Category Archives: Running

“Snow-Rut?!”

Despite my last posts, I had no clue just how short this season was about to feel. Abigail and I drove east to Big Sky on Thursday of Labor Day weekend under thick clouds- to run The Rut race. The weather was unseasonably brisk, even for Montana. While our recent adventures may allude otherwise, neither of our bodies have been in perfect running order. Her IT band, and my hamstring have been out of sorts for months. A week before the race I sprouted a nagging sinus infection that carried up to race day.

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We arrived Friday evening so Abigail could run the 28km race on Saturday, and I could rest one more day before the 50km race on Sunday. The big sky in Big Sky was pretty full of clouds, but we stayed optimistic. Abigail “just wanted to finish”, so she started at the back of the first wave, and promptly proceeded to pick off competitors one by one.

 

I hiked up to cheer on racers around mile 7 and saw the front runners come through- but when Abigail passed, I realized she was still probably in the top 20 women. Go Abigail!

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The skies cleared off, and Abigail got the full Rut vertical experience, holding her place and picking her way along the exposed ridges that makes the rut The Rut. The final results list her as the 17th overall woman- no joke for her first real mountain race, and being behind 7 or 8 pro runners from Europe and some wicked strong locals from higher elevations.

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My race was less flattering. Last year, I went out too fast and burned out early. It was not pretty. I wasn’t any fitter this year, and between sickness and injury I felt unsure of myself right up to race day- but I was determined to run a smarter race and do the best I could.

The weather system that was supposed to hit the 28km race waited for me, and I left the condo in 40 degree spitting rain. Hydration would not be a problem. They closed the upper mountain due to risks from both lightning and snow, so my 50km with 10,000ft of vertical became a 42km with 7,000ft of vertical. Much faster, lower elevation, and frankly, easier. I picked my layers carefully, and started with the 2nd wave of runners to keep away from the peer pressure to go fast. Abigail found ways to cheer me on early in the race, and I felt solid well past where things started to fall apart last year.

Mercifully, it didn’t start raining hard until 2 hours into the course. At 3 hours and at 9700ft above sea level, there was an inch of snow on the course. Moving was necessary for warmth, but careful pacing and diligent nutrition kept me in good shape. I felt a little weary on the long downhill between miles 16 and 20, but worked my plan, gave up some speed and stayed strong.

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I finished 30 places faster than last year, and in the top 25% of finishers. Plus, I wasn’t a puddly wreck of exhausted muscle fibers which makes me think my plan to run smarter worked well. We even managed to sneak away from the race and celebrate my friends Maggie and Chad getting married in Bozeman that night- cheers to them tying the knot!

Suffice to say- I’m still eager to run the full course next year, hopefully in better health, and with a better plan. Hopefully the course won’t look like this (from our drive home on Monday):

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Fast Forward

A couple times a year, my life just hits fast-forward. I got back from Alaska and immediately started packing to move house the next weekend.

Schreck

The McKinstry truck I borrowed for moving came with a stern task master.

After the move, I started unpacking while simultaneously digging out gear for my first 50km trail race, The Rut. I left work at noon on Friday before the Sunday race and drove to Missoula- my pre-race team was second to none:

I'm not sure I would have finished with out these folks cheering me on.

I’m not sure I would have finished with out these folks cheering me on.

The Rut was really hard. My training took a nose-dive in August due to other constraints, and my shoes were too lightweight for the course. Lots of lessons learned: I took the first downhill too fast, I added some glue to the shoes to alleviate a soft spot (and found that hard spots are worse), and for the first time, really actually wanted the dubious “mini-soft-shell gaiters”. Also, poles. Poles would be not stupid on this course. Double also, crew. Having a crew person is rad. Thanks to Paige, Jess, Tod, and Amanda for pinch hitting in that regard.

Up and over the peak at right... twice. Remember it is supposed to be hard.

Up and over the peak at right… twice. Remember it is supposed to be hard.

Post race salt deposit. It was hard.

Post race salt deposit. It was hard.

I got a truly gnarly set of blisters by mile 11, which made the race a lot grittier than it needed to be. Early nutrition and cheering volunteers kept my spirits up. Once we got into the steeper terrain I stopped getting passed and the scenery got a lot better. After adding a full roll of tape to my feet at mile 18, I was ready to fight for the finish. Around mile 25 the blisters were screaming and I dug two painkillers out of my jacket pocket, just to take the edge off against the remaining miles. I’m not proud of needing the pills, but it felt like the right call at the time. I finished in 8hr 4min 10sec. Not the sub-8hrs I hoped for, but for a few long hours afterwards I felt full, that simply finishing was enough. I’m not afraid of the distance, or my feet, any more and

Tape is awesome. Flip flops are awesome.

Tape is awesome. Flip flops are awesome.

I had a wonderful night of recovery (2 dinners!) staying with Jordan and Cari in Bozeman before driving back to Seattle in one go on Monday- it took 3 tries to get out of the car at the first gas stop. Despite the stiffness in my legs, it was a beautiful drive, which was good because I jumped straight into a 11hr workday, and then onto a flight to Chicago for the 2015 North American Passive House Conference (NAPHC) on Wednesday.

What’s wrong with me that this:

Wall insulation cross section.

Wall insulation cross section.

is almost as much fun as this:

These guys are awesome. I think they had more fun than I did.

These guys are awesome. I think they had more fun than I did.

It was a great conference. I linked up with some old colleagues, some new potential clients, and got a lecture from a few of my heroes.

After the last 6 weeks in fast forward, I’m officially ready for a weekend at home.

Goode Glacier Gone Bad

8 years ago I read a trip report about Mt. Goode from my desk in Portland. It inspired me, and made me realize how much I had to learn about climbing. Other objectives lured me away over the years and the out of reach dream didn’t stick. I haven’t often really bit off more than I could chew in these climbing adventures, and there is only one way to fix that.

“Car to car” typically means that you don’t carry sleeping gear- you just expect to be on the move no matter how long it takes. The risk of spending a cold night out is off-set by packs made lighter without sleeping gear. It is also a good way to guarantee an adventure.

trail running, maps, brooks running shoes, stretching

Something Goode is happening.

Running has always come naturally to me, and given that I’m nursing a shoulder injury, it makes more sense to combine long days and more moderate climbing to get my adventure fix. Doing the standard route on Mt. Goode car to car seemed like a laughably audacious goal. A 30 mile round trip with 3,000ft of gain on the approach, a glacier crossing, and a 3,000ft rock buttress? If I wanted to fail, at least I picked something worthwhile to fail at. I wasn’t so sure myself, so I picked a partner that has always inspired the best in me. In both climbing and life, Ky has shown me how to be stronger than I think I am- and he was just as game to find his endurance limit as I was. The goal was just to keep moving.

PCT, pacific crest trail, north cascades national park, stehekin

This is a cool sign. But it was the wrong sign.

We left Bellingham at 8pm, and got to sleep at 11pm. Up at 430a and jogging down the trail at 530a. There was already more than enough daylight. Confident, we raced the warming day until we reached the trail junction from the Pacific Crest down to Stehekin. We pounded a little food and I checked the map. Despite both reading the route description to each other while looking at the map, we had mistaken which trail led to the North Fork of Bridge Creek. Our elation from the fast travel faded into disdain for having added an extra 5.4 miles onto our already marathon day.

We kept moving.

Mt. Goode, North Cascades National Park, Storm King Peak

At first glance.

Back to the previous junction and up the correct drainage. We continued to put down miles and race the heat. Due to the location of the route on the massif, you cannot see any of the route or approach until you are standing directly below it. The guidebook says “cross the creek, ascend the talus slope, and gain the glacier to access the bottom of the rock buttress.” Somehow, I think we both figured the 21 miles of approaching was the hard part, and we were wrong. Even from the creekbed 2,000ft below, just getting to the base of the cracked up, barren glacier was going to be the real adventure.

We couldn’t bail without taking a look, so we slathered on some sunscreen and- kept moving. The east face baked as the clocked ticked past noon, then 1pm. Slick granite slabs gave way to vertical bushwhacking through head-high alder. It got hotter as we climbed. Despite plenty of daylight, mid-afternoon is a terrible time to cross a glacier, especial one with many cracks and not much real snow. We found a single unlikely lead up about a 1/2 mile east of the rock route we were hoping for. Any remaining hope of rock climbing was instantly swallowed in the enormous, complex bergschrund crossing that guards the entire face.

Welcome to the shutdown.

Welcome to the shutdown.

Worked and sunburned, downclimbing the approach was nothing to look forward to. Shaky legs make downclimbing even spicier, and we started setting rappels as soon as we hit the lower granite slabs. Thank you to the others that have obviously done the same and left some rappel tat for us.

Not the time nor place to rush.

Not the time nor place to rush.

Our tiny rope set up gave us just enough to work with. We kept moving.

River crossing, or foot icing?

River crossing, or foot icing?

We made it back to the creek at 545p. Once on the trail, it was just a mental game to keep turning the legs over. Blood sugar dropped, blisters rose, and nightfall set in. We kept moving.

It was a push to make the car, but that was the point. At 1045pm we tore into the maple bacon potato chips and sat heavily on the tailgate of Ky’s Subaru. Bailing didn’t honestly feel like much of a failure at all. We had covered 38 miles, used almost everything in our packs, and enjoyed an authentic Cascade experience. It was my longest day in the mountains to date, and I do think it’s possible to summit with a little better preparation and conditions. Many thanks to Ky for the amazing day out, and powering through the drive home so we could have cooked breakfast the next day- I couldn’t ask for a tougher, or better partner.

Canyon Peak, Bitterroot, USA

This isn’t a post about philosophy, politics, or even really pushing the limit of anything. It’s about climbing and autumn. No question about it- fall is my favorite season. A few months ago I went on a lovely walk with some technical gear and got surprised by how far back our goal was. While we didn’t summit, we had a beautiful day out, and I got fully hooked for the objective.

The obvious right skyline beckons us. For another time.

The obvious right skyline beckons us. For another time.

I knew this would be one of the last weekends to tick Canyon Peak, and suspected the colors would be pretty spectacular too. Based on what we found, I was right on both counts.

Mr. Smithicus charging off the start.

Mr. Smithicus charging off the start.

The approach is long, and somewhat steep for a single day adventure. Evan and I left the car in trail runners and jogged to the base of the steep hiking. We each carried layers, food, and a climbing harness. We took (7) nuts, (1) hex, (5) runners, (1) 30m dynamic rope, (1) 25m static line, and bail tat. Evan had approach shoes and tights, I chose proper rock shoes and no pants. Evan is a wiser man than me.

Canyon Peak basin in fall. Worth the hike.

Canyon Peak basin in fall. Worth the hike.

A leisurely start meant leaving the car at 11:15am- we made the lakes in 2 hours, refilled water, and made the col at 2:30p. The north ridge is obvious, but there isn’t really a clear line- I stayed back from the edge to mitigate issues with loose blocks. We stuck to the ridge and kept eyes out for rappel slings- the summitpost description is about as good as it gets. Class 4 might be fitting, but there are many variations – e.g. ways to make it harder on yourself.

On belay.

On belay.

Livin' the dream.

Livin’ the dream.

The rock had started its winter transition- frozen lichen, thin ice in cracks, and snow on most of the ledges made all of the climbing pretty “heads up.” If you caught this on a hot day in mid-summer, the climbing would be substantially easier. We found moves up to 5.7 on solid but dirty rock. We mostly simul-climbed, with a few belayed bits around hard moves for the leader. Wind, ice/snow, and my choice of running shorts as my only leg-wear made for cold climbing, but I couldn’t have been more stoked to be on the sharp end pulling the ridge. We made it to a small ledge just below the true summit plateau at 4:45pm and realized we had both gotten what we came for- it was time to head home without the true summit.

Calling it here. The wind was howling.

Calling it here. The wind was howling.

The rappels are perfectly set for a 60m rope, but we made due being 5m short. We were walking again at 5:45pm after 4 rappels and some downclimbing. We refilled water again at the lake, and dropped most of our elevation before dark. I was embarrassed to not find a headlamp in my bag, but I kept on Evan’s heels and we made the car just before 9pm. A full day out, with a perfect partner and weather. This is what fall is about.

Pink shoes, shorts, and 3 layers on top. Makin' a statement.

Pink shoes, Patagonia “technical softshell” shorts, and 3 layers on top. Makin’ a statement.

Endurance

“This feels good man, just real good.” I bounced past a mountain biker, and a few minutes later, past the spot where I had bonked on the trail last September. Nick and I were out for a run and the stoke was high. That morning he had suggested “let’s just get out and turn over the legs for 3 hours,” but earlier in our planning Nick had mentioned my favorite words – “I want to get out and suffer.”

Making good time.

Martin- making good time.

I was in 7th grade when I discovered I loved endurance sports. I ran every single day that year. I ran in hiking boots in the Chicago winter, and lived for summer runs along Lake Michigan. I loved that it made me lean and quick. Even then I knew, I wanted to move fast and light in the mountains.

Early morning light, starts all good adventures.

Early morning light, starts all good adventures.

After last weekend, I’m just not worried about my foot holding me back much any more. I started my 4th of July at 430am, rolling out of bed, throwing a carefully packed bag in the car, and meeting Martin by 5. I’ve wanted to get high in the Missions since I first saw them, and Martin had been itching to get on top of McDonald Peak. I left the car in running shoes with simple bivy gear, boots, and ice axe on my back.

Fast and light.

Fast and light.

First sight of the objective.

First sight of the objective.

We made good time on trail, and kept moving across excellent snow conditions- supportable, but not icy. The last few slopes were a slog but the final summit ridge took a little rock climbing savvy to tick the peak in 7hrs 20 from the car. We had dropped the bivy gear at the last basin, descended back to it and looked forward to a comfortable night in the range.

Mission vista.

Mission vista.

Summit. Windy.

Summit. Windy.

While stoked on the event, the summit, and the experience, I got back to Missoula knowing I had a little more in me. Nick texted, and Sunday morning we headed up to the Rattlesnake to try beating the heat that was sinking into the valley.

Descending into heat.

Descending into heat.

We didn’t really intend to summit Sheep Mountain, it just kinda happened, and it only took 2 hours of running. The only problem was I really wasn’t prepared for the return. A 4 hour run requires some planning, particularly around hydration and nutrition. I had packed 260 calories, and one hand bottle of water- barely enough for the 3 hour run Nick and I had originally planned, but not nearly enough for the 4 hour endeavor it became. I bonked the first time at 2hr 30, but was able to get up, get moving, and fire off quite a few more miles.

About 1 1/2 miles from the trailhead the bonk hit hard. The heat takes it out of you. Nick put my arm over his shoulder and we walked together, one step at a time towards the water in the car. We crested the last hill and I let go, coasting down to the car under my own power, but humbled by the harshness of finding my endurance limit. Nick, of course, was still going strong. Together we covered 22 miles and 3,500 feet of vertical gain (and 3,500ft of loss). It was the longest duration I’ve ever run (Chicago Marathon only took 3hrs 13min, but it was flat). I laughed at myself after a soak in the creek and a burrito.

After the hardest bonk ever, in any sport.

After the hardest bonk ever, in any sport.

Its been a long time since I tried something hard and really failed, but I think in finding a limit, there was a certain success. Nick is an ultra-marathoner that I deeply respect. Sharing my limit with him was a privilege, and I hope to return the favor some day. “Ultra” is a state of mind, and I think I’m just starting to understand what that looks like. To both Martin and Nick (and Madison, the dog) thanks for reminding me of some of the things I loved the longest. Life is a long game, it’s fun to practice playing.

Long effort requires long rest.

Long effort requires long rest.