This coming Labor Day weekend (September 5th-7th) I will attempt to summit as many Adirondack high peaks as possible in a 24 hour period. My previous best is 21 peaks (over 22.5 hours, back in 2007) and I hope to do more than that, with 24 peaks as an ultimate goal. I'm doing this to support 46 Climbs for Suicide Prevention, which is an organization that aims to raise money for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention's research, education and prevention initiatives through mountain climbing.

I met 46 Climbs founders Kolby Ziemendorf and Catherine Zarnofsky last year as they planned their attempt to climb all 46 Adirondack high peaks during National Suicide Prevention Week. Their trip was a huge success, raising $14,500 for the AFSP. This year they have brought 46 Climbs to the rest of us: anyone can register to do a hike and raise money, whether they are hiking in the Adirondacks or in California.

How you can help: Please consider donating to my hike using the donate button below. Any amount is appreciated, and the more people I have supporting me the more motivation I'll have to keep going when I hit a low point during the day or night! Alternatively you can visit the 46 Climbs site and register for your own climb (big or small, one peak or many, it doesn't matter) and ask your friends to support your effort. Thanks!

Part 1: Mountain Loop

After many hours spent running around Whiteface, Ian and I have finally decided on a course for the SkyMarathon on June 28th. It consists of a "mountain loop" on the ski trails, followed by a "flume loop" on the cross country mountain bike trails, and then finishes with another lap of the mountain loop. The course covers 19.3 miles with 9,500 feet of climbing, and should take over four hours for the winner (and much more for most runners).

I ran both loops last week. Here’s a description of the course from my point of view. Note that time estimates are for a finish of around 4:30, which I expect to be a very fast time on this course. Adjust according to your expectations.

Start / mountain loop: From the base of Whiteface (1220’ elevation) you look directly up the mountain at the lower ski slopes. At the start you immediately begin climbing the Fox ski trail. You’re hiking within 30 seconds, despite the fact that it’s only an easy ski run. The footing is good, but consistently uphill, on grassy slopes. The grade eases for a moment and you might run again, before you’re back to hiking up the steeper intermediate trail Lower Valley.

Passing the mid-station lodge about 1/4 of the way up the first climb (13 min),  you pick up the slightly more runnable service road that you’ll mostly follow to the top of the summit chairlift, at almost 4400’. At times the gravel /dirt road is gentle enough that you can run, but you will keep it to a hike for the most part, trying to save your legs for the many thousands of feet of climbing and descending ahead. The service road starts on an easy slope (Easy Street) before tackling the winding intermediate trail Excelsior that takes you nearly to the top of Little Whiteface. Leaving Excelsior at about 3/4 of the way up the climb (37 min), the course follows a direct line up Paron’s Run and then rejoins the service road on The Follies, before hitting the final ridge to the top of the summit lift. You’ve just climbed over 3100 feet in 2.7 miles (53 min). Restock on fuel and liquids at the aid station here, as the mountain loop is only about half complete at this point.

You’ll retrace your steps down the ridge for a couple hundred feet before branching off down the steeper slope of Paron’s, and then turning left onto the expert trail Cloudspin and positively plummeting downhill. The Cloudspin section is only about four tenths of a mile, but you’ll lose 800 feet of elevation! If the 40% grade isn’t enough to keep you honest, the rough footing and need to look ahead and pick your line will certainly keep your speed down and make you work for every step. After this steepest section of the race the course takes a left to cut over to another expert trail, Skyward, avoiding a cliff at the bottom of Cloudspin. The running here is a little more manageable, but still unrelentingly steep and punishing. The grassy slopes of Victoria will seem like a relief, as you open up into more of a run as opposed to the controlled fall of the decent thus far.

After Victoria flattens out and you’ve completed the first big descent (1700 feet over 1.1 miles, about 13 min) you’ll cross your ascent line from earlier and climb again, this time on the intermediate trail Lower Northway. A new service road with loose stones will make for trickier footing than the first climb, but the grade is gentle enough to allow for some running before the course branches again onto Essex, another expert trail. With grades of 40% this is a very steep hike, but short, and it tops out on a final ridge run to the summit of Lower Whiteface, where a water stop and breathtaking views of Lake Placid await. This second climb is big but nothing like the first, totaling 1000 feet in 0.7 miles, and taking about 17 min.

The mountain loop is far from over: you still need to descend back to the start, a 2400’ drop in 1.8 miles. It takes me 17 min to bomb down these trails, which are mostly grassy with good footing. The initial descent, on Approach, offers some of the gentlest downhill on the course, before it reaches the top of the Mountain Run chairlift and plunges down the expert trail Upper Parkway. Lower Parkway relents a little and allows for some smoother running, and then you pop out on Lower Valley and Fox, quickly retracing your steps back to the start and the large aid station there. The first mountain loop is over, and you’ve gained and lost 4130 feet over 6.3 miles. This loop takes me about 1 hr 40 min at race pace. I expect the average mountain loop split will be closer to 2:30 or 2:45, with some racers taking as long as 3:45 on their way to a 10hr finish time (the cutoff).

My next post will describe the much gentler flume loop, which you will do once following the first mountain loop. And then, of course, you have to come back for another mountain loop!

It's been almost five years since I last "raced" the Great Range--just long enough to forget how tough it really is--and I went out this morning to try to set the FKT on the route. I failed. Here are some lessons I learned:

1) Run your own race!
2) One week between ultras might not be enough to fully recover.
3) At some point, one must start training again.
4) Running at 2hr race effort is good in a 2hr race, but not in a 6hr race. In other words, run your own race, dumb-ass!

Let's break it down, lesson by lesson.

Run your own race: You'd think I would know this by now. At Vermont 50 last fall, and Manitou's Revenge and Wakely Dam this year, I let the leaders go and concentrated on what my body was telling me. It worked. So why would I print out Ryan and Eric's splits and try to match them, especially up the first peaks of the day? It's the same as chasing the lead pack when you know they can't hold that pace all day.

Recovery time is necessary between ultra distance races: Wakely Dam was nearly a 5hr race, and I came in second, under the old course record time. Maybe I shouldn't have expected to run another course record one week later. Good lesson, but I'm not bummed about this at all--no harm in trying and now I know.

You still have to train: I haven't really trained since the beginning of June. Since then it's been taper, race, recover, repeat. That's seven weeks without really training. There's certainly something to be said for trying to maintain a peak for as long as you can, but I think it's clear my peak is over. Time to get back to some real training. Luckily I have nine weeks until my next goal race, Vermont 50 (although I'll try to squeeze in a Presi Traverse FKT attempt in late August if the weather cooperates).

Run your own race, dumb-ass: I re-read Eric Batty's FKT report last night and he mentioned a steady pace that never really let up. I'm sure it felt that way to Eric and Ryan because they were smart and never allowed themselves to really bonk, but in truth they set an absolutely blistering pace up the first two climbs and then backed off significantly. I pushed more than I should have up Rooster Comb and still topped out more than 1min30sec back. I pushed even more up Lower Wolf Jaw and was over 4min back at the summit, and that's only 1hr30min into the day. I really hammered to UWJ, getting a couple minutes back, and then bonked, but after that I never really lost any time. I was staggering up the climbs, feeling dizzy and nauseous, but I remained 2-5 minutes behind all the way to Haystack. I would have bailed on several occasions, but then I'd see my split and realize I was, on paper, still in contention. It was only after doing four peaks in pretty close to total bonk mode that I made the right decision, lying down for a while after coming off Haystack and then hiking out.


I was psyched out by the fast pace Eric and Ryan set from the trailhead, and I didn't run a smart "race." I should have spotted them the 10 minutes or whatever right off the bat, knowing that I would come back later in the day if I had anything in the tank. Basically, I ran at two hour race pace for two hours and then hoped by some miracle that I could keep going fast for another four hours. It doesn't work that way!

I'll get 'em next time. Probably five years from now.

Sorry in advance for the very long report. For just the race skip to the “Race Day” section, which is still insanely long.

Why Manitou’s Revenge is my kind of race:

I moved to the Adirondacks after a summer spent working at Galehead hut in the White Mountains of NH and hiking as much as possible in between breakfast and dinner chores. I had dabbled in trail running/speed hiking a bit in college (as cross-training for alpine ski racing), but became enamored with the pursuit of moving fast in the mountains while at Galehead and knew I wanted to live somewhere with great hiking trails on which to challenge myself. For my first few years in the Adirondacks I spent many hours pushing myself on the trails of the High Peaks, running when possible but mostly hiking and learning to cover the technical and steep trails more and more quickly.

I never really considered myself much of a runner. As trail running grew in popularity I began to seek out some of the more runnable trails in the High Peaks, and I entered my first race (Vermont 50k) after reading Ultramarathon Man in 2006. Yet I remained a speed hiker first and foremost, with long mountain linkups and personal best times (I hadn’t yet heard the term FKT) being my primary motivation. Over the years I entered more races and did my best to perform well in them, but I still wasn’t really a “runner.” I shunned pavement or even dirt roads and did most of my training on trails that imposed a serious speed limit due to their rugged nature, and I spent the long Adirondack winters backcountry skiing and basically doing no running for four or five months of the year.

My son Finn was born on June 29th, 2012, and I think of his birthday as the day I became a “runner.” Long days in the mountains skiing, rock climbing, and hiking were not in my future, so I decided to focus on running 100% and even embraced running on pavement for the convenience of being able to train right out the front door. I didn’t know it at the time, but it turns out that training for road races (from 5k to marathon) would be just what I needed to improve as a trail runner. 2013 was something of a breakout year for me, as I found myself placing well and setting big PRs in nearly every race I ran. I ran a Presi Traverse FKT as well (quickly broken by Ben Nephew, but by less than a minute so I knew I had put up a good time), finding that my mountain running skills remained strong despite spending less and less time on mountain trails.

When race director Charlie Gadol introduced Manitou’s Revenge last year it immediately caught my eye as one of the only races I knew of that would incorporate a large amount of truly rugged hiking terrain. Unfortunately it was the same weekend as the Great Adirondack Trail Run, which I direct along with the Mountaineer outdoor shop in Keene Valley, so I wrote it off. I thought that would be the case again this year, but when the Mountaineer decided to move their race up a week I jumped at the opportunity to compete in Manitou’s, and made it my primary training objective for the first few months of the year.

Preparing for Manitou’s:

In early May I took a one-night trip to the Catskills to run a couple sections of the course (Palenville to Platte Clove and Mink Hollow to the finish) and focused my training almost entirely on mileage. One thing I didn’t do was a lot of mountain running—as a stay at home dad I just can’t find the time to get and run out for more than a few hours. I’ll admit I was a little scared to follow the Strava logs of Adam Wilcox and Ryan Welts, with their plethora of 20+ mile, 9000+ vert days, but I believed in my training plan and hoped the high mileage on easier terrain would be enough.

My main training block, starting the week after Boston Marathon, was a six week stretch averaging 65 miles per week that included one 85mi week and three weeks in the low 70s, as well as some cross training on roller skis and strength work two or three times a week. Other than one stretch last summer leading up to Vermont 50 this was the most volume I’ve ever run over six weeks. By the end of this block I was starting to feel pretty bad, with tired legs on almost every run and the feeling that I was constantly fighting a cold. Lack of sleep stemming from outside factors (chaperoning a field trip to Boston, another trip to Boston, preparing for the Mountaineer’s race) also contributed to the feeling of malaise. I don’t think I was overtrained, but I was certainly a little worried, especially knowing the strong field that was assembled for Manitou’s this year.

I listened to my body, and in the seven days leading up to Manitou’s I took three days completely off and only ran more than 3.5mi twice—a much more drastic taper than I would normally employ. My friend Chris Fey, from Keene Valley, ran Manitou’s as well, and we traveled down together and camped at North/South Lake, where we would be joined by Chris’s father who was crewing for him. We were both sniffling and blowing our noses constantly on the drive down, but my body was feeling good and ready to race. Mentally, the pressure was off. Where I had once hoped to race for the win, I had amended my goal and planned to take the race as it came, listening to the terrain and my body and just trying to have a good day on the trails without blowing up. If this put me in position to win I would take advantage of it, but if I had a bad day and couldn’t compete I wouldn’t beat myself up.

Race Day

I never plan to get much sleep before a race, especially camping. I can’t say I expected to sleep for only an hour and a half, though. As annoying as it was to have neighbors that stayed up talking until 2:30, I didn’t really mind. I just told myself that I wouldn’t be sleeping anyway, and lay quietly in the tent trying to empty my mind of thoughts. Somewhere in there I managed to nod off for a while—I think the neighbors went for a late night swim—but I was up as soon as they returned. At 3 I knew I wasn’t going to get back to sleep before the alarm, so I got up a bit early and started to get some food in my system. Chris woke shortly afterward and his dad drove us to the start with plenty of time to spare. I was happy to see Ryan and Kristina there early, and Kristina was kind enough to bring my support gear to Palenville, where Cory would start crewing me. I greeted other friends who were racing, and finally met Adam Wilcox in person.

Charlie gathered the first wave and fired the starting gun (actually he said something like “um, go”) and we were off on the three mile easy road section. My legs felt springy and fast from the start. I mostly led at about 7:40 pace, and would have entered the woods in the lead if Chris’s dad had been at the turnoff with my waist pack. Fortunately he was just up the road at the parking lot, so I took a minute to get my pack and then hit the woods a little bit behind. Climbing at my own pace, I caught the main group maybe ten minutes later and decided to hang out at the back of the pack. I figured some people might have gone ahead, but Ryan, Ben, Adam and Brian were all there and that was good enough for me. I’d never met Denis (last year’s winner) and wondered if he was in the pack as well. I think Ryan was setting the pace, although the pack was spread out enough that I couldn’t always tell.

The climb up to the Escarpment Trail and then over Acra Point was surprisingly quick and easy, and we did some running on the ridge before the trail steepened for the Blackhead climb. The pack spread out a little more and I think we lost a couple of runners off the back at this point. All of the climbing was feeling quite easy to me, and it’s a good thing I wasn’t leading or I probably would have pushed the pace and done some damage to my legs. We summited Blackhead and the pack began to get a bit smaller once we hit the technical descent (although we briefly gained Denis, who had started in the second wave and caught us at a blistering pace, yelling “where’s Ryan” and immediately gapping us all). Pretty soon the chase group was made up of just Ryan, Adam, Brian, Ben and myself, with Denis pushing the pace somewhere up ahead.

We climbed up to Stoppel Point together and then mostly followed Ben, who kept us on course at a couple of confusing sections with his intimate knowledge of the Escarpment Trail. The descent after North Mountain was incredibly technical, and I focused on moving smoothly and effortlessly and trying to use less energy than the runner in front of me. It was a blast to run with this crew as we were all moving well on some gnarly terrain, and I mostly listened as they joked or talked about running.

Our group came into the North/South Lake aid station at mile 17 together, although we’d just lost Ryan to a pit stop, and I ran right through the station, having stashed a bottle behind a tree when we camped there the night before. I looked back to see Denis leaving the aid station behind me. Now leading, I grabbed my bottle and slowed to a walk to drink and take a salt pill (and to let the others catch up and continue to lead if they wanted to). Ben and Brian immediately took the lead, with Denis following. I introduced myself to Denis and then tucked in behind him. We started a small climb and I immediately passed Denis, who wasn’t looking very happy (he would drop soon after, not feeling well), then started the very long descent down to Palenville.

Ben and Brian were out of sight, and I ran the descent completely comfortably and in control. The course loses almost 2000ft over four miles, and I didn’t want to risk any damage to my quads so early in the race. Somewhere toward the end of the descent I heard a runner coming up hot behind me and looked back to see Adam. We chatted a bit about our kids as he passed and then I told him to go, but he backed off his pace a little and I followed him into the Palenville aid station at mile 21. Cory was there for me, and he gave me an update on Ben and Brian (about 3min ahead), switched out my bottles, and handed me a hat filled with ice. Adam and I left the station together and ran the road section until it was time to turn uphill for a long climb up toward Kaaterskill High Peak.

I had scouted the next 9.5mi to Platte Clove back in May, and knew that the long climb was followed by some nasty, wet terrain before climbing again and finally becoming runnable for the descent down to Platte Clove. With my only goal to get through this section without wasting energy, I started hiking the big climb and immediately dropped Adam. As I continued to gain elevation I wondered if I might catch Ben and Brian on the climb, but consciously decided to back off to a pace that was just a notch easier than I felt like I should go. Once the climb was over (almost 1800ft) I was surprised to find the trail a lot less wet than it had been in May, and I ran most of the next two miles before climbing steeply again, over the shoulder of Kaaterskill High Peak. The 2.5mi downhill to Platte Clove also felt easier than it had in May, when a thunderstorm had made all the rocks treacherously slippery, and I rolled into the aid station feeling like I was in the perfect position to start the most rugged section of the course.

Cory gave me my pack and more ice for my hat, and told me I’d maintained the same 3min gap to Ben and Brian. I also picked up trekking poles on Cory’s recommendation, grabbed a coke and a ginger ale at the aid station, and made my way up the road to the trail for Indian Head. The first mile of the trail is runnable, and it felt awkward trying to figure out the rhythm with the poles, which I haven’t used in a while. As soon as the trail turned uphill in earnest I was pumped to have poles, as I’d started feeling a little cramping in the hamstrings and was able to avoid that feeling completely by relying on the poles to lift my body up the myriad of ledges on the Devil’s Path. Once again I made no effort to catch Ben and Brian, trusting that by saving energy across the Devil’s Path I could make up a lot of time in the final miles of the race. Occasionally I ran if the trail was truly flat for a few steps, but mostly I was content to hike and concentrate on giving my legs as much of a break as I could using the poles.

Poles were also helpful on the descents: I employed the double-pole-plant jump over and over again, lowering my body down from hundreds of knee-high ledges with very little impact. I felt that they might be slowing me down some, but knew that the energy and pounding that I was saving was well worth a few minutes. As I approached the top of Twin, the second peak on the Devil’s Path, I was surprised to suddenly see Ben and Brian running directly toward me. Ben was even more surprised—he gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look and immediately turned around and started running, with Brian following. We got to the spot where they had missed a turn 30 seconds later, so I was glad to see they hadn’t lost much time, but I thanked them all the same for the little gift. Now that I had contact I could see that Brian was having trouble on the descents (I didn’t know until the finish that his shoe was beginning to fall apart, giving him very little support especially for descending). Still, I let them both go ahead again and continued to hike at my own comfortable pace.

I don’t think I saw them again until after the big Sugarloaf climb. Somewhere on the descent to Mink Hollow I caught a glimpse of both Ben and Brian, and passed Brian at a particularly tricky spot toward the bottom. The three of us rolled into Mink Hollow very tightly spaced, with Ben in first. I got a new pack from Cory and some more ice for my hat, and when I tried to give him my trekking poles he told me to keep them for a bit longer. I didn’t argue, with the biggest climb on the eastern Devil’s Path up next. After getting some Coke from Charlie I headed up, a little ways behind Ben but within striking distance. I pushed on the poles with all my strength, feeling sore in my shoulders and arms but knowing that I wouldn’t need those muscles soon. I could see Ben getting closer and closer as we climbed, and just before the top I caught and passed him. I thought he would stick with me, but as I topped the climb and starting jogging I was surprised to find that he was letting me go. It was earlier than I’d planned, but I knew it was time to make my move.

The easy running along the top of Plateau seemed to go on forever but I finally hit the turn onto the final 15mi stretch with nobody in sight behind me. I had run the section from Mink Hollow to the finish in May as well, and I knew that this section was very challenging, with difficult footing on some very long descents and a couple of deceptively tough climbs. In fact I had been thinking of it as the crux, and consciously saving myself all day in order to have a chance of running well for the last section after leaving the Devil’s Path (obviously the Devil’s Path is more challenging on its own, but I didn’t think it would be the place that the race was won or lost because everyone would be hiking anyway). As I descended towards Silver Hollow I focused on maintaining my momentum and hoped to keep enough of a lead to remain out of sight to Ben and Brian, but I was still running conservatively on the tough terrain in order to keep from wasting energy. I started to think of my aid station plan: drop trekking poles, switch out bottles, ice in the hat if Cory had any, grab some Coke and go. Ideally I’d be in and out before the chasers could catch a glimpse of me.

Cory wasn’t at the aid station when I arrived, which didn’t surprise me (it’s a drive and a hike from Mink Hollow with not a lot of time to spare). I dropped my poles and asked the volunteers to make sure Cory got them, then had them to fill my bottles: Coke in one, water in the other. I was out of there in no time, yelling back to ask how far to the next aid station. When they said “five miles, Mount Tremper” I figured they meant six, which is the distance to the Willow Trail junction where the aid station had been last year. Mount Tremper would be 8 miles. As I started the climb out of the notch I kicked myself for not getting Coke in both bottles—I’d been getting my calories from fluids almost exclusively during the day with good results, but would have to switch to gels and solids in order to get enough energy to make it to Willow.

I climbed Edgewood Mountain quickly but comfortably, then started the long descent to Warner Creek, watching the overgrown trail intently to make sure I didn’t trip on hidden roots or rocks. At one point I ran right off the trail, backtracking to find the ninety degree turn I’d just missed. Approaching the bottom of the long downhill I kept imagining I heard runners behind me, but nobody was in sight and the trail was in much better shape than it was during my May scouting mission. I hit the flats before the creek crossing and was psyched to find the trail drier and more runnable than I remembered. I heard a noise ahead and looked up in time to see a baby bear shimmy up a tree just in front of me. After a moment’s pause to check for mama bear I kept moving: she wasn’t ahead of me on the trail and I didn’t want to wait to find out if she was anywhere else nearby.

Although the day wasn’t very hot I’d been looking forward to a dip in Warner Creek for a while, and with wet feet from the mud just before the crossing I had no reason to try to stay dry. I plunged face first into the water and got thoroughly soaked before standing up again and crossing, then continued to move, hoping to get out of sight again if anyone was close behind. I needed to stop and tighten my shoelaces, as my wet feet were now sliding around inside the shoes, so I found a spot where I could look back at the crossing. After tying the shoes with no visible pursuit I was back on the move, and I really started to push the pace.

There’s a long, switchbacking climb after the creek leading up the shoulder of Carl Mountain, and I hammered up the switchbacks, running whenever the grade was gentle and power hiking with all my might when it was steep. I had been gauging my effort by my breathing all day, making sure it was always under control, but now I was hiking at a one breath per step effort: in, out, in, out, step, step, step, step. I had run out of Coke and eaten my only gel. It was tempting to skip food so late in the race, but that would have been stupid. I contorted my arm around to grab whatever I could find in my pack’s side pockets, and managed to chew and swallow a few mini snickers bars left over from Halloween without choking on the chocolate. I knew that if anyone caught me it was out of my hands—I was moving faster than I could have imagined and had no lack of energy.

I kept waiting for the top of the climb, knowing that the next mile and a half had some great running terrain, but it seemed to never end. Finally the trail leveled out and I broke into a fast run, feeling great and thinking of my aid station plan for the Willow junction (drop everything and grab a handheld if Cory is there, otherwise Coke in one bottle). The junction came and went with no aid station, so I knew I’d have to make it to Mount Tremper. I wrestled half a protein bar from my pack and ate that, then continued to push the pace, thinking I could break 11hrs if I could make it to the top of Tremper