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 in 10:30. A half mile of fast climbing brought me to some more runnable terrain, and I soon saw a woman running back down the trail toward me who informed me that the top was just ahead (and that she was out chasing a bear away so that we runners wouldn’t encounter it). The fire tower appeared ahead, and I wasted no time as I started to descend, making a beeline for the lean-to to get a bottle filled with Coke.

I thought I’d fly down Tremper, but the uneven rocks made a fast pace difficult. At times the road was smooth and I could open it up, but mostly I found myself backing off on the pace to prevent disaster. I was glad I had run the Tremper descent already, because it feels never-ending and could have been very demoralizing. I wasn’t too worried about a chase at this point, but did occasionally glance back to make sure nobody was about to surprise me. When I saw Kristina and the volunteer at the last aid station I was elated to know that I only had a mile to go and the race was basically won. Crossing the line after an easy mile was one of the better feelings I’ve had at any race: I had put in a great effort, stuck to my race plan diligently, run for almost 11 hours with no low points, and prevailed in a very strong field.

Waiting at the finish to watch the next bunch of runners come in, I walked around and tried to get some food down (only soda for a while). I wasn’t surprised at all to see Ben come through in second, and was pumped to see Ryan in fourth just behind Brian, since I hadn’t seen him after his pit stop at mile 16. A cold dip in the river cleaned me off, but I wished I hadn’t gone in when I realized Cory and Chris’s dad had all my clothes, and neither of them were at the finish. Luckily the sun came out and Cory arrived shortly afterward: he had driven around to the Willow trail and hiked 1.6mi and 1200’ uphill to try to meet me at the Willow junction, just missing me again. Next time I won’t ask my crew to go to Silver Hollow and Willow—sorry Cory! Chris came in around 15 hours, an awesome run for his first 50 (though he’s no stranger to huge days in the mountains), and by then I’d had some of the excellent race food and one of the best vanilla ice cream cones I’ve ever tasted from a place down the street. It was time to head back to the campsite and see if I could get some sleep (I did, but only 5 hours).

Manitou’s was the perfect course for me, and I was so excited to get a chance to race on such gnarly terrain. If there’s another ultra in the US as rugged as this (aside from Barkley) I’d be surprised. I told Charlie at the finish line that it was the best race I’ve ever done. Part of that was my excitement in the moment speaking, but on further reflection I think I’d stand behind that feeling. Thanks to Charlie for putting on such an amazing event, the volunteers for making it possible, and the New York DEC for allowing it. And a personal thanks to Cory for his awesome crewing job, and John Fey and Kristina Folcik-Welts for their help as well.

All photos courtesy of Joe Azze from Mountain Peak Fitness. Thank you, Joe!

After a long winter focusing on nordic ski racing, I made my return to running today at the local Doc Lopez Run for Hope. Formerly a 12-miler from Keene to Elizabethtown, organizers made it a half-marathon this year by beginning in Keene Valley. Adding a mile was a great decision: compared to last year it seemed to have grown quite a bit and attracted a slightly deeper field of talent as well.

I went into the race intending to treat it as a training run for the Boston Marathon. I've continued running through the winter, but aside from a few easy 16-milers I've basically been sticking to shorter 6 to 12 mile runs (and lots of easy 3s with Finn in the jogger), so I know I need to get some race pace tempo runs in. Running the 4mi from my house to the start was an easy way to get some extra distance on the day and ensure I was very warmed up. The start was nice and casual, and I took off with a couple of friends in the chase pack, as three men went out quite a bit faster than the rest.

The race begins with three easy miles running north on route 73 before turning onto 9N and climbing steeply up Spruce Hill. After running at a relaxed and conversational pace with my friends for the first mile or so I looked ahead at the lead pack and decided to make a race out of it. By the bottom of Spruce Hill I'd nearly closed the gap, and two miles and about 700 feet of climbing later I had passed the leader and settled into a comfortably fast pace.

One mostly flat mile brought me to the beginning of the downhill, and what a downhill it is! Seven miles of almost continuous elevation loss, nearly all the way to the finish. Wind and snow swirled about at this elevation, but I was a little overdressed and welcomed the cooling effect. My hamstring had been tight for the past couple miles and I couldn't get loose, so I concentrated on my stride, hoping to use the quads as much as possible on the descent in order to prevent the hamstring from cramping. Short strides kept me from jarring as I pounded the pavement on the relentless descent.

Another couple of miles of the downhill brought the former leader, Dannemora runner Brian Wilson, back to me, and we raced each other from there. He mostly led, usually by about 50 feet. I'd get closer as he slowed to drink (I'd stopped grabbing cups when I realized there would be no sports drinks, which was all I felt I needed) and then let him stretch the lead again, just trying to run within myself and prevent cramping. I was happily surprised at what I thought was mile 8 to realize we were in fact 10 miles in. I had hit the lap button on my GPS watch at the 3mi and 5mi marks, but I was only adding 3 to the mileage on my current lap rather than 5. I slowly began to increase my pace with the hope of getting close enough to make a move at the finish.

With one mile to go I had nearly reeled Brian in. I waited until we were 1/2mi out to close the remaining gap, then made the pass just before the ninety degree turn in Elizabethtown, 100 yards from the finish line. Brian increased his pace and managed to stay on my shoulder, taking the inside line and the lead into the turn, and we sprinted from there. I followed him closely for 50 yards before deciding he had me beat and backing off a bit--I crossed the line two seconds back in 1:23:59.

I had a blast racing again (I guess the chances of treating this as a training run were pretty small to begin with) and am very happy with my fitness. I still need to run more weekly mileage and get in a few true long runs to get my legs ready for a marathon, but my speed and aerobic capacity are certainly where they need to be for Boston.

It's two weeks after Vermont 50 when I line up in Schenectady for the Mohawk Hudson River Marathon. The course is mostly flat or downhill and is considered fast, and I hope to PR at my second marathon. I know that my training wasn't geared toward a marathon, having chosen Vermont as a focus race and emphasized pure mileage over strength and speed during my training block, but I'm fitter than ever and have nothing to lose by aiming high, since I've already qualified for and entered Boston.

Race morning had been relaxing and stress-free, with my friend Eric and his family driving me to the start of the point-to-point course after I drove the two hours from Keene to Albany. My legs felt good despite relatively few miles in the two weeks leading up to the race, and I was confident that I could hold my goal marathon pace (6:30/mile) for 2hrs50min. My only real concern was my weight: I was about four pounds over my ideal racing weight, due to the low mileage during the two week recovery/taper time and a powerful hunger after Vermont. This may not seem like much, but I could feel the extra weight in training and knew it would keep me from running my absolute best. I was also uncertain about my hydration strategy, which would require drinking from cups at the water stations. I had brought a 10oz handheld for my food (5 watered-down Gu gels) and hoped that I'd be able to get the water I needed without having to slow down too much to drink.

The gun goes off and the leaders settle into a blazing pace. I run 6:15 for the first mile and am already well behind the front runners. I know some of them will fade, but I also know that there are some very fast guys here and it would be stupid to try to stay with them. As it is I'm going too fast, but an uphill second mile brings me back to my goal pace. But then it's downhill through five miles, and the next thing I know I've averaged 6:18/mile for the first five. If I can keep this up I'll achieve the Boston Marathon "A" standard for my age group, 2:45. It feels easy... why not?

I remember the 10-10-10 rule (run easy for 10mi, hit goal pace for the next 10mi, then hammer the last 10k) and resolve to back off a bit from the 6:18 pace, in the hope that I will have enough in the tank for a good final 10k to bring me in at 2:45. For the next nine miles I'm just ticking them off in the 6:21-6:26 range, and it seems to fly by. I pass the half-marathon mark in 1:23:21, just right for a negative-split 2:45 (I'm still thinking this can happen). Just before mile 15 we start a significant downhill, which continues for three miles before practically falling off a cliff approaching the 18 miler marker. By now I've put in four consecutive miles at a sub-6:18 pace and am still deluding myself into thinking I can hit 2:45.

This doesn't last long. Soon we're off the bike path and onto the shoulder of a four-lane road and the sun is beating down. It's been overcast and mild most of the day, but now it's downright hot. I'm also hitting the wall. I struggle to keep a 6:30 pace through mile 20, where my time is just right for a fast 10k to a 2:45 finish. Unfortunately, it's all I can do to run the following splits for miles 21-26 without breaking into a walk: 6:42, 6:56, 7:00, 7:04, 7:01, 6:48.

Owch. Maybe a mile before the finish a runner who had been on my heels for a time passes and I tell him it's all his--we'll be under 2:50 and that's all I care about at this point. I cross the line under 2:50, but barely (2:49:49), and stagger along for a while trying not to pass out. I think I'm suffering mild heat exhaustion, but don't want to lie down in the shade because I'll cramp up. I ask the med tent for ice but they won't give it to me unless I get checked out. I decline and walk around for a few  more minutes before deciding I really need the ice, and it immediately helps. After hanging out in the shade for a while with the ice on my neck I feel much better, and am able to start drinking some Gatorade.

I spend the next hour and a half either walking around or stretching, and drinking more Gatorade and some chocolate milk. Eric finishes with a friend and we find his family, hanging out in the shade while he recovers and I start eating some real food. It's fun to have some company after running pretty much alone all day. I'm feeling surprisingly good after such a tough race, and am happy to find that I'm first in the 30-34 age category (11th overall), which gets me a nice Adidas gym bag that will come in handy. By the time we've walked back to our cars I'm pretty loose and ready to tackle the 2hr drive home. I'm excited about the race despite blowing up at the end and employing the opposite strategy from the conservative one that worked for me in my first marathon. It was a good learning experience and I still managed to PR and meet my primary goal of a 2:50 marathon.

Vermont 50 was my third goal race of 2013, and the first that I didn't hope to win. In fact, I had very little clue what I was capable of in my first 50-miler since becoming a more committed runner after Finn was born last year. I was pretty sure I'd PR, since my previous best at Vermont (7hr57min) was set in 2007, in my first 50 ever. Could I break 7hrs? Would I blow up and stagger to the finish if I tried? In a way it was nice to be so clueless: I didn't put any pressure on myself, and figured I'd go by feel and see how it turned out.

I did do some research to get an idea of what my splits should look like for a 7hr finish. Even though I'd be going by feel I wanted to be able to monitor my progress, in order to know if I was going out way too fast or just to give me motivation to run hard if it looked like I was on target. I knew Brian Rusiecki would be racing, and with his three wins in the past four years he'd be the obvious favorite. I figured if I kept my pace under control, stayed behind Brian, and ran my own race I stood a good chance of being very happy with my result. When I saw that the weather would be ideal I became even more hopeful, and then my mom surprised me by deciding to come watch and crew for me. The deck was stacked for a perfect day at Vermont, and I went into the race feeling confident and relaxed.

This isn't to say that I felt particularly good physically. My legs had been tight throughout the taper, with hamstrings in particular that never seemed to loosen up. I knew that these things often disappear on race morning, and hoped that would be the case in Vermont.

I drove to Ascutney alone on Sunday in order to check in and have some time to get ready and to see all the friends I hoped to connect with before the race. The pre-race time passed quickly as I chatted with friends, managing to see everyone I'd been looking for and to wish them a good race. My mom showed up twenty minutes before the start and I introduced her to Jenn and Heather, who would be crewing for their husbands and would keep my mom company for much of the day.

I started at the front, next to women's favorite Aliza Lapierre and some fast guys I know (Canadians Keith Iskiw and Adam Hill), and settled into a comfortably fast pace as soon as the gun went off. For a moment I was in the lead, but happily let a group of guys pass and open up a gap on me within the first couple of minutes. The lead pack was ten strong and included Brian Rusiecki, the only one I recognized and the one I didn't want to try to keep up with. I followed alone about 100 feet back, with another lone runner a little ways behind me, then Aliza and another woman (probably Amy Rusiecki) following him. We quickly hit a steep climb (new to me, due to a Hurricane Irene reroute) and I walked it, allowing the lead pack to widen the gap a little more as they all ran. I knew some of the leaders would come back to me, and more importantly I didn't want to be caught up in any of the early competition that might prevent me from running my own race.

As expected the lead group broke up pretty early on, maybe a few miles in, and I passed one or two of them as I cruised at a fast but (I hoped) reasonable pace. I was running with mountain bikers from about mile two as well--some had flatted and some were just having fun riding and not worrying about their pace--so I made sure to run on the side of the roads and listen for them coming up from behind when we were on trails. Mostly I was on autopilot for the early miles, feeling good and knowing I'd be into the first major aid station (12.5mi) ahead of my splits.

Somewhere in this early stage I passed a few more runners and eventually found myself running with Brian Rusiecki and another runner. Whoops! I introduced myself to Brian and commented that I wasn't supposed to be near him, and upon hearing my name his companion turned and introduced himself to me as Kevin Tilton, who I'd never met but knew of due to his mountain running prowess. A couple more runners were also in this new lead pack, including a tall Québécois who I didn't recognize but who looked to be running extremely comfortably. At one point he pulled off into the woods to pee, lost some ground, and then came loping back to the pack as if he was out for an easy jog. I wasn't comfortable in this company, so when a short steep section offered a chance to hike I took it, allowing Brian, Kevin and the fast Canadian to run ahead.

This was pretty much the last time I'd see other 50 mile runners. Despite the constant company of mountain bikers and, later on, the many 50k runners that I passed it felt like a very a lonely race. For much of the race I was in fourth place, and was very happy there. I blew through the aid stations, drinking a cup of water at each of them except for the two big aid stations where I could meet my mom and grab new gear (waist belt at 12mi, pack at 31mi). Somewhere along the way I passed Kevin, who was clearly not having a great day but was a good sport about it, replying cheerfully when I asked how he was doing. I was concerned for a while in the 20-30 mile range when my hamstrings and hips still felt tight--I hoped it wasn't due to running too fast in the early miles, and I might have dialed the effort back a little bit to compensate, but fortunately by the 31mi aid station my legs had finally loosened up and I was running comfortably, determined to give it my best effort and try to keep moving at a good pace.

The long sections of single track toward the end of the race forced the pace to slow somewhat, giving me a nice chance to rest the legs without feeling like I was losing ground. By now I had moved up in the field to the point where I was running with bikers who seemed to care about their time and racing as best they could, and they passed downhill at a pretty good clip while being less inclined to hit the brakes until a safe place to pass presented itself. Most were still great about communicating and being very safe, but a few were clearly tired and one in particular passed me on multiple downhills without bothering to tell me he was coming or what side he was taking. This led to a couple close calls and not a small amount of stress on my part, and all the time spent running out of the track to make way for mountain bikers must have slowed me, but it was also exciting and probably helped to keep me focused.

The six mile section in between aid stations at mile 41 and mile 47 is mostly downhill and I was running hard and scared, certain that Kevin or someone else would be making a move and determined to hold them off for third place. I pushed the pace and took advantage of the goodwill of lots of mountain bikers, most of whom knew I was running for the podium and yielded to me when the single track was technical enough that my pace was slightly faster than theirs. I relished the roads and the fast running that they allowed--such a difference from prior Vermont 50s when I cursed the unforgiving dirt roads whenever I was forced to run on them.

I love the last 3 miles of the race, which take place on the side of Ascutney ski resort, so I was pumped to hit the final aid station and hand my pack off to my mom so that I could run the final miles unencumbered. I grabbed coke and ginger ale at the aid station to settle my slightly queasy stomach and started to push the pace up the switchbacks of the final climb, knowing that I was almost finished and had plenty of energy to kick it in.

With a mile to go I was nearly run over by a mountain biker who didn't communicate, as I moved left off the trail to let him pass on the track (yelling "take right" and pointing the way) only to find he'd committed to the left too. I dodged back right and was scared and pissed for a moment realizing how quickly a crash can happen, but got over it, knowing we were both tired and doing our best to keep it together.

On the final switchbacking descent I looked back uphill to see a shirtless runner moving well, and thinking it was another 50 miler I started sprinting downhill to avoid a race to the finish. After a minute of this I realized I had it in the bag and relaxed, enjoying the feeling of accomplishment that comes with knowing you gave your best effort and ran the "perfect race." I thanked my mom, who was cheering from the hillside near the finish line, and crossed the finish line in 6:40:29, good for third and much faster than I had allowed myself to hope I could run at Vermont.

P.S. Thanks to Nina Wellford and Jenn Iskiw for the great photos.

Total Mileage: 55mi
Elevation Gain: 4,300'
Cross-Training: 4mi Hike
Goal: Slight taper, cut back as needed for body to feel rested and injury free.

Not too much to say about this week, the first of my taper. I ran slightly less than I'd hoped due to taking it very easy Thursday and Friday and taking Sunday off completely aside from an easy 4mi hike. I still got 55mi in leading to the final taper week before Vermont 50. Saturday's long run was a good chance to practice my hydration and nutrition strategy, and Wednesday's tempo run went well, giving me confidence for the Mohawk-Hudson Marathon that I'm running two weeks after Vermont.

Monday: 7.5mi easy, two times around the Valley Loop in KV.
Tuesday: 6.5mi easy at the Van Hoevenberg mountain bike center.
Wednesday: AM 3mi easy on Gulf Brook trail in Keene.
     PM 12mi on 9N, including 8mi tempo at 6:23 pace.
Thursday: 3mi easy on Gulf Brook and Big Crow trails in Keene.
Friday: 3mi easy at Marcy Field.
Saturday: 20mi easy at Hardy Rd and Flume mountain bike trails.
Sunday: Off. 4mi hike on Jay Mt.

Looking Ahead: Six more days of running until Vermont 50, which happens on Sunday the 29th. I'll shoot for about 30 miles during those six days, with one tempo run and the rest easy. I'll probably take one more off day as well, either Thursday or Friday. I'm feeling confident for Vermont and hope to set a big PR there (my previous best was 7:57 in 2007).

Total Mileage: 56.5mi
Elevation Gain: 7,900'
Cross-Training: None
Goal: Mileage and race well.

I needed some time to recover after running 147mi in the 10 days leading up to the beginning of this week. A 3mi recovery jog and a day off were not what a had in mind to start the week, but making sure I didn't get injured leading up to Vermont was the priority, so I listened to my body and cut the mileage way back. This was easier to take because I knew I'd be racing Whiteface on Saturday, and wanted to do well there.

By Wednesday I was feeling recovered, but didn't want to do too much before the race. Wednesday's tempo run morphed into a much lighter dose of tempo intervals due to the 90 degree temps and some surprise knee pain. Fortunately the pain was gone for Thursday's hill repeats, which I did to get the feel of race pace on a steep uphill and also to test out the Asics Piranha racing flats that I planned to use at Whiteface but had never worn before.

An easy uphill run on Friday sent me into the weekend with only 20 miles on the week, but at least I was feeling ready to race. Race day was great (report here) and I managed to get a bunch of miles in after the race as well. A long run Sunday brought the weekly total up to a respectable 56+ miles.

Monday: 3mi recovery at Marcy Field trail.
Tuesday: Off.
Wednesday: 9mi on Rt 9N, including 3x1mi tempo intervals.
Thursday: 5mi on Hurricane Rd, including 4x half-mile uphills at hard effort.
Friday: 3mi easy uphill on Hurricane Rd.
Saturday: 19.5mi (2.5mi warmup, 8mi uphill race, 9mi easy back down) at Whiteface.
Sunday: 17mi easy at the Flume mountain bike trails.

Overall this week didn't go as planned, but I'm happy with it because I turned what was probably a mistake (147mi in 10 days) into a successful piece of this training block with no setbacks aside from a couple missed training days.

Looking Ahead: Two weeks to go until Vermont 50. Not much I can do to get faster, but I'd like to put in some consistent mileage this week and only taper a bit in the final week so as not to let my legs get stale. I've already worked out my nutrition/drop bag plan for the race and booked a motel room, so I can try to relax these next two weeks and have fun with a reduced training load. I used to love tapering, but I'm a very different runner now. A three week taper in which you hardly run and eat way too much is not a recipe for success, and at this point it would feel very wrong to run as little as I did when tapering for ultras a few years ago.

Last year's Whiteface race was a blast, and I've been looking forward to running it again all year. I was especially excited about the race because it offered a chance to see what a full year of heavy training has done for my fitness. Comparing workouts from year to year is a pretty good indicator, but nothing beats a race to really get an idea of how your running is improving, and this was my first race of 2013 that I also ran in 2012.

I expected a cold and windy day on the mountain, and was pleasantly surprised to wake up to temps of over 40 degrees, even at 5:30 AM. I met my friend Jeff Dengate in Wilmington and we warmed up for 2.5mi, and by the time we were done our warmup clothes were sweaty and it felt totally fine to jog to the start line in shorts and tee-shirt. Gloves would prove to be a good call, as it wasn't nearly as warm up high. I did some drills and strides, then Santa Claus (this year's race was sponsored by Santa's Village) gave us the signal and we were off.

Whiteface (or any uphill race) is all about getting your effort level dialed so that you can last until the end without blowing up. There are several ways to do this (by feel, pace, or heart rate, for example), and I chose to go by heart rate. The Whiteface road climbs at a very consistent grade, but there are still plenty of slight grade changes throughout the course that make running by overall goal pace a bad idea (unless you do a lot of work beforehand to figure out the grade for each mile and calculate mile paces based on that). I knew from last year's race the I can sustain a heart rate of about 176bpm for the length of the race, so I checked my watch throughout to make sure I was hovering right around that level.

The first mile is the easiest, and I settled into fourth place, running my own race while the top three quickly put a lot of distance on me. I wondered if any of them were going out too hard and would come back to me, but didn't even think about trying to stay with them. Getting into oxygen debt at any point during a race like this almost guarantees a poor finish. I could tell there was someone about 10 seconds behind me from the cheers at the aid stations and the beeping of a watch every mile and assumed it was Jeff, but never looked back to find out.

Last year we had tough headwinds for a couple miles before the Lake Placid turn and especially from the Wilmington turn to the finish. They were there this year too, but definitely not as bad. The only section with a tailwind is about half-mile long, where it also flattens out some after the Lake Placid turn. I kept my heart rate as steady as possible all the way, teetering on the fine line between sustainable effort and way too hard. It was cold higher up, but still perfect for running. I managed to keep running even through the tough section after the Wilmington turn where I walked a bit last year, and finished strong with a 1:08:47, over 4 minutes faster than last year (that doesn't sound like much but it's 30sec per mile faster--a big improvement). I came in fourth--the top three were way ahead--and Jeff held on for fifth and a slight PR after a tough race on almost no sleep.

We had been in the clouds for the last few miles of the race, but after finishing and getting our warm clothes on we hiked to the summit and popped out above the clouds, with some holes opening up every so often that allowed for views down to Wilmington and east toward Vermont. As the last runners finished it had really cleared up, and Jeff and I ran back down, getting warmer and warmer as we descended. By the time we were in Wilmington (having run almost 20 miles total) it was a beautiful fall day, pretty much the perfect running day all around in my mind.