border it becomes a logistical balancing act between catching up with friends/family and getting prepared for what I came to do... run a race.

With Glacier Ridge Mikayla and I covertly stopped by to see some friends before heading to the pre-race dinner and briefing the night prior, where we received our fill of the standard fare of spaghetti, bread, and water. Though it would have been nice to stay in Indiana (Of the Pennsylvania variety) a bit longer on race-eve, it just wouldn't have been the type of low key rest I needed.

A Runner's Pre-race Paradise.

After the dinner/briefing, we headed to my parents house where we were staying just a short drive from Moraine State Park to visit and give my parents the low down on the next days activities that they might finally witness me in action. A night of restless sleep led to 4am step off time, much to the dismay of Mikayla who despises my need to be hours early for every race I run. At the starting line I was afforded the always pleasant run in with Rick Freeman, the race director from Laurel, who was helping out with check-in. After a few cups of coffee and a bagel, it was time to roll.

I was in the middle of the pack at the start, with a short road section to tackle, which we were told was intentionally incorporated to space runners out from the get go. I wasn't paying much attention to the other runners, I was just getting a nice comfortable heart rate built up, mostly to stay warm in the chilly dawn air. Once we entered the woods I had found a comfortable stride and could see a pack of four runners just slightly ahead of me. All I knew at this point about placement was that there were runners ahead and runners behind. I knew what my first goal was and it was to narrow the gap between myself and the pack. Within 20 minutes I was part of the pack, three guys out front and one very impatient man behind me who insisted on running every incline. I was tempted to follow him every time but thought better of it assuming he was green and would burn out, besides we were both hitting the heels of the pack and were likely to both pass, albeit with completely different strategies. Ten more minutes and it was time for us both to make our move and we passed the leading three. The gap widened quickly on the trail and I had estimated I was averaging right around 10-minutes a mile. A long climb seperated all of us and I was alone in the woods, hammering away at the path. A series of climbs pushed me out of eye sight of the still intact group runners but on every descent I was gaining ground on the hill crazy guy.

By All Means... Run On Ahead... I'm Walking This One

Working toward the first aid station was a long flat section and I finally caught my prey, he the better climber, I (at the time anyways) the faster pure runner. As we approached the station I caught glimpse of two runners in the distance, one in red and the other in blue. They hit the aid station probably less than two minutes ahead of me when I was coming off the hill. I had no plans of stopping, fully stocked on water and not quite in need of calories just yet. As I came through, the volunteers loudly cheered, which gave me a little prideful boost in speed so long as they could see me. As I was tearing across the road to get back onto the trail, a thought entered my head. The cheers. I have run many ultras and been through dozens of aid stations during them... the people are always great, always helpful, always nice... but their enthusiasm was a bit much. It was appreciated for certain, but I wondered why.

The next section was an out and back... run to the next aid station via the left fork, run back to the one I just came from and then turn around and take the right fork for a second out and back. This part was flat and only mildly technical, almost too much so. I knew my speed had thus far been a bit ambitious so I geared down slightly, knowing that an open run would only leave me out of gas for later. For almost the entire section I was completely alone, waiting for the front runners to come tearing up the trail past me the other way, but they never came. When I reached the turn around I saw the red shirted guy stopping to eat, he was a much older gentleman than myself, which calmed my worries of being too far out front... the out and back was a lollipop of sorts, perhaps the roundabout was longer than I thought... after all I didn't look at a course map before stepping off.

I quickly refilled my bottle leaving the aid station before red and with blue in plain view. He was hauling ass though and I knew if he were to keep his pace for the time being and I were to catch him at some point it would be by gnawing away for hours, not minutes. I kept my stride not wanting to take the bait just yet.

I continued on, revisiting all the trail I had just ran from the other direction. It was a good while before I started seeing other runners coming towards me, that road section to start did as promised, it was a wide open trail and pack runners were few and far between.

At what I estimate was mile 18 I came upon a nice section lined with pine trees which littered the trail with roots. I was going at a good clip without a care in the world and certainly zoned in on my surroundings. That's when it happened. My low to the ground, barely lifting the legs, cruise control stride failed me. My right toe dipped about a half inch too low and caught a root.

In the thousands of miles of running I have done over the years, all the trails, the weather conditions, ice, mud, hills and everything else you can think of, I have fallen just once to the ground. Sure, I have had my share of trips and slips, but I have always, save once, been able to throw my weight in such a way to stop from hitting the ground. But alas, this was a day of fate.

The root caught me just right, at the peak of my left leg flying forward with a good amount of force my right leg ripped me backwards and I did a very convincing split second impression of Superman. I was launched quickly in a horizontal position off of the trail and came to a nice soft landing on a group of jagged rocks.

Mine, and pretty much anyone's reaction to falling is to immediately get up, this action which my brain did indeed send a signal to do, didn't come to fruition, instead I felt intense pain shoot through both of my legs. Okay... no bouncing up like a cat, lets try just standing up. Nope.  Neither leg would move the way I commanded it to, the only result was ridiculous pain. Having run as much as I have, I've had some pretty serious pain in my legs, but this was tops. I was instantly terrified that somehow I broke a leg, or even both legs from the fall. I rolled to my back, not sure what to expect when I looked down. When I did, to my great surprise and relief, there was minimal blood, lots of leaves and dirt, and no protruding bones. Immediate concern was washed away but my legs were both locked, completely straight, unable to bend at the knee or ankle. Mother Nature just gave me one hell of a charley horse.

Being unable to stand, I drug myself to a tree and pulled myself up. Once standing I leaned over to put my hands on my quads, massaging and slowly letting my weight bend my knees till I could easily reach my calves and began working on them. All said, I lost 15-20 minutes from this whole business of debauchery and sabotage. Red shirt passed me... followed by hill climbing dude... followed by the pack that I once was a part of... followed by a random runner or two I had not previously seen on the course.

When I started out again I was alone, no one in sight ahead or behind. My stride was nothing like it had been, the fall and subsequent muscle issue made it feel like I had run twice the distance I had actually covered, my only hope was that the kinks would work out and I would be able to return to form. I ran in a good amount of pain all the way back to the aid station, ate as much salty food as I could stomach, refilled my bottle, and headed out for the right fork. The pain was still persistent and I was slow going. I knew that there were at least eight runners ahead of me and I assumed at the time that there was still more. No one passed me on the short trail section until I came upon a gravel road that skirted the lake. The road impact exaggerated the pain in my legs and I was reduced to alternating walking and running. That's when I started to get passed every couple of minutes. Though I was disheartened I knew I was still on track for a PR if I could keep running more than I was walking. The road wasn't helping my cause at all. It seemed to wind on forever, each turn hoping that there was a trail head was only more road.

NOTE:    I'd like to point out at this time my distinction between trail and road... dirt roads are still roads, gravel roads are still roads... if you are running on anything that I can drive on, it's a road. Overall I liked the course, but I found the aforementioned section to be a bit misleading. We were told the only roads were a crossing and the first short bit before the woods... granted the long and winding road I described probably wasn't as long as it seemed and to some it might be considered a "trail", but it was still way more road than I want in a trail race.

The road section ended and took me to a muddy jeep trail (jeeps trails aren't roads, but I prefer single track). I was in an increasing amount of pain, cramping up here and there, more frequently than I was initially after the fall. This section was a true out and back, no loop to speak of, so when I saw blue shirt, followed by hill climber, followed by red shirt I knew why they were cheering for me at the first aid station... I had spent the first 18 miles in the top 5, at one time being in second place. My heart sunk. I knew I was in a good spot, but not that good. The fall's injury was much more than physical now. I felt great before the fall, confident, full of energy. Could I have kept up the pace I was running? Maybe, but probably not. If I could estimate, I think I could have kept it to where they were now, somewhere on the low end between 30 and 40 miles. I decided to set my watch, see how far behind I had fallen, how long it would take me to get back to the point they passed me coming the other way. My mind was motivated but my legs were still stiff. I couldn't go much faster than I already was. In what seemed like forever I finally reached the aid station, ate some food, and then went a few miles further to retrieve a page from a telephone book to prove I had gone out. This section had some pretty steep hills, which in my condition I struggled mightily with. I reached the book, got the page, and ran back to the aid station just in time for the rain to start.

The rain was a problem. I was wearing a singlet and arm warmers. The weather was supposed to stay around 60 degrees and the rain was supposed to come later, after I expected to be finished, not with 20 miles to go. I trudged along, doing as best I could. Runners were catching me left and right. When I got back to the spot where the leaders passed me I looked down at my wrist... more than an hour ahead, much more probably now that I have kept slowing down and I'm sure they continued to surge. Many runners had passed me at this point but I had started counting. I was just outside of the top 20, but at the rate I was being passed, I wouldn't be there for long.

My armpits began chafing. My tape had fallen off, so my nipples were bleeding. It was too cold to take any of the clothes off that were causing the discomfort and the rain was persistent. What had started out as a sure shot of one of my best races was now a heaping pile of garbage. I was falling off a cliff in my mind, knowing that a good finish was out of reach, I resorted to walking, too despondent to convince myself to run.

When I reached the last aid station before the finish, I had just 10 more miles to go. My mind refused to let me run and then the math in my head told me if I walked I would still make it but I would be a long ways off from a time I would be proud of. I sat there in a lawn chair, sucking down lukewarm soup, pondering what to do. I decided to continue on.

I walked up the massive hill that much earlier I had flown down, trying to visualize the remaining distance I had to go until I reached the end. One I got to the top I tried running, stopped after just seconds and stood there. I was cold, wobbly legged, tired, and completely unmotivated. Screw this. I was done. I turned around and walked back down to the aid station. Having just seen me, they asked if I was okay. I said I was lightheaded. Which was true enough to justify to them at least my reasons for quitting but to me it was a lie, I knew that it was not the real reason I was quitting.

A teenage son of one of the aid station volunteers offered to drive me back to the start/finish and I accepted. It was a short drive, a distance that I could have, and most certainly SHOULD have ran. My parents for the 3rd time showed up to a race and for the 3rd time weren't able to see me finish.

If my Mom never gets the chance to see me finish a race, I know myself well enough that I will probably never stop regretting it. The 50-mile distance continues to be that which I struggle with most, failing at as many attempts as I have been successful and never achieving a time that is indicative of my ability.

History might be written, but the future is not. 

Race Report: 2012 Nothin's Easy 50K

They say everything's bigger in Texas and if my training since moving to San Antonio is the measure, I'd say that's true. This year, in contrast to the last, has been very low key for me... only a handful of races compared to the dozen from 2011. I had hoped moving to Texas would mean I would have more opportunities and increased motivation for training and racing, but I really wasn't sure that would actually be the case until I actually got down here. After all...  between school, impending fatherhood, and the Wounded Warrior Project's TRACK program, I'm a pretty busy guy. As it has turned out, Texas has been nothing short of an electrifying jolt to my running. It seems that I discover a new park with new trails every few weeks, I have more people that are willing to put in miles with me, and the weather makes it easy to want to be outside kicking the dirt. With my training becoming more consistent and of a better quality than ever before I started looking for races around my new residence. I couldn't do all this trail running and training just for the sake of a single road marathon.

After a few visits to Government Canyon State Natural Area, one of my favorite parks in San Antonio so far, I discovered that there was to be a race held there... the inaugural Nothin's Easy 50K. Government Canyon is a beautiful park and it's HUGE. Over 40 miles of technical trail, zig-zagging through cacti, dry creek beds, and over more rocks than you'll find in a quarry. With about two months to train I was completely sold on the race.

Carefully Conducting Reconnaissance

With Mikayla only getting more pregnant and me not knowing any other runners in San Antonio, I began pitching the race to a few of my fellow wounded warriors, hoping to grow some friendships and introduce someone new to ultrarunning. Trying to convince anyone to do anything is a tough business, but when it comes to getting people to sign up for a 30+ mile run that for all they know could kill them... well that's almost an impossible business. There is however a special breed of people... inherently adventurous, having deep rooted masochistic tendencies, and being a little bit psycho. I found one such man among my peers, and though having never even run a marathon, he agreed to train and race with me.

My first run with anyone who I'm not completely sure of in regards to ability, is always a bit cautious. There's a lot that can get lost in translation between talking about something and actually doing it. What I think is long, fast, or hard is not something objective or universal. I avoided interrogating Gabe to see where he was at, he looked fit, was not completely unfamiliar with running, and I was fairly certain 45 minutes of trail running would show us both what we were getting into without too much damage.

The first run started off okay, I led the way... just around 2-miles, flat to a sharp descent before coming to a decision. Go right and have a fast, flat, conservatively technical run or go left with steep climbs, ankle breaking terrain, and a short but very accurate view of what trail running can be like? I asked, I explained, he said, "It's up to you." Up to me? Of course we went left. I instantly regretted exposing my rookie trail runner to this kind of punishment. What looked at first like the promise of a good training partner now looked more like I just inadvertently swayed him out of ever running again. Whoops. When we got back to the cars I was surprised and grateful that he was still on board and was now aware of just how much he needed to dive into this training.

We decided that we were going to train together every Tuesday and Thursday for a mid-distance run, and then doing long runs on Saturday on the actual course. Over the following two months out from that first 45-minute run that broke Gabe off, I saw him work up his endurance to being able to run for hours on end at distances upwards of 20-miles. Perhaps not as fast as me or as experienced, but I now had a training partner without fear of the training that it takes to run an ultra distance. We ran in flood conditions, we ran in 100 degree heat, we attacked the hills of Friedrich Wilderness, explored that maze of trails at OP Schnabel, did repeats of technical trails at Eisenhower Park, and saw all there was in store for us at Government Canyon. I had never trained so specifically for a race or so hard and Gabe had more than enough training that I had no doubt he would kill his first 50K.

Our consistency fell off the last few weeks leading up to the actual race, but I chalked it up as tapering, however unintentional. Gabe, as expected for a rookie, had low expectations and high anxiety going into the race. His goal was to finish and for his first, that's exactly what it should have been. For me, I had never dropped from anything less than 50 miles, so I wasn't nervous about finishing but rather bettering my PR and holding onto the hope of breaking 5 hours and subsequently keeping my pace under 10-min miles.

The conditions were perfect for me to reach my goals. I knew the course, I had the nutrition, I had the training, the weather predictions were perfect. On top of all of that I had my experience, this being my 6th 50K in the 4-years I have been running.

 Saturday morning I was up early, ate a light breakfast of oatmeal and fruit, pounded some water, and taped my nipples. I was ready to rock and roll! Gabe, Mikayla, and I headed to the park listening to Bon Iver and going over last minute details. Once we arrived at the park we were glad to run into our friend Orlando who I had met a month or so prior and Gabe and I had both done some training with.

The field was much lighter than I had expected, with only about 80 or so participants. I did some short strides across the parking lot before we joined the rest of our fellow runners at the trail entrance under the still dark Texas sky. The briefing began and with it confusion. The map I had studied and the routes we had run were brought into some question but we were assured that the course was well marked. Already a few minutes past the scheduled start and anxious to get to it, no one offered too much debate, we just wanted to run. I said goodbye to Mikayla, wished Gabe and Orlando luck, then moved toward the front.

So what you want to do here is take a left, but before that
you need to make two rights. Once you see the third big hill stop, jump twice,
spin counter-clockwise a half turn and then go left again. Got it? No? Well
in any case the entire route is marked with pink glitter. Make sure
you don't follow the purple glitter though or you're totally fucked.

I was a bit thankful for the late start, with every minute bringing just a little more visibility. I broke out into a pretty good clip, but wishing that I had been closer to the front to avoid the initial congestion. It wasn't more than a couple minutes before I was in the open, two runners to my immediate front, two others in the distance. My tendency around other runners is to race in the moment, which was what I felt myself doing with the two guys in front of me. With every run I go on, in racing or training, it takes me about 3-5 miles to really level out my stride and my breathing. I knew running with these guys was probably going to extend that process and I would have persisted despite that until I began to eavesdrop. Both men in front of me had never run an ultra before and it was also revealed that they had never been to the canyon and had limited experience on trails. These were not people I should be piggy backing off of and I knew it. I backed off and settled in. They spread the gap. I had a strong feeling I would see them again. Once they had ran out of my sight, I looked back and saw that for all things considered, I was running alone. I could focus now and run my own race.

The first leg of the course on the Joe Johnston Trail was wide, fairly flat, and in relation to the rest of the course, the least technical terrain I'd be seeing. My pace was good, if not, then just a bit fast as I hit Caroline's Loop. This loop is supposedly around 2 and a half miles, but for some reason it always seems much longer. It's a step up in difficulty from Joe Johnston, but I think the closed in feeling from the surrounding vegetation tricks you into believing you are going faster than reality. I knew this ahead of time and it was still early on, so it didn't dampen my spirits too much.

About half way through the loop I caught up to a woman who by appearance I knew wasn't new to this sport and at the pace she was running and knowing only a few people were ahead of me, I pegged her as the female leader. I stayed behind her for a few minutes, partially because her pace was plenty fast enough that I didn't mind going a few notches slower than what I was doing before I caught her and partially because the loop was very much single track. From being on the other side of the fence before, I knew she didn't like where I was, so I took her up on her offer to pass just towards the end of the loop. As I passed up the first aid station, at the end of the loop, I asked what place I was in and made some jokes to the volunteers. They told me I was the 4th runner through and I was only two minutes or so out of 3rd. To me this meant that the two runners I let go earlier were already slowing down, or at the very least not going any faster. Good news. I continued up Joe Johnston, which turned into Sendero Balcones, making my way towards the Protected Habitat.

As the trail curved around I was looking down at my feet, which generally is something I try not to do, but the rocks in this area are covered by grass making your footing hard to anticipate. I looked up narrowly in time to see my turn onto the Black Hills Loop. As soon as I turned I knew that runners behind me were going to miss the turn. Even having run the course before I had almost missed it. I thought about Gabe and Orlando, hoping they would remember what we had run a few weeks prior. As I worked my my way around to Cave Creek I thought I could hear runners ahead of me, which though this turned out to be noisy hikers, quickened my pace. In training runs this is precisely the point where I had run out of water and this morning was no exception, so I switched to my chia gel.

When I arrived at the aid station at the intersection I saw runners coming down from the other way. As the volunteer filled my bottle and I chowed down on some PB&J, I became nervous that somehow I had gone the wrong way. I asked the other volunteer and she told me that I was good to go and that the runners I had seen had missed their turn and that they had already seen a handful come through on the wrong trail. I let them know that it wasn't marked well and that I had almost missed it too, and then headed on out towards La Subina on my way to the Far Reaches. Just a short distance from the aid station I saw the two guys I had been running behind at the start coming down the other way. They had missed the turn, realized it and headed back to the aid station. This put me in 2nd place, albeit in a less than fair way. Less than a minute later I saw more runners ahead of me, one was Orlando. I had hoped I would see him and Gabe, but on my return loop, not now. He had missed the turn onto the Black Hills Loop, not realizing it until I told him and another runner whom he was with. They were both pretty upset over the news. The other runner kept asking me for my GPS reading from my $8 watch I got at Target. She didn't seem to understand that I didn't have GPS or my assertion that she and Orlando had missed a turn. Orlando, God bless him, realized I was getting irritated by the hold up and told me to run on, and so I did.

Even though I hadn't got lost, the frustration of the other runners permeated into my psyche. I began to lose the grip on my mojo and began questioning every turn I came to despite it being well marked outside of that single turn onto the Black Hills Loop. I was alone again, not seeing anyone until the next aid station that I blew through, only slowing down to make sure I was still going the right way. I kept on keeping on, eventually running into a volunteer who was walking the course on Sendero Balcones. He gave me some affirmation... yes I was going the right way, Far Reaches was just ahead, and I was in 3rd place. I ran... wait a second... wasn't I just in 2nd place? Hmm. How could that have happened? I have three thoughts:

1. A runner who I never saw was ahead of me the whole time and I never saw him.
2. If #1 is true, then the volunteers misspoke or miscounted too.
3. A runner cut the course, probably on accident, but nonetheless was ahead of me by fortune of something else besides his legs.

Kristen Stewart took a day off from making shitty movies and cheating
on RPattz to run the Nothin's Easy 50K and cut the course.

These thoughts were in my head, but honestly I wasn't bothered by it too much. I was grateful to be in the position I was in and for the performance I was putting out. I conceded that if someone did cut the course, the volunteers would catch it anyways. I had my own race to run.

I hit Far Reaches, checking my watch for the time, being very familiar with how long it should take to get to the turn-around on the Recharge Trail. I was well within the range I predicted I would be in at this point, still confident that I could break 5 hours. As I came to the closing stretch en route to the 4th aid station I passed a runner coming the other way, presumably the 2nd place runner, with the leader having already started up Sendero Balcones. I again refilled my handheld, grabbed a handful of trail mix, and slowly retraced my steps, taking a short break to eat. When I began to see other runners coming in I hastened my refuel, not wanting to be hunted, and began running again.

The trek up Sendero Balcones was probably the most taxing section of the course, not steep, but it was still sustained elevation gain for tired legs to climb. Not long into it and well before hitting up the next aid station I was caught by the eventual 3rd place finisher. He seemed to be going at a pretty good clip, one that I could not maintain to stop him from passing. Knowing this, I stepped to the side, let him pass, and continued at my own pace. At this point I was pounding water and by the time I reached the next aid station I needed a refill. The aid station was crowded with runners coming through the other way who seemed more intent on conversing with the volunteers than running. It took what seemed like a long time, but in actuality was probably less than a minute, to discover that the aid station was completely out of water. This was pretty disconcerting considering that I was only the 3rd errr, I mean 4th place runner, especially accounting for the fact that this station was planned on being utilized twice, once on each loop and I had 80 runners behind me. I ran on, frustrated, but hoping that the next aid station would be stocked with some water.

Coming into the next station I was the only runner in sight. I hoped to make up some ground on the fast Cave Creek/Black Hills section, but first had to get some water and some information, both of which were available. As my bottle was being filled I found out that the leader was well over 20-minutes ahead of me, in other words, he wasn't going to be caught. I also found out that the volunteers shared my suspicion about the course cutting. One of the runners ahead of me had not been seen coming through their aid station on the first loop. I pressed on with the mindset that I was in the placed position of 3rd, imagining that the course cutter would eventually be DQ'ed, if not sooner, then later.

My legs grew tired as I ran and the temptation to walk came with it. I started playing my mind games, distracting myself, motivating myself, still running. I knew my pace had fallen off a bit since Sendero Balcones, but now it was as if I could actually feel the lactic acid pumping through my legs. I had reached the point where I had gone further than I had ever gone in training, probably further than anything since April when I ran the Tie-Dye 50K. I was looking down at my watch, knowing that I was falling dangerously close to a pace that might not get me under 5-hours. As I came onto Joe Johnston I knew the end was in sight, but I would have to haul ass on Caroline's Loop to reach my goal.

I stopped very briefly at the aid station to get a quick refill for the homestretch and then bolted onto the loop. I started pushing through some of the tightness in my legs and added a little pep to my step. As I hit the first slight incline my right hamstring twinged with sharp pain as if it were going to sabotage me at this late stage of the race. I slowed down to work it out. I picked up the pace again and the pain came back. I slowed again, but this pain was to stay with me to the end. I worked the loop as hard as I could, and this time the deception of it's length mattered. The loop seemed monotonous and never ending. I kept telling myself that the turn was just around the next corner, just through that opening, just past that tree line. This was, of course, all bullshit, but it got me to the end.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

I was back on Joe Johnston, around 3 miles give or take from the finish. I stopped running, splashed some water on my face, massaging my hamstring as I walked. I looked down at my wrist... I only had about 6 or 7 minutes until I hit the 5-hour mark. I wasn't going to make it. I started running again, but the break had tightened me up even more than I already was. I began to worry about being caught and about whether or not I could still set a personal record. I had no idea how close anyone behind me was but I knew how close I would be to my existing PR, the question was whether I would be over or under. I ran on, counting down the numbered trail markers which were inexplicably spaced apart at varying distances. I began to see more and more hikers, some with children, which was a welcomed sight as I supposed that they wouldn't hike too far in with kids to worry about. When I hit marker #5 I decided to leave everything I had on the course, hamstring be damned. I picked up the pace to as fast as I could muster, each foot fall sending violence into my body. I could hear people and I could see the banner.

Done Sir, DONE!

 I crossed the finish line in 5:17:45, bettering my personal record  by just six minutes, with Mikayla (and Connor) there to congratulate me on my run.

We breed success!

 Gabe and Orlando ended up finishing together in 7:44:53, a hard fought finish and with all the sweat and pain, an all around success.

This picture wasn't from the race, but from my days as a coyote. I helped Gabe and Orlando cross the border back in '06.

Next up... Rock n' Roll San Antonio followed by my first attempt at the 100K distance in Bandera!

Race Schedule for 2012

As I learned halfway through 2011, more is not always better. I took on way too much last year. The money, the logistics, the pressure, the time, and the physical toll over a dozen marathon or longer races was too much. I accomplished a lot, but this year is all about quality, which I hope to get through disciplined training and focusing on one race at a time.



Race Schedule:


Glacier Ridge                                     50 Miles
April 14th 2012
Slippery Rock, PA



Pittsburgh Marathon                          26.2 Miles
May 6th 2012
Pittsburgh, PA



Memorial Day 100                            100 Miles
May 26th 2012
New York, NY



Laurel Ultra                                       70 Miles
June 9th 2012
Ohiopyle, PA



Burning River                                   100 Miles
July 28th 2012
Willoughby Hills, OH



Rock n Roll San Antonio                  26.2
November 11th 2012
San Antonio, TX 


Looking at this list I'd say I am probably going to end up signing up for more. I would really like a 50K or two, and if I end up moving to San Antonio in the Fall, I would like to acclimate myself to the race scene down there. Any suggestions? Post them in the comments section!

A Year in Review: 2011

I had high hopes coming into 2011. I made huge strides in my training, drastically altered my diet, and loaded my race schedule. I was looking to have the best year yet in my relatively short running career, and despite some failed goals and a lackluster second half, I believe I did just that. I started off slow, building my base mileage for the first few months and trying out some new strategies. I didn't race until early Spring, giving myself plenty of time to prepare for the arduous schedule I had set for myself.

My first challenge was in March at the Shamrock Marathon in Virginia Beach. I had not run any long distances in preparation, with an ill-conceived disrespect of the distance. In my mind, I thought endurance was all about the runner's mentality, speed was what training produced. While this is true to a certain extent, the logic betrayed me. I ended up running a time that I was neither ashamed of or proud of.

Just two weeks later I would be running another marathon in Xenia, Ohio... not enough time to correct myself completely, but to make progress. I was faster, but still not where I wanted to be. To be completely honest, Xenia never mattered to me, I was focused on my first ultra of the year.

Three weeks after Xenia, I would return to South Western Ohio to see if I could break my 50K PR... the distance I had, up to that point, the least experience at. A rainy Spring forced the race to to be rerouted to a flat alternative. The new course, though not completely flooded like the original,  probably had the most mud I have ever had to deal with during a race. The conditions slowed me down, but not enough to stop me from shattering my PR by nearly 30 minutes. I had a blast running that race and it gave me confidence heading into the rest of my schedule.

The first weekend of May I was set to run another 50K, this time in much better conditions, albeit in a much more challenging terrain. It was the Capon Valley 50K in West Virginia. I was not ready for a course this difficult, plain and simple. The hills were steep, the descents were borderline un-runnable, giving a sensation of falling off a cliff face, and the rest of the features came quickly and often. This is hands down the hardest course I have ever run. I was in the best shape I have ever been in for this race and it broke me off. The trip to West Virginia for the race though,  has everything to do with the forming of my relationship with Mikayla. Great weekend, absurdly difficult race.

Just a week after Capon Valley I was going to Pittsburgh for the 3rd year straight, not sure what to expect of myself. It was the first marathon of the year that I could really say I was prepared for. My strategy for the race paid off big... in defiance of the rain, what was probably a mild case of hyponatremia, and of some late energy drop-offs, I had a new PR. While I didn't qualify for Boston, or even come close to it, I am a hell of a lot closer than I was before. Pittsburgh will always be an important race to me, it's the city I most closely associate with as being "home" and it was my very first marathon back in 2009.

Next up was the second Memorial Day effort. Just like the year before, the entire idea seemed impossible, but somehow Huffman and the others pulled it off, making it an even bigger success than last year! I didn't play as big of a role as I had hoped I could, but to even be able to run a single mile of that distance would have been an honor. Next year is going to be nuts... stand by for epic.

With Spring turning to Summer I had my biggest challenge coming up quick. The trail that started it all... the reason I run, my holy grail. I had dropped out after just a 19-mile effort in the 2010 installment of the Laurel Ultra... my first ever DNF. This year I knew exactly what I was getting myself into and there was no way I would choose to drop out. Mikayla joined me on the trip after I convinced her to run the race too. The time spent with her that weekend unregrettably shadows over a finish that I am more proud of than any before or since. I finished in 17th place with a time of 17:47:17, on a relatively unmerciful 77-mile run.


Mid-June saw me working a lot of long hours for Jon and Lauren, the trade-off was that I wasn't running a whole lot. Laurel was always such a big deal to me that I think after I finished, I didn't care as much about the rest of the year... looking at every race after June, it certainly wouldn't be hard to come to that conclusion. I did not start at Dawg Gone 50M, at Burning River 100M, at the YUTC 50K... three races in a row... two of which I was almost ensured of new PR's at and the 100-mile being my first ever attempt.

While I do regret not running some of these races, and for my lackluster performances at the races I did run, 2011 would have been a booming success to me if only it had been 6-months long. I started running again, sort of, just in time to run a terrible marathon in Columbus. I was on a PR pace till the half way point, but my head wouldn't let my legs take me any further. I finished, but with my worst time to date for that distance.

A week later I would have yet another DNS for the Marine Corps Marathon. Now I was just focusing on one last race for the year... the Bigfoot 50K. All I was looking for was a finish. Instead, I walked away with a good story and a valid reason to drop. Mikayla probably wishes she hadn't tried to run Bigfoot, but I'll quote Gretzky and say, "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." I'd rather fail than be timid, when it comes down to it, I think Mikayla would say the same.

So here we are... already into 2012 with only retrospectives to contribute to the year prior. So here are some stats... not all of which I am proud of, but I like numbers.


Races Attempted:    9

Races Finished:       8

Race Make-Up:      4 Marathons (Shamrock, Xenia, Pittsburgh, Columbus)

                                 2 50K's (Tie-Dye, Capon Valley)

                                 1 77-Miler (Laurel)

                                 1 8K (Shamrock)


Current PR:            8K:                Shamrock 2011         34:41

                               Marathon:        Pittsburgh 2011         3:28:24

                               50K:                Tie-Dye 2011           5:23:57

                               50M:                Masochist 2009       10:07:35

                               77M:                Laurel 2011              17:47:17

Race Report: 2011 Bigfoot 50K

Coming into December I looked to close out this year's race schedule with a personal milestone. A year ago this weekend I fulfilled my promise to help my friend Debbie Talbott complete her very first ultramarathon. It ended up being a 7-hour long emotional roller coaster, battling against the snow, freezing temperatures, a torn up mud bog of a trail, and various physical ailments (my injured ankle and Debbie's on-setting stomach flu). I "coached" her to the finish line with success, but as great as this story would have been in and of itself, it has significance for a much different reason.

After the first loop, Debbie and I met up with a friend of hers who also happened to be running her first ultra. Despite being well prepared, her friend decided to trust in the pack strategy, and began to run the race with us. I thought she was cute and on top of that, this cute girl was running an ultra... double hotness points in my book. I was fairly smitten, but couldn't exactly spit game on the trail, so I kept my more flirtatious comments to myself. 

Everyone went their separate ways after some post race grilled cheese, but I did get her name. Thanks to the digital world of Facebook, that's all I needed. Her last name wasn't Johnson or Smith, so it made Mikayla Vega an easy girl to track down. I kept in contact with her, running talk became talk about movies, music, books, and then about life... all while I developed a serious crush on a girl that was perfect, but also unavailable. Over the months of talking, getting to know one another and sharing experiences at different races and running adventures, truer feelings prevailed. The girl that I had met through such a random series of events, is now the girl I want to marry and spend my life with. A rough and unorthodox inception that was the start of our relationship together has become something great and brought us back to Lore City, Ohio to run another race. Bigfoot isn't the greatest course, it doesn't stick out in my mind when I think about the dozens of races I have run, but it will always be significant to Mikayla and I. No matter where life ends up taking us, you will know where to find us on the first weekend of every December. So here we are, a year after the chance meeting that changed both of our lives.

As my last few entries would suggest, the second half of 2011 hasn't been kind to me in regards to running success. Going into Bigfoot I was undertrained and injured... not much different than last year. Neither of those issues would prevent me from toeing the start line though. This race had to be run, regardless of the outcome. For Mikayla, she has battled through a tough year and various injuries as well. She was just beginning to build a solid training base coming into this one, but her base so far had been composed of shorter distances on asphalt rather than long distances on trail. She had decided to commit to just the first loop of the course and see how she felt from there, with no expectations of running the whole thing. Given the significance for us as a couple, my strategy was to stay with her the first loop, and then push on, looking only to finish under the cut off. This was a completely feasible plan that was stress free.

We drove from Columbus to Salt Fork on Saturday afternoon, planning on meeting our friends Rachel Nypaver and Steve Hawthorne for dinner at the lodge, the location of which we were also staying, making for an easy 300 yard walk to the starting line the next morning. Rachel was under the weather and ended up being unable to join us, so it turned out to be just the three of us for some carb-loading conversation. After dinner and a single drink (no Marines to incite heavy pre-race partying this time), we made our last minute preparations and went to bed.

Mikayla and I both slept terribly and I was dealing with a cold (that she had passed onto me) all night, but come Sunday morning we were both motivated enough to wake up at 6:30 AM to get ready to kick some trail. As we strolled to the lobby where all the other runners were gathered, we bumped into Steve, this time with Rachel, who had overcome her illness enough to race. It was good to see her feeling better, because it's always a treat to root for someone that is actually going to have a chance at winning the thing. We also saw Nathan Zangmeister, who I had the privilege of talking into running his first 50K back at Tie Dye in April. 

The weather was perfect for a run, the day started out in the low 40's and would creep up to the high 50's later in the day, and though it was a bit cloudy at times, it looked like we would escape without getting rained on. The only issue we really were concerned about was what the previous week's weather had done to the trail, and then what Saturday's 10-mile race had contributed on top of that. We expected a warm but very muddy day ahead of us... a far cry from last year when it snowed the entire time and never seemed to get above freezing.

We started out in the parking lot right in front of the lodge, worked toward the trail head as a big pack, and the race was underway. We had a pretty steady pace going in the cool early morning temperatures and within the first five minutes, the congestion that had kept me from ever really getting to sleep the night before, was all over the woods, and I could breathe again. As we entered the loop and hit both our first stream crossing and climb, I was pleasantly surprised at the effort Mikayla was putting forth. I know she is a strong runner but I didn't expect her to be as aggressive as she was. Instead of walking the hill when we got to it, you could audibly detect her grunt of frustration that people were slowing her down. She started passing people on the climb, forcing me to plow off to the side of the trail to keep up with her. The course was muddy, but in good enough condition that it was still fast. 

We reached the top of a hill, probably just under 3 miles into the course, where there was a flat and relatively smooth trail along a ridge. I was about two or three steps behind Mikayla when I saw her right ankle turn sharply in. Rolling your ankle is about as commonplace in an ultra as sipping water, but in a split second I knew it was more than just an ankle roll. There was a loud popping noise and she instantly dropped to the ground with a shriek. 

I kept running, and as I passed her I yelled back, "See you back at the lodge sweetheart! I have a race to run!" 

Just kidding. I think if I tried to run away from her, not even a broken ankle could have stopped her from kicking my ass. 

I was on the ground next to her as fast as I could, pulling her off the path so we could see if the injury was as bad as it looked. The runner in front of us tried to stop and help us but we told him to keep running and that we'd okay. The two runners approaching from behind though, would accept no such argument. The two insisted that they were nice people, citing the fact that they were Canadiens as their concrete evidence. They were planning on not running a minute faster than the cut-off, so they had some time to kill with us.

Attending to the wounded!

I removed Mikayla's shoe and sock, which even as careful as I was, proved to be a painful experience for her. You could tell the ankle was already beginning to swell, but without x-rays it's almost impossible to tell a broken ankle from a sprained one. Luca, apparently a french Canadian with an affinity for stuffed animal backpacks, had a plethora of gear stuffed into the likeness of Kermit the Frog, including first aid supplies. He wrapped Mikayla's ankle with a bandage and gave some suggestions on what to do next... but the first step was obvious, get her out of the woods and back to the lodge. Runners were passing us during this entire interaction, but none did so without making sure we had everything under control and that Mikayla was, for all intents and purposes, not in any trouble. Luca and his fellow countrywoman, reluctantly left us to continue on in the race, promising to alert the next aid station of our situation.

Mikayla was in good spirits overall, I had known she was tough, but I had no idea to what extent until this dilemma. At this point she couldn't even stand without my help, let alone walk. We would also quickly find that using me or even a stick as a crutch would end up making the trek back an all day affair. Drawing off one of my favorite punishments that the drill instructors inflicted on me at Parris Island, I decided to use the fireman carry to transport my damsel in distress. We initially took the Canadiens ill conceived advice of going off course to short cut the distance back to the start, charging up a brush covered hill. The first consequence of the decision was courtesy of the mud, expertly hidden by mother nature under a thick layer of fall foliage. I was slipping with every step, my balance already compromised by the full-grown (sort of) human being slung over my shoulders. After a fall, which I was able to break with my knees, but not before dinging Mikayla's injured ankle off the ground, I questioned the decision to leave the trail. The other fear we had was due to the fact that it was hunting season and we could hear gunshots in the distance. The trail was marked and the hunters had been notified to stay away from the course, but we weren't on it anymore. At that realization we decided to hike back down the hill and retrace our steps, but in hindsight there was a third reason our original decision was a poor one... once the race staff was alerted, they certainly wouldn't have been looking for us somewhere that we were never supposed to be.

Never have I been happier that Mikayla
is the size of a 12 year old.

Back on the trail we both rested for a minute and once again tried to see if Mikayla could walk with a makeshift crutch. Still no dice, so she went back over my shoulders once again. I was trucking along, a man on a mission, stopping every so often to give both of us a rest. After a mile or so, we came within view of the loop entrance and stream crossing when we saw what we thought was the lead runner entering his second loop. It turned out to be Vince Rucci instead, the race director. He apologized for his delay in finding us. It turned out that once the report was received from Luca at the aid station that there was an injured runner, there was a miscommunication and the staff had gone there to pick us up. Once we crossed the stream, Vince called back to the lodge to have the park rangers send an ATV for transport. 

The plus side of waiting at the beginning of the loop was that we were afforded the opportunity to see the front runners coming through and also be entertained by Vince. We ended up being there long enough to see Rachel, who at the time was battling in 3rd place, Steve who was temporarily ahead of her, Nathan who was on a PR pace, and few other friends we have made over the last few years of our ultrarunning careers. 

Posing for a rendition of the
Wounded Warrior Project logo.

We waited there for a relatively long time, getting cold in our now static position. All three of us were getting impatient after several calls were made trying to figure out what was taking the rangers so long to get to our location. After literally an hour or more of waiting, we decided to continue on our own, carrying Mikayla back. If nothing else, it would make us warm. Not more than 5-minutes after we started, Perrin Peacock, who had passed us during the initial incident, was making his way to the completion of his first loop. He insisted on helping, switching off the duty of carrying Mikayla. The help was most welcomed and very appreciated. We now were making great time back to the lodge, without the assistance of the motorized vehicle we had still been hoping would meet us. Vince was apprehensive about helping with the carrying duties... I assume it didn't have anything to do with the fact that he is probably only an inch taller than the person we had to carry, but rather he didn't want to show off his beast strength.

When we got to the base of the last big climb before we hit the pavement where we could get Mikayla into a car, Vince let his pride get the best of him and took a shift. He insisted that using the piggy back method was the most efficient technique and thus carried out his plan. After about 50 yards, he had showed off enough that he decided to let Perrin take the reigns back. After a good haul, I took her again, and we were close enough to the end of the journey that it was time to thank Perrin for his assistance and let him get back to running. The woods turned to muddy grass which bordered the pavement leading to the start. Vince ran ahead to get a vehicle and I waited with Mikayla in the grass.

Our race had ended less than an hour from it's beginning, but the adventure lasted much longer. I certainly wish that Mikayla hadn't gotten hurt and that our day would have played out as we had planned, but I had made good on a promise. In previous events we had done together we had joked about something happening to Mikayla on the trail (more along the lines of an epic animal attack or a rapist puppeteer kidnapping her instead of a broken ankle) and I had told her not to worry, because I would just find her and carry her out of the woods. Though I did have some help from pretty amazing people, I did just that.

Here is a video of the race from Perrin Peacock (Mikayla and I can be seen at 2:27 and 3:42):

We ended up getting back to the lodge a few minutes before the leaders entered their final circuit. Plenty of time for us to get cleaned up, eat something, and see at least some of our friends finish. After carrying Mikayla through the hotel a few times, the staff finally noticed and provided us with a wheelchair, making the rest of our day a hell of a lot easier on my back.

There are a number of races since Laurel that I look back on with disappointment... poor efforts and missed opportunities. This race isn't at all one of them. Sure, I thought it was going to be different. I thought I would at the very least have another 50K finish on my resume, but that day it didn't really matter.

We are still in our 20's, both a decade away from our peak age for ultrarunning. No race is ever the same and expectations must be kept low at all times, because you really never know what could happen out there. Despite how crippling Mikayla's injury is (it turned out to be a severe sprain and a chipped bone), and how extensive the consequences have been, I don't think it would be worth trading the adventure of our day. What I got was a very unique chance to show Mikayla how much I love her, and we both have one hell of a story to tell.

This was to be my final race of 2011, and so that stands. I am currently attempting to get a lower abdomen pain taken care of that I have been ignoring since before Laurel. I suspect I will need surgery to repair a hernia, thus joining Mikayla in an unfortunate situation that prevents either of us from running for a length of time. Both of us have our sights set on Glacier Ridge in April. We plan on being fully healed and adequately trained for a late start in 2012. Mikayla will be attempting her first 50 miler and I will be after a new PR for that distance.

Stay tuned for my 2011 wrap-up blog!