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.

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.

It's early 2013, and I'm filling out my race calendar for the year. I've hoped to get back to the Presidential Range for a while now, so I put an FKT attempt on the calendar for the weekend of August 24-25, when I know we'll be in New Hampshire visiting Meg's family. I ask Ryan Welts (two-time FKT holder for the traverse) if he'd like to race it with me, but he replies that it's the weekend after the Hampshire 100k, so race pace won't be in the cards for him. 

A few weeks go by, and I'm thinking about my race plans again. My goal race for the fall is the Mohawk-Hudson marathon; I should be focusing on marathon training in late August. I scrap the Presi Traverse in favor of the 5k that takes place near Meg's family's house that weekend.

Fast forward to the beginning of August. My quad is hurt and I'm not psyched about starting serious marathon training. I want to be in the mountains! I sign up for Vermont 50, mostly to give myself an excuse to train on trails and in the peaks. I'll still do the marathon, but it's shifted from goal race to fun run. I've forgotten about the Presi Traverse, but I do a few hikes and a steady pace Great Range Traverse and feel like my mountain legs are coming back.

August 22nd: It's Thursday morning and we leave for NH on Friday. I haven't been doing any speed workouts, and don't feel psyched for a 5k with nothing but marathon-pace tempo runs under my belt. But I've been hiking and running mountains… I should do the Presi Traverse! I call the AMC to make a shuttle reservation and pack my gear a couple days early. I'm not tapered, but I change my Thursday run from 13mi Hill Repeats to 8mi Easy, take Friday off, and I'm ready to go.

After a long drive to New Hampshire and a midnight arrival I set the alarm for 6am and get to sleep. I wake up before the alarm and head upstairs, trying not to wake my son or any of his four cousins asleep in the house. I fuel up with an almond butter wrap and some instant coffee, then mix my drinks (Vitargo and whey protein for my front bottles, weak Gatorade for my hydration bladder) and hit the road.

It's an hour and a half drive to Crawford Notch, where I'll catch the AMC shuttle. I hit the McDonald's drive through for a sausage Egg McMuffin and another coffee on the way, knowing I'll have plenty of time to digest with the drive plus the long shuttle ride. Arriving at the Highland Center, I rush to the bathrooms and then drive over to the public parking lot, with just enough time to get my gear sorted and write my splits on my arm before I have to jog back and get on the shuttle. I bring a Honey Stinger waffle and a Gu for more pre-run fuel and a bottle of water to sip on during the ride, but otherwise I have just my tiny Ultimate Direction AK Race Vest. It's funny to be on the shuttle with virtually nothing, while everyone else has full packs for multi-day traverses.

Almost everyone gets off at Appalachia, and I recognize the one remaining passenger, Jeff, from one of his visits to the Adirondacks and The Mountaineer. We chat about running and hiking for a while, then I get off at the Dolly Copp entrance road--he continues on for the Osgood trail and the start of his own Presi Traverse. I walk and jog the road until I get to the Daniel Webster trailhead, then do some light dynamic stretching, let the watch get its signal, go to the bathroom one final time, and get my pack adjusted and comfortable. I have my trekking poles out--I plan to use them for the first big climb up Madison, then stow them for most of the rest of the day.

At just before 11am I start the watch and take off up the trail. I'm wearing a heart-rate monitor during an FKT for the first time and I'm watching it closely to keep my pace in check right off the bat. About a half-mile in I encounter the first hikers of the day: two women with four dogs on their way down. We exchange greetings, I pet the German Shepherd, and I continue on my way. One of the dogs, a small terrier, comes with me, running in front. "Looks like you've lost one," I say, and the dog keeps going despite the calls of its owners. By now I know its name is Max, and I'm calling him too as I run along. The women ask me to stop for a minute and I yell back "NO!"--I'm pissed that they can't control their dog and it's going to end up costing me time. A few seconds later I realize the dog isn't stopping unless I do, so I stop and call to it again. By now one of its owners is hiking up the trail behind me, screaming hysterically for Max. He stops, looks back at me and his owner, and keeps right on going.

It seems like Max isn't coming back as long as I'm there, so I decide to hike back down to the trailhead and start again. This will hopefully give the owners time to get control of Max without me around to scare him. I stop and reset my watch and hike back down at a leisurely pace--I'll need some time to relax and get ready to start again, and Max might take a while to calm down, too. I spend about 5 minutes at the trailhead, lying on the ground and trying to calm myself before the restart, then get up and go again, 22 minutes after I first started. Immediately my heart rate is way higher than it was on the first go, and I'm hoping that's not a bad sign. I still have no idea if Max is under control, and realize I might have to give up my FKT attempt entirely if he's still running ahead when I get back to him.

At about the same place I had turned around earlier I run into one of the women on her way down with two of the dogs. They still haven't caught Max (she tells me he's a foster dog and must have gotten nervous), and she's going for help. Her friend is still hiking up with the German Shepherd. I tell her I'll stop and try to catch Max when I catch up to him. At this point I'm pretty sure my attempt is over, but I keep moving quickly in order to catch up to Max as soon as possible. I don't catch the other owner for a while, and when I do I ask her if I should keep running ahead to catch Max. She says yes and is sure he'll still be following the trail, so I keep going, folding up my trekking poles in case that's what scared Max off. I continue up for a long time, with no sign of Max on the trail, until finally I run into two hikers on their way down. They haven't seen Max, and I ask them to relay that info to his owner. The next couple of groups I see haven't seen him either--he's definitely off of the trail, probably way down the mountain. I ask them to pass that info on as well, and decide that's all I can do. FKT aside I still need to get to my car in Crawford Notch and back to Gilford before Meg's family starts to worry, so hiking down and joining the search party is out of the question. I feel guilty for chasing Max off in the first place and wish I could do more to help, but at the same time I'm relieved that I'll get to go for the FKT after I had all but written it off in my mind.

By now I'm most of the way up Madison, about to enter the scree field that the trail follows at it approaches treeline. I'm catching hikers more often now, powering my way over the large boulders with the trekking poles. I'm still paying attention to my heart rate but I've allowed it to get steadily into the 170s, which is higher than I thought I would try to maintain. It feels good though, and now I'm just hiking by feel and using the monitor to make sure I don't ever spike my heart rate in a moment of exuberance. I get to the Osgood junction and don't remember my split from before, but feel like I can match my old time to the summit of Madison, which is the first split I have on my arm. It's pretty crowded by now, and I'm using the other hikers to motivate me to hike quickly and smoothly. I top out in just under 1:13, beating my old split by about 45 seconds. So far so good.

A brief aside on my target splits: When I set the FKT for this route in 2010 I ran a 4:59, which included losing about 10 minutes on a wrong turn between Adams and Jefferson and cramping up on the climb up Eisenhower and losing about 4 minutes there. My target for today's run is to hit all my splits from 2010 with the exception of those two sections, where I'm using Ryan Welts' splits from his record run of 4:56. This would give me a finish time of 4:46, tying Mike Gallagher and Ned Gilette's time from 1968 (which we didn't find out about until late 2011, making the times from 2010 and early 2011 seem a lot less impressive). The consolation prize if I can't go that fast is 4:50, which is Ben Nephew's "modern FKT." I find this split info very useful, as it gives me a way to monitor my progress on the run and know if I need to push the pace.

Descending Madison, I stop to stow my trekking poles (Black Diamonds that fold up nice and small) on the back of my pack, and take out my hat for sun protection and sweat absorption. I make good time down Madison--running down is definitely better without the trekking poles--and take a minute to ask for directions at the junction near the Madison hut. It's a good thing I do: the proper trail is more grown-in than the wrong trail, and I might not have remembered it from 2010. I don't want to take any wrong turns this time! I take my time on the climb to Adams, resisting the temptation to bound up the rocks, and keeping the heart rate in check. I top out after passing a few more parties and check my split: faster again! I'll definitely keep the trekking poles stowed away for the time being.

On the Adams descent I pass a junction on the left that appears to be a minor shortcut, but I don't know it so I pass it by. As I approach Edmands Col I start asking hikers which way to Jefferson: this is where I made the wrong turn last time. I take the correct left and keep moving toward Jefferson, and see another person moving quickly along the shortcut trail, heading up to Adams. It looks like Andy Tuthill, a very accomplished New Hampshire climber I remember from college. I yell over to him and confirm that it's Andy. We're both doing the traverse, albeit in different directions. Seeing him running well pumps me up and I cruise over to Jefferson, beating Ryan's split by over a minute. I'm already nearly 3 minutes ahead overall, and am getting confident that I can break 4:46 and set a new FKT. But it's still early, and I remember how quickly cramping slowed me down in 2010. I keep moving as efficiently as possible, never getting to the point where it feels hard.

Jefferson to Washington is the longest section of the traverse (aside from the initial climb) and it includes another short climb over Clay, but the footing is decent and a lot of it is runnable before I'll need to switch to hiking on the big ascent to Washington's summit. I get some encouragement from other hikers, which always pumps me up, and arrive at the bottom of the big climb in good spirits. I decide to use my trekking poles one final time, as I'll ascend over 1200 feet to the summit of NH. I take them out and immediately start running up the peak like a madman, spiking my heart rate to 179 before reeling it in and setting a more steady pace for the rest of the ascent. I top out and check the split: over 3 minutes faster just for this section! I now have a huge 6 minute lead over my goal pace and can hardly believe it.

In 2010 I really flew down Washington, and my reckless pace might have had something to do with the cramping I experienced a bit later in the day. I keep myself in check, although I still feel like I'm moving well on the descents without my trekking poles (I'm holding them in my hands but they're folded up--I'll stow them when I refill water at the bottom). I haven't finished the 1.5 liters of Gatorade I started with, so I chug it as I descend, hoping I'm not too dehydrated. I'm using Vitargo sports drink for fuel, so I'm getting liquid when I eat as well, which might explain how little I'm drinking. I reach Lakes of the Clouds hut and walk inside to refill, stowing the poles after I get the pack buttoned up again. I start up Monroe and check my watch, and for a minute I'm under the impression that I've lost the 6 minute lead I had on Washington and then some. I'm disappointed, but at least I'm still on track for close to a 4:46 finish if I don't continue to slow. I think about this new development for a bit, then recheck my arm: I'd read the split wrong! When I top out on Monroe I actually have a 7 minute lead, and I still have the section where I cramped last year ahead of me. I should be able to gain even more time if I can keep the cramps at bay.

The most runnable terrain is between Monroe and Pierce and I take advantage of it, running most of the time with brief hiking breaks when it gets rough or steep. I feel a very slight cramp as I start up Eisenhower and back off the pace to be sure I'm not forced to stop and stretch it. An easy pace to the summit brings another 3 minutes gained, as expected. By now I know I'm going to shatter my goal of 4:46. It's basically just a matter of making sure I don't fall and get hurt. Pierce comes quicker than expected too, and it's just the final descent between me and a great FKT. I turn around and head back to the Crawford Path junction then start bombing down toward Crawford Notch, figuring I may as well give it all I have so I can put up the best time possible.

Immediately I cramp up--this is way too fast! I stop and let the hamstring cramps subside then continue on at a more manageable pace. I'm being careful, but even so I stub my toe hard on the rocky trail, bringing pain for the first time today. I'm really working now, and have adopted the mantra "focus, focus, focus." I repeat it to myself as a run down, knowing that one misstep could spell the end of the FKT or worse, serious injury. At some point my trekking poles start to dangle from the back of my pack, which has gotten smaller as the bladder empties. I have to stop and refold them, tightening the shock cord so it won't happen again.

I reach the bridge 0.2mi from the end and try to read the sign at the intersection to remember which way to go, but all I can make out is "Mizpah cutoff." There are two women swimming in the stream and they direct me across the bridge, saying the parking lot is that way. I cross and run hard on flatter terrain, popping out on Mt Clinton Rd just beyond the public parking lot and stopping the clock once I hit pavement. A dog is waiting on the road and barks its head off at me, but I can stop and make friends this time. I check my watch and see 4:35:29, and raise my hands in silent celebration, then make my way to the car to ditch my gear before walking back up the trail to the bridge for a swim. It's cold enough that I can only stay in for a minute at a time, but it definitely helps my legs.

I get back to the car and stretch for a while, then leave messages with Ryan and Cory. I'm excited and want to share the news with someone who cares. Cory calls me back while I'm driving out of the notch and we chat for a few minutes before I lose service. I get back to Meg's family 30 minutes late for dinner, but there's hot dogs and hamburgers waiting for me. They ask me "how was your walk," which puts it into perspective a bit. Still, I couldn't be happier about the day and my performance.

I'm having a hard time putting this race into words right now, probably because it was such a mixed bag for me. On the one hand I managed to win, watched my friends run well and enjoyed hanging out at the finish, but on the other hand I had one of the most painful races of my life, went over my time goal by 20 minutes and almost completely missed out on the great feeling of effortless running I usually get when racing.

An early start (breakfast at 3am, leaving at 3:30 to pick up Chris, Adam, Jenny and Tansy in Keene Valley) made for a nice quick drive to Wakely Dam, where we met up with the bus that was bringing runners from the finish line and got our race packets. Jenny ran last year but this year she'd be driving the car around and meeting us at the finish. We milled around for a while at the start, changing and getting our gear sorted out for 5-6 hours of completely unsupported running.

Most runners were wearing backpacks or waist belts to carry their water and food, but I decided to go light and carry two handheld bottles, one for water and one for Gu. The 22oz bottle I carried included a Bota filter, which allowed me to dip from the streams and drink immediately without having to treat for Giardia: it filters it out as you squeeze the water through the filter on the top of the bottle. In my other hand I carried a 10oz bottle filled with 8 GUs and some water to dilute it. I also carried two GU packets in my shorts, and in the small handheld strap pockets I stuffed a pack of Clif Bloks, some ginger, three salt caps and a protein bar.

We all made our way down to the dam a little before 6:30, and after a quick note about a minor course change from race director Doug we were off. The race begins gently uphill on a gravel road for one mile before turning off onto the trail, which follows an old road grade for another four miles or so. I knew from scouting this section that even a fast pace would feel easy here, and planned to go out at around an 8:15/mile pace. This put me in the lead immediately, with a few runners not far behind for the first mile. By the time we hit the trail only one runner remained behind me, and he caught up quickly and ran with me for the next four miles. Howie was doing his first ultra, and we passed the time chatting (I wasn't very talkative but enjoyed hearing about his running while we cruised along at a pretty fast clip).

Howie had fallen back a little bit but was still not far behind me sometime around mile 5.5 when I crossed a bridge, went to drink from my bottle, and stopped dead in my tracks as I slammed full-speed into a sawed-off tree that was protruding out into the trail, hidden by a branch (and the bottle in my face). It caught me directly in the left quad, leaving a circular imprint about 5-inches in diameter and almost ending my race right there. The pain was immediate and excruciating, and I yelled back to Howie to watch out for the tree, cursed a few times and limped along, hoping I could walk it off.

It quickly became clear that I had suffered a very deep contusion and would not be walking it off any time soon. Running was extremely painful when landing on my left leg and only slightly less so when landing on my right leg and engaging the left quad to bring the leg forward. But running was possible, and that's all I needed to make the decision to continue on. I wasn't sure if the pain would diminish later in the race (it didn't), but I had trained hard and didn't want to miss my chance to run Wakely, which I'd been wanting to do for years. At this point the trail began to climb, and that in addition to my pain and anger-fueled adrenaline surge was enough to drop Howie (or maybe he stopped to pee or eat or something). I wouldn't see another runner for the rest of the race. It would be a lonely and painful 28 miles.

I was able to keep my pace pretty close to my goal for the next 10 miles or so, but the effort it took due to my ruined quad was so much higher than I had anticipated that I knew my time goal of under 5hrs was out of the question. I had scouted the first 13 miles and the final 12, but the middle 8 were unknowns and they proved to be very difficult, with rugged footing, many downed trees to hurdle, and a tight brushy trail that made running slow or impossible in places. My pace had settled a little under 9:00/mile through the first 16mi, but it dropped precipitously after that, bringing my average up to 9:35/mile by mile 23. I was still in the lead but had no idea who was behind me, and I was going slowly enough that I was sure someone would be passing me at any minute.

I knew that I wouldn't have it in me to race at the end, and if anyone caught up to me I would let them pass without giving chase, so I made a plan to keep moving as best I could until the top of the final climb, around mile 26. If I still had the lead after that I would push hard to the finish despite the pain. I didn't want to settle for second after pushing through so much pain to keep the lead throughout the race.

Of course, on a point-to-point route with no aid stations or spectators I had no idea how big my lead was. But I still had the lead with 7 miles of downhill and flat running to go, so I willed my legs to run through the pain (my good quad had been extremely sore for most of the race as well, as it compensated for the other, useless one) and pushed as hard as I could. The final trail miles were mercifully flat, and I hit the pavement at the southern trailhead in 5:08:54, 14 minutes slower than the course record from 2008, when the race was run in the opposite direction.

This year we would continue on for another 1.2mi to finish at the Piseco Airport. I had been looking forward to the pavement as a chance to run without having to use my quad to lift my foot, but the slightly downhill pavement turned out to be terrible, and I stuck to the grass on the roadside as much as possible. As I neared the airport I looked back to see that nobody was about to pass me and was about to start walking it in when the first cheers from the finish line rang out across the field. The great reception from the wonderful volunteers and spectators kept me running, and I crossed the line with a smile on my face thanks to their enthusiastic welcome. My winning time was 5:19:26.

Jenny and Tansy greeted me with huge smiles (can a dog smile?) and I hosed off and grabbed a soda, happy to be done running for the day. My quads hurt like they had when I dropped out of Western States at mile 78, but this time I had run on them for 28 miles after the pain set in and felt like I had redeemed myself in some masochistic way for being a wimp in my first 100. I settled onto the grass to wait for Adam and Chris and hung out with Jenny and the volunteers.

Courtenay Guertin and David Mitchell came in close together for second and third and I kicked myself for pushing so hard when it turned out I had a 25 minute lead. Of course, now I'm glad I gave it my best--I'm sure the pain wouldn't be any better if I'd gone 20 minutes slower. Not long afterward my friend Adam appeared on the road, and Jenny (his wife) and I got up to cheer him in. He ran Wakely last year in 6:42, so to see him approaching the finish around the 6hr mark was very exciting. He finished in 6th place with a time of 6:04, happy to have run so well but bummed because he'd lost at least six minutes after taking a wrong turn in the West Canada Lakes, ruining his chance of breaking 6hrs. Chris followed four minutes later, taking 7th place in his first ultra and cementing a great showing from the Keene Valley crew!

Race directors Doug and Kim were clearly having fun at the finish, and they presented me with the very cool handmade oak trophy (plus a prize from CW-X and an awesome survival keychain their niece made) We all spent a bunch of time at the finish, drinking and eating once our appetites returned. I got to cheer in my friends Derrick Spafford and Sara Montgomery, but we left before seeing Jim Pugh, Jack Burke or Dan Mosny--hope you guys had a great race!

We broke up the car ride home with a swim in Lake Pleasant and a stop for ice cream in Pottersville. I'm currently having trouble walking, but am pleased with myself for sticking it out when I could have given up. I hope to recover quickly but fear it might be a week or more before my quad is back to normal. It was worth it, and I hope to go back to Wakely for an attempt at the elusive "perfect race" in the near future. Thanks so much to Jenny Mugrace for driving and crewing, and props to Adam and Chris for your excellent performances.

I ran the Patch Sprint in Willsboro, NY for the first time this weekend, and came away with the feeling that this is one of the best running events I've ever attended. The story of the day was the weather, but the real story for me is the way this small, little-known race/run/hike has turned into something truly extraordinary. And I didn't even get to experience the summit party, which would have likely been the highlight of the day in nicer weather. I can't wait for 2014!

The event: The Patch Sprint is a race (or fun run/trek) to climb four small Adirondack mountains. It has a long history, but in short the race started as a small private competition in the late 90s and opened to more runners in 2000 as a charity event. It has grown steadily since then, with nearly 100 racers starting the 2013 edition.

This is a camp Pok-O-MacCready affair. Sure, there are a few outsiders like me, but it feels more like you're at a family reunion than a race. In addition to 100 runners there must have been another 100 volunteers and spectators, most of whom are part of the extended Pok-O family. I felt privileged to be welcomed into this family for the day.

The race directors, Tim (Skip) Singer and Greg Henderson, do a remarkable job. As race director for a small event myself I know it's a lot of work. These guys do twenty times what I do. A glance at the web site will give you an idea what I mean. The web site, and the organization of the event itself, rivals that of much bigger trail runs that I've been a part of. Singer even goes so far as to make predictions on the finish time of every racer, complete with a short description or anecdote to explain his prediction. He picked me to win and set a course record, so the pressure was on!

Training: I trained hard specifically for this race for two months. Tagging along with a small crew for six short Thursday evening "races" on the course taught me everything I needed to know about the terrain, and how it feels to run it fast. Five longer days on the course honed my body and mind for racing the full distance, including running the entire course at a moderate pace and two very race-specific workouts during which I ran both halves of the course at my projected race pace. A look back at my training log tells me I spent nearly 24 hours and covered 132 miles on the course in April and May. I owe a big thanks to Jay Fiegl, my main Sprint training partner, and Jim Kobak, organizer of the Thursday training races, for teaching me the course and giving me the motivation to get out and run it.

In addition to running on the course I put in a bunch of easy road running to average 55 miles per week for a strong aerobic base and ran intervals on the road or track once a week to build speed and strength on the flats (even though this is a mountain race I'd say flat, fast terrain makes up about 1/3 of the race by time and nearly 1/2 by distance).

Race day: With five days to go the weather was looking great for race day. Rain mid-week was supposed to taper off on Friday, leaving cool temperatures and cloudy skies on Saturday. To the dismay of most racers (especially those who came from afar with only shorts and t-shirt, like winner of the last three Sprints and course-record holder Cole Starkey) it continued to rain all week, only increasing in intensity on Friday and Saturday, with temps dropping below 40 for the day of the race.

The weather on race day was tough, but the real issue was the terrible footing caused by multiple inches of rain from Wednesday to Saturday. Descents were treacherously slippery, ascents turned to riverbeds in places, and flats were often muddy or flooded. After running the course in near perfect conditions all spring it was definitely a wake-up call when both feet became completely waterlogged about 3 minutes into the race and remained soaked in water or covered in mud for the next two hours.

I went out comfortably hard, hoping to gain enough of a lead on the Bare ascent to run alone for the duration of the race. I was worried that running neck-and-neck would cause me to go too fast early on in the race as I fed off the energy of another racer. This worked in theory: after summiting Bare with maybe a 20-30 second lead (in 9:25, 20 seconds ahead of my split) I felt confident enough to settle into my planned pace and run my own race. I had used my two most race-specific workouts to establish split times that I felt were realistic on race day after a good taper, and as I turned around to descend Bare I still hoped to hit my splits.

Unfortunately I immediately began to see the effects of the conditions, as my slipping and sliding "controlled fall" down Bare to the 1812 Homestead was slow by 12 seconds. I would lose another 1m15s by the time I was back at the Homestead after the second peak (Rattlesnake), even with the added incentive of seeing fellow newcomer Cullen Roberts hot on my heels coming off the summit. Running on pavement was a nice reprieve and I finally hit another split on Reber Road, but I arrived at the half-way mark of the race almost one minute behind my goal pace despite having run significantly harder than I'd planned.

I felt like I flew up Sugarloaf, but elected to hike some of the slicker sections down low that I normally run (split: 35 seconds slow). The 'Loaf descent was in surprisingly good shape, and the dirt road and flat trail (Fiegalley) that follow the descent were fine too aside from the foot-deep stream running over the road at one point. I pretty much nailed those three split times. I got a big boost of energy as I approached the Poke-O trailhead on route 9, with lots of runners and spectators (including my friend Patty) and some great cheers from the aid station. Turning off the road I checked my watch: 1:39:30--1m30s behind schedule--still time to break two hours if I could just hit my last split up Poke-O.

I took ten strong bounds up the steep trail with the cheers of the aid station behind me, feeling optimistic and ready to give it my all for another 20 minutes. I was on top of the world--and then I started walking backwards.* Immediately I knew that 2hrs was out of the question. Could I still break 2:02 (the course record)? The rest of the climb was a blur. I hiked until I was about to pass out, then stopped for a breath or two (in one moment of weakness I took three) and hiked again. I pushed hard, knowing that I could be passed at any minute. Breaking into a run again above the chimney, I asked my legs for whatever they had left. I passed a spectator who started cheering my name and following behind me, letting the crowd at the summit know I was coming.

Cheers from the top rang out as I took my last strides and stopped my watch, hugging Skip in relief and happiness and noting to myself that I'd managed to break the record with a 2:01:43. I took a few steps over to my mom, who had carried my gear to the top, and my wife, who had brought a friend's gear. Stripping off my wet clothes and getting into warm layers was the only priority. A short time later I noticed that the spectator who had cheered me to the finish was Robin Gucker, a good friend who was one of the first people I got to know in the Adirondacks. I hadn't recognized her in her winter gear. Cullen Roberts finished second a few minutes behind me and immediately collapsed on the summit rocks in his shorts and singlet with a volunteer quickly attempting to wrap him in a space blanket. 

Shivering almost uncontrollably in my three layers and space blanket, I vaguely hugged my family, thanked the volunteers and asked Cullen his name, congratulating him on a good race. Then I made my way off the summit to seek warmth in the trees, carrying a bottle of chocolate milk in one hand and a partially eaten protein bar in my pocket in the hope that I'd warm up enough to take in some calories. After an unsuccessful attempt to eat some more I asked my mom for the car keys and started hiking faster, needing some artificial heat as soon as possible. I saw a few friends on their way to the finish and got to cheer them on, then made a beeline for the car. By the time I neared the bottom I had warmed up enough to walk and chat with a fellow runner, Kurt Schuler, who had finished in a very good time. The car was a welcome sight, and after a while with the heat on high I felt good enough to eat and drink, then headed home for a shower and more food.

My mom and I returned for the banquet and awards ceremony at Pok-O later in the evening, and I was once again extremely impressed by the community that the event brings together. Next year's race is already on my calendar, and I hope it's just as epic as this one! Thanks to Skip, Greg and all the volunteers who came out in the cold to make it happen. If you're reading this and the Patch Sprint is new to you I strongly suggest you mark your calendar for March 2014 when registration opens. This is one race you shouldn't miss!


*Walking backwards: The running sensation in which it feels like every step is taking you farther away from your goal. This feeling is not uncommon among first time Patch Sprinters, I'm told. "One must leave extra fuel in the tank for the grueling final climb." "More than one racer has been passed on Poke-O." "Most people take about 25 minutes up on race day." Blah blah blah. So said my Jedi masters at the BEAST training sessions. I ignored them: maybe they were susceptible to this kind of weakness but the force is strong in this one.