Pre-occupied

May crossed over the halfway mark this week and the month past has been incredibly busy. I am approaching the close of my first week of the new semester and the lack of motivation has reached climactic levels. Things in the last few weeks have simply crowded out my desire to "apply myself."

As a recap, I would have to say that going back to my Salt Flats weekend began the ball rolling down this inevitable path of yearning for the elusive graduation cruise planned for August. To say the failure at Salt Flats has affected me would be an understatement, but so much else has taken place as well.

The first week of May brough about two massive projects: Finals week for the previous semester that fell in pace with scheduled Annual Training with the Guard. Long days of Military Decision Making Process training did not fair well with the research papers that required a significant amount of my time. Upon conclusion of the week, I was ready for a break.

It was not to be. While AT wrapped up on the 11th, my daughter graduated college on the 12th. Debbie amazingly arranged all logistics for her, thankfully, since I had to devote my time elsewhere. The graduation was okay, the dinner good, but the significance of the event took an emotional toll.

Then, without a blink, this semester launched and with came all sorts of new adventures. A family member required several medical appointments that took some time, Debbie's schedule changed, going from days to swings resulting in sleeping patterns being altered, and I have scheduled another 100miler for next week.

To top it all off, I had to go through a job interview. Enough said on that. I can add to that the fact that grades have not yet posted from last semester, and this semester is shaping up to be less than desirable in comparison to last. I have already had run-ins with other classmates through the discussion boards. First week? Really?

I am not complaining. I am not unhappy nor am I even slightly depressed. I just needed to get my fingers typing a bit to redirect my focus back on school and current events seemed to be a good place to start. I am beyond emotional for my college graduate. I am beyond grateful for Deb, putting togeether a significant effort for her. I am excited at the prospect for going back to work. And I cannot wait to finish up this school. Time to fix up my foxhole, lean into it, and drive on.

Salt Flats 100 (70)

I stood in front of the Rainbow Hotel window and watched the winds blow a fierce storm of dust across the entire Wendover Valley. In the background the weather station continued to tell me audibly what my eyes confirmed visually. The winds increased and the temperatures decreased right before me. Any ideas I had in having pristine weather conditions for my first 100-miler run disappeared in a couple hours time.

It was Thursday night before the race and all the essentials had been completed. Race meeting, packet pick-up, dinner, and all the necessary check in equipment and nutrition supplies. I had gone over my checklist of things to work through at each aid station with my long time friend and crew chief for this race, Brian Burgess. Sleep came early enough and with the dawn approaching, we left the hotel and made our way to the start.

Best way to describe this course must be found in the separation of the course into various terrain features. The title of the race is deceptive. With nearly 10,000 feet of elevation gain throughout the hundred miles, the race is anything but flat. Even my hill profiles from mapping software left me greatly underestimating the course difficulty. And what the elevations profile left unchallenged the unknown factor of changing terrains more than made up for it.

The start took place on the Salt Flats with a full half marathon distance to Floating Island. I was prepared for this portion having competed on it two years prior. The steady pace was slow and consistent at 11:00 miles. I was a bit on the tired side, maybe from the week before, and as a result I simply focused on the pace.

I feel the need to add this comment on the week leading up to the race. I knew it was going to challenge me mentally, and to some degree I can say the mental aspect took more of a toll than the physical, as can be seen later. Having come off drill the weekend before, my schoolwork suffered a bit, leaving me with a 7-pager to complete the day before the race. More than that, I had a run-in with a medical professional as well as two potentially life-changing events that required full attention and two full days worth of my time. I was a bit distracted.

Add to this a situation that I support strongly but did allow for a slight change in my running routine was the noticeable absence of my biggest fan and support staff: Debbie. Before each race I get a well meaning kiss and at the end of each race I get to feel her embrace. Neither was present on this run. I missed her, plain and simple.

Thankfully, my long time friend Brian took the reins and did an exemplary job running through my checklist at each aid station. Not knowing my running needs or the nature of ultra running behind the scenes, he learned overnight what needed to be done and seeing him as often as I did felt like a warm blanket. His walking with me several times throughout the night reminded me of why he is so valuable a person to me. He is indispensable as far as friends go.

Aid station 3 took the runners off the salt flats entirely and routed us in the direction of our first hill climb. The route was gorgeous as I allowed myself the luxury of taking in the scenery. The steep grade kept my pace low but the climb was worth the view. Panoramic presentation #1. But every uphill had to have a downhill and this one allowed for my right little pinkie toe to slide benevolently beneath a pile driver as it slammed itself against the inside front my shoe. This backside of the hill was the only place where I felt some really nice temperatures too.

The next time I saw Brian was at Aid #5 where I took a little break, refueled, and prepared for the 22 mile round trip around the northern most section of the course. Here the course presented two unique sections of terrain. The first outgoing section could only be described as rock climbing, for the volleyball sized boulders and heavily rocked surface made it that much more challenging to climb yet another fantastic grade en route to aid #6, stationed at the peak. Panoramic view #2 exploded to me here and it was incredible. Stopping was mandatory only to see the arid spans of wilderness, not to enjoy the blistering cold winds or attempt to recover from the hill climb.

Departing the aid station I once again enjoyed the pounding action of the pile driver on my little toe. The drop down the valley was not long in process, yet once again an entirely new terrain feature presented itself. I suddenly found myself transported to the surface of some barren moon landscape where my feet plodded upon some tow inch thick crust of dried mud surface. Here the winds speeds increased, breaking up the fine particles of powdery mud crustiness and whipped them around my entire body. This lasted for nearly 7 miles until reaching aid station #7.

I hit my Garmin at what I thought was the 50 mile point and I had been out for twelve hours. I was proud of myself. I felt good, though cold and wind blistered, Feet were definitely hurting as the needle-like pain I experience at Across the Years came flowing back. My mental attitude at this point was good though I could tell the toll was higher than I expected on my body. At the aid station I ate some MRE hot meal something and after a thirty minute break, Brian kicked me back out.

Armed with my headlamp, I trotted off and over the next few miles enjoyed running several times. The road was agreeable to me, though headlong into the wind at this point. Throughout the day every time I stopped for even a minute I began to shiver. As the sun started to set the temperature did as well, and the coldness felt sharper too. I had been wearing my sweatpants all day, which, incidentally, were an afterthought throw-in item as I packed two days before. Not to mention the skeleton gloves Debbie threw in my bag. If it weren’t for her, I would not have had any gloves.

Aid station #8 and #9 passed by without much incident, other than at each one my stay was longer and getting back out on the course took more effort. By this time, I had to stop and stretch quite often while out on the course. Lower back, calves, hamstrings were all very unhappy with me. Guys from #8 came out and walked me in, and prior to #9 I met Emily and walked in with her, meeting up with Brian too.

And yet once again as I turned from #9 heading to #10, the terrain changed again, and my only thoughts were to get warm. This being yet another small hill climb took runner through what I can only describe as a city-sized bottle of Anti-Monkey Butt Powder being dumped all over. The fines powder poofed up around me with each step, the fine particles being illuminated in my headlamp. I didn’t even want to breathe.

Walking a mile here with Brian really helped, but once he turned back to retrieve his Jeep, the isolation of the night hit home. My mental strength had already begun to deteriorate, and this drilled holes in my resolution. My feet were stinging from what I thought were blisters that Brian taped up more than a couple times. The hills, though, really took a toll as my legs simply did not want to work properly.

At aid station #10 I was provided an opportunity to get warm and recover for some time. I was taken to an RV, owned by friends of Brian, and after removing my shoes and socks I rolled over and crashed. 0400 passed. 0430. 0500. 0600. I ended up sleeping off over three hours. Big mistake on my part. Yet I acknowledge there are times in your life when you make a decision based on all the gatherable circumstantial evidences available and simply decide. I needed the break. So I took it.

The problem was that once I got taped up again and kicked out again by Brian, station #10 had closed and I was pretty much on my own. It was 0700 and I had yet another hill climb. Brian pushed on ahead to #11 to let them know I was coming and I stepped off. Everything hurt and my energy level had been depleted. My pace for the four miles fell off sharply. It took me over an hour and a half to walk the distance, and at even the slightest downhill, an attempt at running proved to be impossible. My legs would not hold me up.

I caught up with Brian between 70-72 and made the call. Considering the next thirty miles contained more terrain features and the largest hill climb of the course, I felt that I did not have anything left to endure the final 30. Many other folks were in worse condition than I, yet to compare individuals would be misleading. My training had left me a bit short on the hills and my under-estimation of the course and weather were very amateur-like decisions. By the way, I AM an amateur endurance athlete. And with school, job, daughter, and other events shaping my life at home for Debbie’s and my future, I am ready to give my wife her husband back. For awhile.

Coyote Springs Windstorm

Talk about a race. I’m not even sure where to begin.

John Wog came in from CA and toghether we spent the night at the start/finish. It was a calm and peaceful night  camping under the NV desert stars. We woke up at 5, had some breakfast and coffee and at 7, John got kicked out for his 100. Half an hour later, the fifty-milers gathered for a parallel pre-race briefing. Key notes: the trail would be over marker and it would be impossible to get lost. The route would be marked with green or orange arrows, plus 1”by4” reflectors clothe pinned to plants along the trail. In my group were the 50M and 50K. There were 13 in the 50M group.

The first couple miles were basically to get us from the camp to the first loop (south). It ran on the road then veered left to the bluffs where it picked up the maze of trails that ran along the bluffs heading generally south-east. I felt very good heading out. By the time we hit the trails, I had a good groove and things were going smooth as we bounced up, down, over, around until we climbed up the switch-backs. These were a series of 180degree turns for a quick climb. We were told…do not come down the switch-backs (remember this point). So, up we went and over the bluff to the top and headed east to the old Hwy 93. We had half a mile of blacktop hillclimb to aid #1.

I had started out with my waterpak full of water (70oz) plus four packs of Hammer gel. I had downed 20oz water and two gels already, so I added water and more gels quickly and headed back out. The trail over the top surface of the bluff was extremely hard to follow. The arrows were far apart and hard to see with little to no recognizable trail to stay on.

I had taken over lead position of a group of maybe seven runners, most of whom were 50K. We hit the switch-backs, and I went down them. The opposite of what we were told. For some reason the arrow didn’t click with me. I didn’t get off course far, but it did take a toll. Climbing back up the switch-backs was a tough mental block. But I moved on into loop two (north) and headed to aid station two…That’s when the wind started. This was around mile 9 and time was actually flying by. Water and fuel intake continued to be spot-on, taking into consideration the change in terrain. The wind could not be overstated or under estimated. By the time I had reached aid station two, my energy level had begun to deteriorate severely.

I loaded back up with three more gels, 4 E-Caps, and another 20oz water. The northern most leg of the trails proved to be just as technical as the other three. The surface of the bluffs between the actual trails and the old Hwy93 consisted of various forms of shale and coral reefs. Various forms of vegetation provided a veritable stockyard of obstacles. Any lack of attention could have resulted in severe blood loss. Hey, that’s trail running.

The struggles really began to set en route to the start/finish. The depletion in energy levels happening so suddenly at such a high rate was surprising. For the five or six miles back, I analyzed what was happening, and narrowed it down to calories or water. Yet, both were not only on the level so far, I had compensated for the weather by increasing not only both water and calorie intake but had increased also the amount of E-Caps significantly.

I hit the start/finish and decided to keep going with a small break. I refilled everything and headed out on my 12mile out and back. It was pretty much level terrain, though rocky, loose sand, and rutted out severely. I ran a good mile with another couple runners until my energy once again fell through. I ended up struggling through the next 9 miles. Even at the one unmanned aid table three miles into the out-n-back only provided enough to give me water and a lara bar.

With the wind at my back on the way out, I thought I could manage better. The turn-around back took me directly into the promised 40-60mph gusts hit me directly in the face. For six miles back, I trudged step by step. I had a hard time getting any air, and even though I had another runner with me, the effort it took just to keep moving put us back to only a walk. Many times the pace was a crawl other times an all out stop.

By the time I got back to the start, I was done. Yet, the last thing I wanted was a DNF. So, I talked to one of the race directors and talked them to letting me drop down to the 50K. But that required another 6 miles. With that, I was allowed back out on the course for the 10K. I filled up my waterpack, and after a short rest, headed out.

Suffice it to say I don’t recall much of the 10K. Things were delirious most of the time, requiring me to find places to sit down often. Yet each time I sat, I began to cramp up in my inner thighs. The water ran out within 5 miles leaving only little sips of hot water from the few drops left just to keep my lips somewhat moist. The amazing thing I remember was simply not being able to breathe, as if I was at altitude. It was like the eind had sucked up all the oxygen.

My waterpak felt like I had been carrying a rucksack loaded with weights. I took it off and put it on over and over throughout the 10K. Nothing felt right, even my sunglasses. By the time I managed to get back to the finish, I couldn’t talk, and my entire body cramped from time to time in places I couldn’t expect to cramp. Its hard to explain what I was feeling. I ended up back at the truck lying on my cot with my wife laying wet paper towels on me to cool me down. Cramps were happening all over, including my lower left side, which felt like a cracked a rib.

My recovery took several hours. I managed to get back to the main tent where I started downing chicken noodle soup, water, more soup, more water. I think I even had a hot dog. During this time, John came in from his second loop and had decided to drop down to the 50K as well. His day was done too. We got reports that runners were doing the same thing across the board. All but one 50Miler dropped down to the 50K or half marathon except for one runner who was actually peeing blood. Many of the 100miler dropped to the 50M or 50K as well. Reason: the winds were simply taking everything out of the runners. Adding to the winds were the precarious trails, and many, already feeling exceptionally drained physically, chose not to face the inherent dangers of the trail at night. So, with that I ended my day with an 8 hour and 37 minute 31 mile run. On a scale of challenge this one hit the roof. On a scale of races to do in the future, I think this one bottomed out.

 

Death Valley Full 2012

This race is fast becoming an annual race for me, and hopefully next year it will include a family gathering for the weekend. (They dont know about the idea, yet.) Beginning at Furnace Creek Ranch the run headed north in the directio of Stovepipe Wells, 13.1 miles of track upon which the infamous Badwater Ultra is held. Weather was significantly different than last year, as temps were favorable for shorts and tech-tee as oppsoed to huddling around a fire mineutes before the race last year. High temp that day reached nearly 80 degrees.
My current training program consists of a schedule set-up for my initial 100-miler for the end of April. Jared Sweet, my coach, has much the credit for providing me with the parameters for this race. My limitations included a 10min-per-mile pace cap and to be self-sustaining as best I could. This resulted in carrying all my water and fueling needs for the entire marathon. Jared knows his stuff.
I carried with me a full camelback of over one half gallon of water, a Hammer fuel bar, a bottle of Hammer Perpetuem, and six Hammer Gel packs. Total weight? All things considered maybe another 6-8 pounds? Doesnt sound like a lot, until you carry it over 26 miles. In the end, it proved to be the race maker for me.
The pace was a very enjoyable, minimal effort pace. I was able to carry on a conversation with several other runners at various times. We were not authorized headphones, and talking became a good alternative. My little group of runners within a two-mile radius experienced some pretty good headwinds at mile 9-10 through the turn-around. Once we headed back to the finish, it was full on into the sun with no wind break. That's when the heat started to rise and where my water plan paid off.

Having the water tube at mouth level allowed me to sip every mile. The constant flow of water kept me going. By the time I reached mile 20, I had begun to pass runners who werew whowing signs of dehydration as they trod slowly on. Aside from the normal pains in the thighs and some knee issues, my pace only slighted on one hill and while making some food adjustments.
My time was ten minutes slwoer than last year, but all things considered, the race was significantly better. Control was maintained throughout, management of my resources was spot-on, and mental clarity was actually quite acute. (I like that word.) So, keep this on the radar? Definitely.

Bloodlines

This story can be rightfuly categorized in the "No Way" box. That I am adopted may be of public information. What may not be familiar to most is the long-term process I have experienced in an effort to establish some sort of connection with my bloodline. The initial search began back in the early 90's and it basically ended in failure.
Up until that time I had never considered the aspect of rejection, but once the mediator made the limited 3 attempts at opening the door, I felt the fullness of the word under such contexts. Not only did my birth mother not answer or acknowledge the certified letters, but she would not speak to my mediator either. That was during a time when that 'rejection' word was being felt quite heavily as I was going through a domestic struggle that would not cease.
I let the matter drop. A decade passed, then another. Once again I found myself revisiting similar thoughts and desires, only this time I seem to have this drive that lends more to health and well-being as my age topped the over-40 generation. The difference in the intervening years: The age of technology has come full circle and I have access to more databases than I had even hoped. I have discovered more information than I can ask or think. It wasnt until 23Jan12, just a couple days ago, that I realized the proximity within which I had come in finding out my bloodlines.
I know my mom's name. I know the name of the man she married two years after I was born. I know her relatives, and thanks to the almighty Facebook, I have seen pictures. I also know the street address where she lived when she married, since I have the marriage certificate/application from the state of Texas....and this is where it gets really amazing.
The property records of her address way back in 1969 indicate the prperty never left her maiden name's family. To sum it up: my mom's parents and my grandparents lived in that residence up until thier death. Who owns it now, I'm not sure. But I do know this: When I deployed in 2007, I deployed from Biggs Army Airfield in El Paso, Texas and both were still alive. The area from which we departed was a building offsite from the ain terminal at one end of the tarmac. Near the fence that marks the border of the post. And as it turns out, the house in which my grandparents lived, the same house in which my mom lived when she most likely was carrying me, was no less than a few hundred meter from the building I deployed from, just on the other side of the fence.
Another interesting note: my grandmother served at a Prebsterian Church in El Paso in which she was memorialized. The service was publicized and included a picture of her. The resemblance is striking, especially in the nose.
What's more, while I was in my mobility phase at Ft. Bliss in El Paso, I visited Beaumont Army Medical Center a few times. The address listed on the marriage cert for the man my mom married was only a couple blocks away from the Med Center, and which I might have passed by on more than one occassion.
I do not know if that man is my father, so I have not indicated as such. Reasonable certainty would say he is, but until I know for sure, I cannot claim. I do know that he lives in Las Cruces, NM now.
As for my mom? The mobile home she was living in until Augustof last year burned down. I saw photos of the ruined framework and the fire investogator's report. I also was able to secure her current address and phone number. The question I face now: With all this effort at making contact, do I still go through with it? The chance for rejection remains strong, but as she turns 66 this year, I should think that I don't want to miss this opportunity.