I was bombing down a trail in the Columbia River Gorge at a tremendous rate of speed.  The cool air blowing through the towering fir trees swept across my shirtless body drying my sweat and leaving streaks of powdery salt on my skin.  The trail was cut into the side of the canyon and only a foot or so wide.  Mossy rocks climbed so steeply off the side of the trail that they threatened to brush my shoulder.  Off to the other side, the earth plummeted away, undergrowth clinging to the land with tenacity and hope.  I often had to slow down on washed out or muddy parts of the trail in fear of arcing into the void.  But here the trail was solid; I was feeling great and confident and strong. . . until the tiny stick grabbed my foot.

I was suddenly airborne flying over the trail with my arms stretched forward like Superman.  My right hand was the first to succumb to inevitable gravity and the water bottle in my grasp exploded in slow motion.  Next my shoulder hit, then head, hip, and finally my knee.  I slid to a stop on a thin landing strip between cliff up and cliff down.  The forest was silent.  I began assessing my pain and decided I could sit up.  There were scrapes leaking blood and bruises already forming deep in my muscles.  I knew this one would hurt more tomorrow, but what about tomorrow?  I was still a long way from any trailhead; I had not seen another person for hours.  I sat there thinking about my situation.  I only had shoes on, short running shorts, a watch displaying the lateness of the afternoon, and a now destroyed and empty water bottle.  The realization became clear that if I can’t run, I have a long walk into the darkness to get to my car.  If I can’t walk, I have a long night to survive with basically no gear or even clothing and no one looking for me.

After some time recovering, I was able to get up and continue my run to my car, albeit much slower.  It gave me plenty of time to think about what could have been.  I had made some significant mistakes.  It is even more amazing that with my history in criminal justice, emergency medical support, and even a wilderness guide, I would be caught so unprepared.  Thankfully this was a warning that was listened too and I would not put myself in this position again.

Prior Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance

I had become lax in my years as a recreational runner.  I often trained in extremely safe environments like the local high school track and I had fallen into some habits that opened me up to unnecessary risk.  I never carried ID.  I rarely told anyone where I was going.  Heck, I didn’t always know where I was going myself.  I had no money, water, food, or even clothing to adapt to circumstances that I had not anticipated.  Running was so free of cares.  I needed to keep that freedom, but lose the recklessness and that is very easy to do.

Of course I don’t always prepare for every run in the same way.  If I am heading down to the track for some speedwork, all I have to do to provide a reasonable margin of safety is to let someone know where I am going and when to expect me back.

The other thing I advocate for simple, safe, runs is to carry some form of ID.  For years I have been running and cycling without any ID; if something were to happen to me, it would take a tremendously long search from my family to find me.  Also, medical treatment would be done without any information about who I am or my medical history.

Road ID  produces simple and elegant wristbands and ankle bracelets.  Medical staff are trained to look for them like medic alert tags.  The band has my name and a serial number on it and a phone number and website to go to.  This way anyone can get my medical history and emergency contact information, even if I am unconscious. Road ID makes several products that attach to shoes or other places, however I don’t believe in these as much.  A tag on your shoe might very easily go unnoticed by a hospital.  Stick to the bracelets, ankle straps, or dog tags.

If your run is taking you farther from home or safety there is more to think about in addition to the previous suggestions.  The best thing you can do is run with a partner.  Another person provides safety in numbers in case you are running through tough neighborhoods but that other runner can also be a great resource if there is an accident.  Just because you are running on a sidewalk and not ripping down a trail does not mean you are immune to tripping and twisting an ankle.

I also like to plan my long routes a bit more thoroughly.  Things I am looking for are places to get water, bathrooms, safe areas, and interesting locations.  If you are going long enough to require food, you may want to bring a gel or two in a pocket, but an easy solution is just to roll up a few dollars and plan to stop at a store.

Another great tool is to carry a handheld water bottle like an Amphipod.  There are also some waste band systems but I generally don’t like them as much and if you really need to carry that much stuff there are better options (see below).  Whatever way you go, this is a great way to carry water, a gel or two, money, and ID.  I like running with my bottle, even though I hate things in my hands, the strap allows me to relax totally and not really have to carry it.  After just a few miles, you will never notice the bottle again.  It is a simple and effective way to increase your range and adaptability during your runs.

Once you head off road there is more to consider.  Even a short run in the wilderness can get you far enough away from help that you should plan to be as self-sufficient as possible.  I have found tremendous freedom in running with a pack that is designed for ultra runners.  I use the Nathan Endurance Race Vest, but I know there are other products out there from Camelbak and others.  I do find it telling that if you show up at an ultra trail race, most of the runners are using the Nathan vest.

This vest gives me a huge amount of freedom.  I can easily carry up to 2 liters of water in the bladder.  There is a spot on the front shoulder strap that I can carry a smaller water bottle, I usually put my mix of maltodextrin in there for calories.  It also has places for basic gear, gels, pills, phone or ipod, and straps to store jackets or clothing.

Don’t think of this as a backpack though.  It rides totally differently.  Its design was running specific and the multiple straps are really adjustable.  There is a lot of stretchy suspension integrated too.  It may take some time and trial when you first get it to have it fit perfectly, but once you do, you will never notice the pack again.

So lets say I am planning on a run into the wilderness that is greater than 2 hrs, here is what I carry.

• Nathan Endurance Vest
• Watch (with medical tape around the wrist band)
• Road ID
• Water
• 12 oz water bottle on the front filled with energy drink
• Phone or Ipod
• Map (Green Trail Maps make good waterproof ones)
• Compass
• At least two gels (these are emergency gels, not to be counted as normal nutrition on a run)
• Fire starting flint
• Knife
• Headlamp
• Thermal Blanket
• Bandana
• $20
• Chamois Butter (or other lube)
• Laminated copy of my driver’s license with insurance, medical history, and emergency contacts on the back.
• Paper towels (for toilet paper or fire starter)
• Medical tape
• Pills (2 Ibuprophen, 1 Vicoden, 6 electrolyte caps, 2 caffeine)
• Iodine tablets for water purification
• 2-liter water bladder (filled to an appropriate level according to my run)

The whole pack without water weighs 1.5 lbs and I could make it through a night in the wilderness without too much problem.  It also has everything I need to adjust to any changing situations while on route.  I have fuel, water (and the ability to make more), blister care, heat, shelter, communication gear, and self-rescue equipment.  I also love that I am more likely to dress warmer because it is so easy to carry clothing if I over-dress.

The back pocket gets loaded with the equipment that is only for rare use.  Other things that I want handy are all located up front.  My energy drink bottle is on the lower right strap, there is a bite tube over the shoulder from the water bladder.  I keep my gels in the left pocket.  There is a small waterproof pocket that I keep caffeine pills in, other pills go in back. I can put my Ipod or phone up front for easy listing or GPS tracking. On the upper left shoulder strap I have a folding clip knife.  I don’t have to stop running for any need during even really long runs of 4-5 hrs.

Let me talk about the knife for a second.  It is very light and small with only a 3-inch blade that opens with one hand.  Its primary use is or survival.  The fire starter I carry requires a blade to make sparks, so if you don’t have a knife, a striker is needed, but a knife is more versatile.  As useful as a knife is in the wilderness, it is nice to have in such close reach.  I run with this vest in the city sometimes and having that knife quickly deployable is a comfort in rough neighborhoods.  I would stress that if you are not comfortable or trained in self defense with a knife, a far better option would be to put a small lipstick stun gun or a can of pepper spray in this spot.  I thankfully have never deployed this knife because of a bad guy and doubt I ever will, but I have on one occasion opened it and was very ready to use it when attacked by a dog.

I am not going to go into a ton of discussion here about clothing other than to say bright is better and cotton is rotten.  Wearing bright clothes can increase your visibility whether you are lost in the wilderness or running on a road with cars.  There are even many options with reflective stitching that are awesome.  And make sure you are wearing synthetic material.  There is nothing worse than cotton while working out and if you are caught wearing cotton in the wilderness it can be downright deadly.  Cotton is a material that not only will absorb water and not dry out, but once wet, it will sap the heat out of you as well as increase chaffing and blisters.  While we are discussing clothing, let me say that here is another place that the running pack excels.  It takes years to figure out exactly what to wear in what weather, having the running pack along lets me err on the side of overdressing, because it is really easy to stuff a hat or gloves or even your jacket in the pack if you overheat.

Beyond the headlamp, which can be useful for just getting around, you may want to consider red blinking lights, especially if you are running on a road with cars.  I personally like the Planet Bike Superflash  that can clip right on the back of my backpack or the back of my hat or shorts. Another option I have been very impressed with is the  Amphipod Xinglet reflective vest It has LEDs that blink on the front and back, and it is highly reflective and florescent yellow to boot.  Very cool.  Most of all, if running at night it is especially important to choose your route to keep you off roads with much traffic.

All this equipment is nothing without your head.  I have quite a bit of training that will allow greater comfort and adaptability.  I want to stress the importance of taking the time to learn some basic survival techniques, spend time with those who are more experienced than you are, and learn as much as you can.  Your mental preparedness is the most valuable thing to have along.  Keep aware of your surroundings, plan ahead, and have the right equipment.

It is also very easy to take this all way too far.  Running is fun and free.  Being prepared does not mean being paranoid or fearful.  Everything you do to plan ahead should be done to reduce anxiety of the unknown.  I have seen far too many examples of people who learn enough about the scary things in the world that it paralyzes them from being free.  Bliss should not come from ignorance, but confidence to be ready to handle what happens.

Today was a bit unusual.  My son had a new teacher in his classroom, so I took a long lunch to take him to school and meet the new teacher.  I rode my bike home and changed into my running gear.  I was going to make this a very fine excuse to run with my wife.  After dropping off our son and meeting the teacher, we headed out.

It was about noon and I was starving.  I didn’t have anything to eat, but I did have some money.  Against all good judgement, I darted into Taco Bell.  I don’t eat fast food very often and I have not been at Taco Bell for many years, but I remember what I liked to eat there and ordered a Burrito Supreme.  I dropped the wrapper in the trash as I darted out the door to catch up to my wife.

So there I am, running down the pedestrian path next to my lady and I am chomping down a gooey burrito.  It was glorious and disgusting all at once.  “You are going to make me vomit,” said my wife.  I shrugged and said, “Hey, it is just a giant energy gel right?”

That got me thinking; the consistency of that burrito is pretty fluid.  Even the beans are mashed.  I wonder if that helps them absorb into the blood stream?  I also started thinking that if I could fuel a run on a fast food burrito, then I really can eat anything while running.  As I finished up the slop, I reminded my wife about a run a few months ago where I had downed leftover spicy pad thai and some drunken noodles and then promptly ran for two hours.  Perhaps these food stunts won’t work out for most, but I am quite happy with the experiments.  At the very least, I think it helps me take comfort that no matter what is served at an aid station I will find something I can stomach.

The run with my wife came to an end at her gym where she planned on swimming.  I continued alone to add some more miles.  I decided to run back to work where I had left all of my professional clothing.  I jogged into my office having logged about 2 sluggish hours.

At the end of the day, I donned my running gear once again and headed home.  This time, I had to put down some speed in order to get home in time to enjoy dinner with my family.  Everything clicked and I was full of energy.  I couldn’t help but think back to that calorie packed burrito and know that it was now fully digested and ready to burn.  I ran hard at race pace with family time acting as my rabbit.

I got home just as my kids were sitting down at the table.  The house smelled awesome with deep, earthy, roasted mushrooms and spiced bulgar with light citrus holding it all together.  My daughter jumped down from her chair and greeted me with her normal enthusiastic hugs that are borderline tackles.  My wife had not only gone running with me today, she made a fantastic dinner.  Of course, she also cared for the kids for half of the day, made more money than I did, cleaned the house, and got a swim session in too.  She is awesome.  The only problem with her is when she forgets where she parks the invisible jet.

The point of this post really is to publish the recipe for this totally awesome dinner never before experienced by humans. This is guaranteed tasty, but if you run for 2 or 3 hrs prior to eating, I am sure you will be even more impressed as you devour everything placed in front of you.

• Bulgar wheat
• Roasted portobellos with coconut oil and lemon pepper
• Caramelized onion with garlic and butter and white wine
• Frozen spinach
• Drained cannellini beans
• Dried cherries
• Balsamic vinegar
• Orange zest
• Nutmeg
• Sunflower seeds
• Fresh mozzarella
• Salt and pepper

Cook the bulgar wheat according to the instructions.

Scrape the gills out of the mushrooms, dress with the coconut oil and lemon pepper and roast in the oven at whatever temp you wish until cooked (come on, all recipes are fine if cooked between 325 and 475 degrees.  Don’t be so picky). Chop them up.

Squeeze all the water out of the spinach and sauté it with the onions and garlic, toss in the beans to warm up and the cherries to get a bit plump

Cube the mozzarella into bite-sized pieces.

Combine all ingredients to taste.

Consume voraciously with happiness and beer.

Yesterday I ran for the last time in 2012. 14 miles over 3 buttes nestled among the houses of my hometown. It was a run to remember the past so I can build a future on it.

2012 was good to my running. I logged a lot of fun miles. I explored Portland, my home city, and I discovered some of the hidden sanctuaries while running inside its limits. I completed another Ironman, but this time with my brother and our relationship grew stronger along with our bodies. I ran three marathons, one barefoot, one at the end of an Ironman, and one trail ultra. I did my first adventure race and best of all it was with my wife. Most of all, the example my wife and I set for our kids this past year will strengthen and hopefully plant the seed of a future value of fitness and health.

Last year I built a great foundation for 2013. I am ready to ramp up the miles for the Hagg Lake 50k in 6 weeks. In fact, I have a great line-up for the whole year. I am trying to complete as many of the Oregon Trail Series races as I can and I am the captain of the Reed College Run-On Sentences for the Hood to Coast Relay and the leader of the Reed College Runners team in the Portland Marathon. This will be without question the toughest race season I have ever done. I am super excited about this schedule; I hope that my body holds out for the whole season

Hagg Lake 50k – February 16, 2013 http://www.haggmud.com/
Peterson Ridge Rumble 40 mile – April 14, 2013 http://www.petersonridgerumble.com/
McDonald Forest 50k – May 11, 2013 http://mac50k.org/
Mt Hood PCT 50 mile – July13, 2013 http://www.mthood50.com/
Siskiyou Outback 50 mile – July 27, 2013 http://www.siskiyououtback.com/
Waldo 100k – August 17, 2013 http://waldo100k.org/
Hood to Coast – August 23-24, 2013 http://www.hoodtocoast.com/
McKenzie River 50k – September 7, 2013 http://www.mrtr.org/
Pine to Palm 100 mile – September 14, 2013 http://www.roguevalleyrunners.com/P2P100/raceinfo.html
Flagline 50k – September 22, 2013 http://www.superfitproductions.com/?page_id=70
Portland Marathon – October 6, 2013 http://portlandmarathon.org/

470 miles of racing over 7 months is a lot. I expect the beginning of the season won’t be too bad and I feel well prepared. It is the end, September especially, that feeds self-doubt. I know my path, but I am unsure of how my body and mind will handle the accumulating fatigue that I am sure will take its toll. I look forward to the challenge. I look forward to learning about myself. I look forward to races, but also to the training.

The first steps of the year have been taken. Today was a crystal, cold, bluebird day akin to my memory of Michigan winters. I snaked through the city on pedestrian paths and ducked off the road just beneath the Grotto http://www.thegrotto.org/ and wandered my way up rogue paths through the cliffs of Rocky Butte. I gained the summit where a small park overlooks Portland. Joseph Wood Hill Park  is named for the same man who established Hill Military Academy in 1901. My father-in-law was a student there from 1943-46. Today, I stopped to take in the view of downtown to the west, Mount Saint Helens to the north, and Mount Hood to the east. Then I dropped down more hidden trials through the mountainside to the valley floor and returned home.

Of course, running is not all I did today and father’s duties were resumed moments after walking in the door. As any athlete knows, the post workout meal is terrifically important to recovery and today was no exception with afternoon tea and shortbread cookies served on a cheap pink plastic tea set. My daughter would have it no other way, and who am I to protest such an invitation, clad in spandex and tech gear and sweat.

It is lunchtime and I am not out for my normal run.  My foot hurts.  I am hungry.  I am tired.  These are excuses for a heavy heart.  I am thinking about the shooting in Connecticut.  I am thinking about my son sitting in his own classroom right now without me.  What would he think if someone walked into the room and shot his teacher, his friends, and then turned to him.  Would he die with thoughts of love or hate?  Have I prepared him for his own death?  As a parent, should I even teach my 4-year-old about his own mortality?  It seems like something he should not have to worry about.  I have never shielded him before from news or movies or music.  When he sees something that scares him, we talk about it.  I think I have found my threshold.  He does not need this in his life.  The TV is going to remain off.

I want him to live without fear but not out of ignorance.  I want him to live knowing that even though horrible things happen, he lives in a world filled with love.  I want him to be at peace with what life brings him, and if that means violence, he will handle it with grace.  I don’t know how to teach that to him.  I don’t know how to parent today.  I do know how to hug him and love him and that is a pretty good start.

There are so many in this country who are hurting deeply right now.  Today I do not run.  Every beat of my heart goes to them.

Baker Lake 50k is like no race I have ever done before.  It is simple, cheap, challenging, and fun.  I am so used to the charged competitive race site but this was so laid back, I later learned the competition was still there, but with a slightly different focus and much more cooperative.

Registration was the first clue that I had stumbled on a different sort of race than ever before.  First of all, there is no mandatory race fee; you pay what you wish.  Yes, you can do this race for free.  I chose to contribute $40.  What is included is such a great deal?  Free camping the day before and after the race right at the start/finish line, a race number, and only two aid stations, one at the start/finish line and one at mile 15.5.  I knew this was not going to be a swag bag filled super race, but I respected it more for that fact.

The course is an out-and-back on one of the most beautiful trails in the North Cascades.  It wanders the shoreline of Baker Lake.  The deep crystal waters are augmented by streams flowing in with milky, glacial blue ice water.  Mt. Shuksan keeps watch in the distance and Mt. Baker lords over the valley with its glaring snow splitting the blue sky.

An elevation profile of the course does not show any large sustained climbs, but running this trail makes you painfully aware that there is almost never a flat step.  Be ready for constant rolling terrain that at the start of the race is relatively benign, but it eats at your energy and as the miles roll under your feet, tendons and muscles revolt from the constant up and down.

The limited support on the course required good planning for nutrition and water.  Runners need to be self sufficient for the majority of the race.  Most participants used a running pack like Camelbak or Nathan.  I have a Nathan Endurance and I love it.  For this race, I used about 1,000 calories of maltodextrin mixed into a 12-ounce bottle and a smaller 5-oz bottle; I carried both bottles were in the shoulder straps across my chest.  I also had about 1.5 litres of water in the hydration bladder in the pack.  In addition to the maltodextrin mix, I used a couple of gels, one 200 mg caffeine pill, and one ibuprofen.  I was able to comfortably carry all of this with me so I would not need anything at the aid station and that proved to be a huge advantage later in the race.

Even though I did not anticipate any stop for aid, I put together a small bag with a pair of different shoes, clean socks, extra food, some body glide, and tape.  This bag was transported to the turn around area and I could access it if I needed to tend to my feet or get more food.

I drove to the race after work on Friday.  Being on the road alone is a foreign experience at this time in my life.  I ride my bike to work. I rarely drive a car anywhere.  Road trips are nearly extinct in my life and if we go somewhere it is a balance of potty stops, electronic devices with kids movies, and complaining “are we there yet?” A few hours in the car alone was nice.  It was time for me to think.  When I am running I often have a conversation in my head that is evaluating things. “How are my legs?”  “Do I have enough fuel?”  “Am I hydrated?”  The car drive was similar but more holistic to my life. “Am I doing ok as a father?”  “Is my wife happy?”  “Am I satisfied?”  “What can I do better?”  I arrived at the start line after midnight.  There is free camping included with this race, but all I did was roll my sleeping bag on the ground and crawled inside for a couple of hours of sleep.

There is a time cut-off that requires runners to reach the turn around by noon, so some people take a head start.  I woke to the cheers of early start runners heading out, but I stayed in my sleeping bag.  It was cold and I could hear runners getting up and ready in the morning but the crisp air was a heavy burden to motivate myself to join them.  Eventually, I extricated myself from my warm cocoon.  I had brought nothing more than shorts, so I quickly went to check in and returned to my car for breakfast.

Like I said earlier, this race was different.  Instead of standing in a long line, waiting for the port-a-potties surrounded by crowds of runners hopping around in anticipation. I sat with the heater of the car blowing full blast as I drank some coffee supplied by a household coffee maker on the check-in table.  I ate a sushi cigar I had brought from home. It is simple: rice, nori, and miso paste and it made a great pre-race meal.

With only five minutes until the start, I jumped out of the car and walked to the starting line, a cone in the road and a guy holding a clipboard.  There were no timing mats, no archways emblazoned with sponsors, no thumping music with the annoying local DJ’s.  Everyone sauntered over and it was obvious most of the runners knew each other.  No one was sizing each other up, so common at other races; just friendly chatter.  I noticed a higher proportion of women, and I saw very few of what I generally refer to as “young bucks.”  I am in my mid-30s and was probably on the young side for crowd. This crowd looked very much like me; the same people who don’t fit in well at your typical local 5k.  Many don’t even look like your typical runner.

Soon, the man with the clipboard looked around, checked his watch (the official timing system of the race) and said, “GO!”

Courtesy of Takao Suzuki

There was no sprint from the line. The group just started trotting along, most of us chatting with each other.

I started with no intention of racing hard, but I felt great and decided to gamble a bit.  I did not stay with the lead pack as it slowly started to pull away, but I did keep count.  I was settling in at 10th place as we entered the forest at about mile 2.  The trail was tight and passing people required permission.  I would run behind people for awhile and sometimes they offered to let me pass, other times I would request it and they would just step aside for a moment.   If the pace felt good, I would stay in back.  If anyone would pass me, I made it a point to keep them in sight. I was keeping count and keeping in place based on hope.  I was thinking about racing.  I was thinking about the front of the pack but it was my heart that was doing the thinking.  My head knew I needed to slow down.  Pain is in your head and needs to be numbed.  Passion is in the heart and needs to be fed.  Eventually I knew I would follow my heart with disrespect to logic and reason.  However, I would not allow myself to acknowledge this mistress yet.  I would allow my head to govern, until it would need to be overthrown.

Long races are about starting fit, then controlling what happens in your head . . . and heart.

Eventually a pack of 4 runners formed and I remained at the tail.  I knew two of them were seasoned Western States 100 veterans and the other was a man who has run this race many years in a row.  This group was to be respected.  I stayed in the back thinking that if I needed to pass this covey, it would take a huge effort.  I would have to increase my pace enough to convince them that they couldn’t keep up, and I would have to do it for long enough that I could get out of sight.  I figured that meant speeding up by nearly a minute per mile and holding it for at least two miles.  I was pretty sure that was not going to happen.  I was strong and my heart said I could do it, but my head knew otherwise.  I was going to stay put, we were not even half way yet.  I would find my chance if I where patient.

The course was in great shape.  The trail was mostly dry and there were very few leaves.  It is a single track that winds constantly.  Even though it is mostly nontechnical, the sneaky root or rock would often grab feet and cause runners to fall.  I stumbled countless times and fell hard twice.  At the finish line, bloody knees and hands were very common.  Falling is part of fast trail running and this race was no exception.  The only concession is that you would not be falling alone.

A nice thing about having so many people start at an earlier time is that they are on the course already and act as cheerleaders as you pass them.  A bonus feature of this is that they often report splits on the leaders.  This information was strengthened by the fact that the course is out and back, so as we were approaching the turn around, I started watching for the front-runners to pass and I could get a read on how strong they looked.  They were about 10 minutes up, but unfortunately, they looked very strong.  I doubted that a 10-minute lead was going to be something that I could reduce on my own speed.  I needed anyone in front of me to slow down if I had any chance of catching them.  There was very little chance of that happening and I still needed to pass this pack.

A mile or so before the turn around we crossed a huge and beautiful suspension bridge.  It took everything to not stop and take a picture, but this is a race, and one that I was now racing hard.  That day had become a real competition.  I was currently in 8th place and feeling very strong.

At the turn-a-round, everything changed.

As the pack found the aid station, everyone divided and grabbed the bags they packed to refuel bottles, or food, or grab water.  I needed nothing.  I turned immediately and exited while they all dug through their support bags, not knowing that I had just passed them quietly.  I was gone.  I was ahead.  And the best part is they didn’t know to chase me down.

Courtesy of Takao Suzuki

I sped up.

Only one runner saw what I did.  He had a very good tactic at the turn around.  He has two running packs like mine.  He packs them half the weight of mine and then he just runs into the aid station with one removed, drops it, picks up the other, and leaves.  He caught me a mile or so down the trail when I stopped to relieve myself.

I sped up more.

The two of us ran silently together, scampering our feet over dirt with heavy breathing as a counterpoint.  He was nipping at my heels and I was trying to run him into submission and self-doubt.  Our speed was surely below 7 min miles and way faster than I should have been going.  Reports were coming in that we were whittling away at fourth place’s lead.  I was in 5th but I also knew our speed was unsustainable.  I finally mentioned it.

“My legs are running on borrowed time.”  It was the first thing I said to him.

My statement was enough of an admission that he grunted back, “I can’t keep this pace up either.”

The mutual admission of our dwindling strength did not do what often happens in racing.  Tactics dictate that I speed up again and destroy his confidence, but this race is different; I slowed down.  He stayed behind me.  We began working together and competing not against one another, but against the rest of the field.  We talked each other through weakness and pushed each other harder.  Names were never exchanged; I referred to him as Vancouver, his port of call.  I was simply Portland.  The only problem with our team was my disability to do math and convert his Canadian kilometres to miles (normally I am quite good, but my mind had turned to goo and don’t get me started about how far behind the US is in measurement; why can’t we be metric?).

The end was coming.

You get lost in the mountains and there are no mile markers. You guess a lot about where you are on the course.  The trail was improving and I began spotting day hikers.  I knew we were getting close to the trailhead.  My legs were succumbing to a combination of pain and numbness, but I knew that if I stopped to walk even for a moment, Vancouver would pass me.  I was not giving up my position after fighting for this long.

The last 2 miles are on open road.  Vancouver was a strong runner and had done this race many times before. Trails have a way to limit the top-end speed of really fast runners.  I was afraid he knew that road was coming and would be able to open up his stride.  I needed space.  I hit every uphill hard, but he remained in sight.  As long as he could see me, I was a target.

The trail confined itself to gravel and then to pavement.  I opened up my throttle, running with everything I had.  I would glance over my shoulder nonchalantly.  Vancouver was always there . . . until the dam.

The race crosses the dam at the base of Baker Lake with only about 1 kilometre left.  Finally, he was no longer behind me.  I could not see him and I felt relief.  But only for a moment. I suddenly missed him.  He was gone.  I worried about him.  I needed him.  I was lonely.  I was eager to get to the finish so I could wait for him.

The finish came to a roar of a crowd consisting of 3 people in lawn chairs, the race director, some random kid, the 4 people who finished ahead of me, and a lady who walked up to me with a clipboard who looked at her watch (official timing system) and wrote down my time and bib number.  She said, “Good job. 5th place. There is water, coffee, and Cup O’Noodles over there.”  Then the 4 previous finishers walked over, shook my hand, and then continued their conversation standing on the finish line.

Vancouver soon arrived to a similar fanfare.  He stumbled across the line, shook my hand and just said, “Portland, you are a rock star.”  It was a huge compliment and better than any race medal I could have received.

We all stood around chatting only to stop our conversation to cheer the next finisher in.  Runners arrived every 10 or 20 minutes.  We did not talk of races or training; the chat was based around kids, or work, or cool hikes we had done lately.  I was beaten by people older and younger than I.  Skinny runners finished.  So did fat ones.  There were lean runners and muscle men.  The first woman was right behind me and I was massively proud to have beaten her. There were no medals, or purse; just a stuffed bear for first male and first female.  There is no cell service.  No Facebook.  No email.  No text to my wife.  I enjoyed my race with my nasty coffee, warm beer, and sore feet.

Finally, I walked up to the race directors, thanked then for a good race and asked a simple question.  “Because you don’t have a mandatory fee, I just need to make sure you didn’t lose money this year.  If so, I will pay you more now.”

“Nope, it looks like we will barely break even.  I hope you race next year. We don’t want or need your money.”

Yup. This is how a race should be.  Fun and simple. Individual and together.

31 miles.  Fifth place overall.  Second in my age group.  4:39:22

I just stumbled on Deca Iron Italy.  Now, I understand extreme physical challenges and am really attracted to the crazy ones, but this just doesn’t seem to have a point.  30 days back-to-back-to-back doing an Ironman race every day.  I think something is missing from this challenge.  Maybe it’s the adventure.  Maybe it’s the lack of uniqueness.  It just seems to make the statement “Ironman is tough, so doing it more will be tougher.”  Sure, that is correct, but there is no end.  It lacks the aesthetics of cycling across a continent, or reaching the summit of a mountain, or running for 24 hrs continuously, or swimming the English channel.  There is no bookend and despite the title of this blog, it lacks a finish line.  I feel if I did 30 consecutive IMs, I would be left with the constant thought, let’s do one more.  I think there would be a lack of fulfillment, just exhaustion and a destroyed carcass of a body.

But that is just me.  There seem to be plenty of people who are going to give it a go next year.  I am interested in keeping track of their progress.  How many will finish?  What will be the average time of completion?  Will they be satisfied?

The entry fee is nearly $4,000.  With travel, support, housing, equipment, I would guess the venture’s price tag would be well over $15k.  It leaves me thinking.  What endurance adventure would I do if I had $15,000 and 30 days?

I hate my birthday.  I don’t like the philosophy behind it.  I mean, I get it; it is a day to celebrate my life.  But I feel that if I must designate one special day to be thankful, to live well, to recognize the life I have, then I am doing something wrong the rest of the year.

Shouldn’t we live every day like it was our birthday?

For years I tried to “cancel” my birthday.  Treat it like all other days.  I found it was impossible.  No one respected my request.  People would throw parties, give gifts, and send cards anyway.  Then, I realized after a few very frustrating years, that the day is not about me.  It is about everyone else and it gave them a chance to say things, or demonstrate caring in ways that they feel but don’t normally get to act on.  This realization made it easier for me to see and be thankful for what people do for me on my birthday.

But even that realization doesn’t always help me enjoy my birthday because of the confusion between what is about me and what is about others. I don’t always live the life I wish I could every day and today, my birthday, is one of those days.  I tried to do something for myself today and it didn’t work out.

This year I had decided to spend my birthday by running my age.  I had planned a 36-mile run featuring most of Portland’s parks that are ancient volcanoes.  The route summited each one, so I entitled it “I like big buttes.”  You can see the directions here:  http://www.mappedometer.com/?maproute=123836

It was supposed to be a time for me to check in with myself.  Time on my feet – time in my head – investment in my soul.  I was not particularly well prepared physically, but running long is mostly mental.  My mind was ready and my body would follow.

I took the day off from work and woke at the normal time when my kids get up at 7 a.m.  (We have stop light clocks in their room, red light means stay in bed, green means get up.  They are programmed for 7 a.m.  They are awesome.)   Both kids come stumbling out of the groggy nighttime for hugs and snuggles on the couch.   Daughter is her normal clingy morning self – son is sick.  Hmm, day care will be here soon and he seems mostly content, maybe this will still work.  I pack my gear, don my tech clothes, carefully lube my feet and find my rain jacket (it is pouring).  I mix up enough maltodextrin to fuel about 8 hrs of running.  I open the door and before I sneak out into my selfishness, my son pukes.

I left myself standing in the doorway and carried him to the bathroom.  Kids don’t understand vomiting.  Between abdominal thrusts and gags, tears flow with the most sorrowful moans and cries.  Eventually it ends and I carry him back to the couch for some daddy snuggles.  I talked with our nanny who was handling the other kids about our plan of action.  We do a nanny share and she had others to care for; I didn’t want to leave her with a sick kid, but she had responsibilities with other children.  Together we decided I could go out for about 2 hrs and come back when she could take the other kids to the neighbor’s house.

So I turned my back to my sick child and fled only to return for the rest of the day.

The two hours I ran is not going to touch the 36 miles I had planned, nor could I attempt the route I mapped out.  But I would take what I could get.  The worst thing about it was that I felt great running.  Strides were strong and fluid and comfortable.  I could have run forever.

But today is not about me, nor is any day.  I have children and I love them.  Every day I live will be about them.  My birthday is about them, their birthday is about them, and random Tuesdays are about them as is every day we have together.

I can run 36 miles later, and today my attitude will be guided by a song that my kids have played over and over lately.  Perhaps they are telling me it is a lesson I need to learn.

“I am getting dressed for a new day.  I hope it goes my way.  And if it doesn’t that’s ok. . . I have sunshine in my heart, and that makes me a sweet honey bear.”

Last week I became a real adult as I sat in Preschool orientation for parents.  I pulled up the miniature chair and squatted with my knees by my ears.  I looked around the room.  Everyone seemed to belong there but me.  How could this be happening?  I was totally unprepared for the emotions that came with this experience.  I had not thought about it at all and suddenly I was nervous, uncomfortable, questioning how I had gotten this far.

I never really made it past recess in my life.  Sitting at any desk will just make my mind dream of the next adventure, away from wherever I am currently forced to sit still and whatever I am currently forced to do.  This trait has not proven well for me in school, especially in the early years.  So many memories of my K-12 experience are bad.  I brought most of it on myself.  It can all be reduced to one thing.  I don’t do what I don’t want to do.  Therefore, I did not do much of my homework.  This of course had its consequences.  I underperformed consistently and eventually dropped out all together my senior year.  I still have no high school diploma or even a GED.  I went on to college and found a great love of learning.  I have continued my scholarship, but on my own terms.   The constraint I felt in my early education was lifted and I was free to run my mind like I do my body.

So here I am walking down the not-so-hallowed halls lined with short lockers, reliving the experiences that brought so many years of bad dreams and anxiety, but this time it is for someone whom I care far more deeply than myself.

Preschool

Today was my son’s first day of preschool.  Last night I had dreams of not finding my classroom in high school and of bullies and of forgotten textbooks.  I got to work this morning only to leave a couple of hours later.  I wanted to be at that first day of school for my son.  I raced my bike home to get there in time and my wife and I loaded him into the car.  He had his backpack and was ready, but his feet shuffled through the parking lot as if the cement had not yet dried.  He was obviously nervous, but moved forward in defiance of his feelings.  The classroom was inviting and we introduced him to Teacher Jamie.  He wandered the room and found toys to play with and got comfortable.  He obviously did not need us.  We watched for a few minutes, then called him over, gave hugs, nodded at the teacher and we left.

For the first time in his life, he was in a room full of people he did not know.  What would happen?

My wife and I talked as we walked to the car.  I planned on heading out for a 3-hour run and return to pick up the kiddo at the end of his day.  My wife planned on working out at the gym.  All of a sudden, we both realized we had a chance to run together.  This is such a rare treat.  I had a long run scheduled and my wife was planning on spending most of her time in the pool, she adapted and we took off along a path that lead to Kelly Butte.  Our timing was perfect to summit and traverse the ridge on the far side and run back to the car.  It took about an hour and was perfect in every way.  We just don’t get time together alone very often.  We have both done a good job in the past year or so to make sure we have time to ourselves, but more of an effort needs to be made to have time for each other.

We parted ways for her to log some pool yardage; I continued to run until we met up again at the school.

My son had a great day.  He met new friends.  He learned from his teacher.  He followed instructions.  He adventured beyond the scope of his parents.

I had a great day too.  I let my son go have his own experience.  My time in school did not dictate his perspective; he determined his outcome.  I also learned that I need more time to be with my wife in a real way.  We are such partners in everything, but we are never allowed to hone our teamwork without huge responsibilities that come with getting dinner cooked, or the kids in the bath, or the laundry done, or the dishes put away.  We need to play together.

The squiggly line on the map that denoted an “unofficial and unmaintained trail” intrigued me. A footnote warned that the “Rock of Ages trail location is approximate” and that “hikers should have experience with wilderness navigation.” Well, to me that is like stamping “confidential” on an envelope. The warning greatly increases my interest in its contents. Like the sexiness of mystery, or the girl my parents hate, I needed this journey.

I have never used my hands so much while running. I was often grasping at undergrowth for a safety belay. I would not recommend this trail to anyone without mountaineering experience, and I certainly would not do it alone again. The lower section of the trail is exposed, steep, loose, and mossy. If it were wet, it would be impossible. The Rock of Ages Trail is located in the Columbia River Gorge on the Oregon side. It is a nice 9-mile loop that starts and finishes at the Horsetail Falls trailhead but will leave you with want for miles and need for less elevation.

Horsetail

Horsetail Falls is one of the classic Gorge waterfalls that cascades into a more-than-perfect pool right next to the Old Highway. I parked and worked my way past all the camera-clad tourists. I love to hear all the different languages at these trailheads. They have traveled so far to see my backyard. Most never venture up the trail. They are distracted by the easy view that is handed to them. They never see the things you find beyond the first date. I left the crowds behind as I strode up the trail toward Ponytail Falls. The route starts by gaining about 300 feet of elevation over 5-switchbacks. Ponytail Falls is a popular attraction, but only granted to those who put in the effort. The moment the trail turns the corner

Ponytail

and Ponytail comes into view I stopped. This was the real start of my climb. A large tree on the side of the main trail hides the subtle turn. Its roots grasp the steep mountainside with their toenails, hoping to keep the tree in place a few more years. It has seen countless pilgrims to the waterfall, but before people, the tree lived. The tree knew the mist and the treasure that its place in the world had granted. Now it was a gateway to my adventure. I used my hands as I climbed up and placed my feet on the uphill side of towering fir using them like rungs of a ladder. A short way up the trail I found a sign on a tree, “Trail not maintained.” Yup, I must be on the right path.

The trail is loose and braided. Climbing more than 1,000 feet per mile, it is definitely steep. There are long sections where foot placement is critical. If I were to slip, I would fall a long way. I was mindful of my actions and my steps were deliberate and measured. There was no running involved, but my heart still raced and my legs burned. I did not run, but I partook in the mountaineers pace. Step. Breath. Step. Breath. I ascend slowly. I dislodged a rock and watched it tumble through the forest and out of sight. I stood and listened and it continued to fall unseen. I continued to ascend.

Rock of Ages

After about a half mile, I saw the trail that I was looking for off to my left. It was a diversion to Rock of Ages, a natural arch of stone overlooking the Columbia River Gorge. The trail was hardly 6 inches wide and often just a series of sliding rocks or loose moss. Then the mountain dropped away into openness. I found myself on a terrifically exposed gendarme jutting out above the valley. A basalt tunnel perfectly framed the valley to the east dominating the prominence.

Gendarme

I took a few minutes to myself sitting under the arch with my feet dangling above the forest several hundred feet beneath me. I have always eschewed the summits of mountains. Attainment, when granted, always felt arrogant. I fought such stains by honoring these places with staccato grace and reverence, then moving on. I grabbed my handheld water bottle and nodded my appreciation to the view and continued to head up the ridge.

Devil’s Backbone

At about 1 mile and 1,000 feet of elevation I came to the Devil’s Backbone. The watersheds are divided by an exposed ridge of scoliosis that is sinister but grants the scaler views of St. Peter’s dome that are unparalleled. At this point, a break was mandatory. The trail had sapped my legs, but my soul was replenished. The crispness of the air allowed for a clear view of Mount Adams. The river far below was quiet, but somehow I understood its power to cut this canyon. For a moment, I stood on the rocks and lorded over the chasm that made me feel insignificant.

Columbia

One mile. I had been traveling for 55 minutes. I am not exactly The Flash on this trail. I started worrying about my three-hour goal for the loop.

Moss

The backbone gave way to a knife-edge ridge that gave way to a butter-knife, which gave way to a rolling pin. The forest covered the divide that I followed. Moss cloaked the forest in a glowing green that was in stark contrast to the dark canopy. The steepness relenting, I urged my tired legs to do something that resembled a run. I covered another mile to find the junction with Horsetail Creek Trail. 2.2 miles to this point covers nearly 3,000 vertical feet of gain! It took me a total of 1.5 hours to cover the distance. Even though that included some side trails and viewpoints, it is slow going. But now that I was at the highest point of the trip, it was time to put miles under my feet.

Moss Mustache

The trail here is a slight downhill crossing the headwaters of Horsetail Creek at three points. I had drunk all the water I had and my food was gone too. I stopped on several occasions to partake in the ample Oregon blueberries that saturated the mountain floor. I came to the junction dropping down the Oneonta Gorge after a couple of short and fast miles running along the rim. My legs were free as my mind took the scrolling trail in. Quickly I made decisions to scamper over stumps and stones. I was engaged and detached. I was numb and piqued. I flowed like water down the steep canyon walls.

The trail plummeted down the chasm past many switchbacks and I felt light on my feet with a quick turnover. Until. . . . my feet stopped.

A log that insulted the path caught my left toe and my feet were detained. I impacted with my right hand that held my water bottle. The bottle lid ejected with force. The strap ripped. I tumbled. I sat.

I took inventory of injuries. My toes hurt from kicking the log. My hands were pretty decent because the bottle had granted them protection. My hips and knee were rashed and dirty, but the Charlie-horse was easing. No damage. Just pain. But pain is just feedback telling me what is wrong like a “check engine” light on your car; sometimes it is eminent failure, sometimes it is ignorable. I gained my drive and my feet.

Creek Crossing

I eventually dropped to the valley floor and followed the Oneonta creek to beautiful Triple Falls then to Pony Tail Falls where the trail fords the crossing behind the cascade and comes to the junction that led me skyward up the Rock of Ages trail. A few short switchbacks put me back in contact with the tourists similar to the ones I left behind three hours previous. They are blissfully ignorant at the beauty of the falls. They know and feel what they are seeing, but the water that cascades before them came from somewhere they do not even consider. They know nothing of the canyon above. They have not explored like the water has. They are seeing the falls as a destination. The water sees it as an obstacle. I see it wholly.

The inviting pool driven by the pounding waters of Horsetail Falls could not be ignored. I could feel the swelling of my feet and I hastily removed my shoes and socks and waded in. For some time I sat on a rock with the ice cold water healing my legs and feet. It ached. My heart did not. So many people were here. Standing on the sidewalk taking pictures and having their vacation. For me, it was just Sunday. For me it was not vacation, it was life. This was my church. I was washed and clean.

Ice Bath