The Proof is in the Pudding

Let's talk about data, fitness, and being an asshole...to myself.

Last Year

To begin, however, let's rewind to last April.  I teed myself up to run the 'Falcon Punch 50k' fatass run with my local run crew, FRXC.  It had snowed a foot the night before, and we set out plowing our way through the run.  31 miles, 6500 ft., and 10.5 hours later I stumbled into the parking lot where we had started with the 5 other survivors of the run.  I was wrecked, and I knew I was in trouble.

My race schedule for the year was made up of the Never Summer 100k, and the Bear 100 mile runs in July and September, respectively.  I had been slowly ramping up miles from the beginning of the year, but I wasn't recovering well, and I was struggling to get in the miles that I wanted.  At this point, it was probably 20% recovery, and 80% me being an asshole and not getting it done.

As the snow melted and I began increasing mileage more, this shifted to about 80% recovery and 20% me not getting it done.  I had left myself with a training deficit and I wasn't able to simply step back into the training, neither quality nor mileage, that I had done previously.  I adjusted mileage and quality and desperately tried to solve the recovery problem.  Something was off here too, but I didn't end up figuring out my recovery strategy in my new higher elevation home until about a month out from Never Summer.  Too late for consistency, but enough to get some confidence boosting keystone workouts in...not that they had much base to anchor, but they helped.

What happens next doesn't require being described in any more detail than:

Never Summer 100k: 119/226 (53%)

Bear 100: 142/304 (47%)

Pretty much exactly mid-pack.

To see why these stats may make me grumpy about my year, have a look at my previous 2 years of results:

2016 AC100: 15/130 (12%)

2016 Zion 100: 21/137 (16%)

2015 Wasatch Front 100: 22/203 (11%)

The Data

In 2017, my buddy Billy Goat started the year feeling out of shape and overweight (for an ultramarathon runner) after a lackluster off-season, so he decided to run 10 miles per day for the first 10 days of the year to jump start his year.  In 2018, he invited his friends to join him.  After a lackluster 2017, I needed a jump start too, so I hopped in to join the fun.

During my time spent grinding out some cold, Denver miles on the streets (when I wasn't on the trails!), I had some time to theorize about my past year, how I got to where I am now, and where I wanted to go with my 2018 racing.  Lots of those 'Year in Sport' Strava posts had been popping up with folks showcasing their 2017 accomplishments, and they got me thinking about the role that hours and miles play in race performance, and if there may be some obvious signs from my past year of training that things weren't going to go well for me in 2017.

Luckily for me, I've been diligently logging my training in Strava, heart rate included, for 6 years now, and unsurprisingly, the data is telling.

Taking some inspiration from the Year in Sport posts that I saw on social media, I started by taking a look at data from my calendar years of running over the last 4 years (the years that I have run 100 milers).

Running data from each of the the last 4 calendar years, manually extracted from my Strava training log.

Yeah, OK, no surprises here.  I ran the least amount of miles and had the worst results...but I had a sneaking suspicion that my problem was even worse than it looks.  This data was taken from approximately each calendar year (the training weeks, which I used to calculate the mileage, broke across the new year sometimes, but I'm within about 20 miles of the actual total each year), but the races were in August and September of each year...what about what happens in the Fall and early Winter after the races but before the new year starts? I had a feeling that this would affect how the year of training went.

To have a look at this, I calculated the miles and vert run from 1 month after each hundo, to the week before the next hundo.  This data was more telling, but since each race happened at a different time in August and September, I cut the total time analyzed down to the shortest time between hundreds, minus 4 weeks for recovery, which ended up being the 44 weeks between Wasatch Front 100 (mid September) and AC100 (early August).

Running data from the 44 weeks leading up to a hundred miler for the last 4 years.

Now THAT data is telling.  Fully 32% less miles in this 'training year' than in the training year leading up to AC, and 45% less than the training year leading up to Wasatch Front.

My friend Cat talked about it recently in a blog post that gave the world a view into the mechanics behind her killer victory at the Western States 100 this year, and you've probably heard it 1,000,000 times: Consistency is key.  Log the miles. Put in the work.

If her victory and literally every other piece of reputable training advice out there wasn't enough, here's my contribution to the pile, straight from my personal experience and logged miles. The proof is in the pudding.

After looking at the numbers, I remembered that Strava actually has some cool visualization tools that show a very similar trend: the Fitness and Freshness plot.  Have a look at mine since January 2011:

I'll walk you through it.  December 2011 I start training for my first marathon (LA Marathon 2012).  Train for some road marathons but then really kick it up a notch for the North Face Endurance Challenge Championship 50-miler in December of 2013. Then comes a slew of training for the Backbone ultra, Kodiak 100, Sean O'Brien 100k, Wasatch Front 100, Zion 100, AC 100, to name a few of the races I've run in there.  And then HOOOOOOOOOLLLYYYYYYY SHIT.  I got a new job, moved to Denver, got dumped and had a pretty terrible last 3 months of 2016: a whopping 14 miles/week average.  Look no further than Strava's approximation of my fitness level from October to December 2016 to visualize what it looks like to start fucking up your entire year of running in 3 months.  It's a bit hard to see, but to add insult to injury, I actually averaged just under 20 miles/week for the first 3 months of 2017 as well.  This was much in part to the conscious decision to downhill ski a lot on weekends, but either way: this set me up for the aforementioned disaster of a Falcon Punch in April 2017 and the rest of my car wreck of a 2017.

This Year

So as I ground out the miles for the first 10 days of 2018, having some good days and bad days, I had some time to think.  What's this year going to be like? Looking at the Strava fitness chart, I'm in significantly better standing than I was at this time last year.  I don't have a giant hole to dig myself out of to reach an acceptable fitness level.  I've figured out my nutrition and hydration needs to power my training and recovery in my new home city.  I've figured out a balance with work, running, and the rest of life.

I haven't written a training plan, or committed to any amount of miles to cover between now and whenever I race next...I haven't even signed up for a race.  But with a bit of data on my side, and some newfound perspective on how my training (or lack thereof) can affect my racing long distances in the mountains, I'm optimistic that I can put together a productive year of running, racing, and life.

Ray Miller 100k

Hooooo boy! My legs hurt and I currently walk like a stick man.

I recently took on the Ray Miller 100k 2 weeks after running 100 self-supported miles in Yosemite because I wanted to see the course and experience the race that everyone who had raced the 50-mile version 3 years back had praised endlessly.  I was in for a treat!

Treats!

I had no expectations, and was hoping that my legs and stability would hold together to allow me to finish.  For some reason, however, people kept telling me that I was going to win: my friends, the assistant RD (who I had never met), other runners...not sure why, since I'm not all that fast to begin with, let alone 2 weeks after the hardest and longest effort of my life, but I appreciated the faith in my abilities.

What having no expectations did mean, is that I could run as hard as I wanted and not worry about blowing my race, since I wasn't too concerned about it anyway.

The rad course zig-zags and loops and out-and-backs its way through the North-West end of the Santa Monica Mountains, starting and finishing at the Ray Miller Trailhead.  The Ray Miller Trail, famous for its ocean views and runnable, butter-smooth single track, climbs out of La Jolla Canyon to the rest of the course, and subsequently deposits the runners back into the canyon at the finish.

Tricks?

Starting Line with my puffy on.

The 22 starters lined up at 5 minutes to 5am and took off into the darkness following leadout pacer Jesse Haynes to the trailhead from the starting area.  My buddy Greg went out hard and I started out in a close 2nd, running the climb.  Almost immediately my friend Megan called me out from behind and we chatted while we ran the first climb.

I was worried about my body's stability giving out, so at about mile 4 I pulled back a bit and let her go on with 1 other dude to chase Greg in the lead.  That put me in 4th.  My heart rate was skyrocketing and I didn't know why, so I ignored it because I felt fine and kept running sustainably (?) hard.

Dawn over the tri-peaks ridge.

Sunrise from the La Jolla Canyon trail, rounding Mugu Peak.

Looking out at the Channel Islands (I think?) from the side of Mugu Peak...we then ran all the way down to that parking lot.

The 100k was going to be a bit short, so we took a slight detour down a huge, steep hill around mile 8, tagged a parking lot trailhead at ocean-level and climbed back to rejoin the 50 mile course up near Mugu Peak.  Those 50-mile jerks didn't have to do that climb! The wind howled and I leaned into it to make my way through the Mugu Peak Saddle, after which the wind died down and I continued through La Jolla Valley.

La Jolla Valley with Tri-Peaks ridge in the background.

I came into the mile 13-ish aid station still in 4th, but I noticed a guy in  a red sleeveless jersey coming up the hill as I was leaving the aid station.  My hamstrings were already tight, and my legs were stiff, but otherwise I felt good, so I started the next loop section, which would come back to this aid station, at a run.  Not much later, however, I saw a shadow creep up next to me and the guy came up and passed me.  I cheered him on and continued at my own pace, trying to keep a solid cadence down the hill into Wood Canyon.  This descent is mild and fun, but my legs were tight and it was tough to make good time...oof, I was starting to suffer already and it was affecting my confidence!  Could I last the whole race at this pace? Was I blown? This didn't feel blown, but why was I going so slowly?

Either way, I kept the red shirt dude in sight and ran as hard as my stiff legs would allow up to Hell Hill and hiked into the aid station.  The aid station was a mess of runners in other distances coming through, but I managed to find my way in, get my Tailwind mixed up and take off for the Wood Canyon Vista/Backbone descent into Sycamore Canyon.  I could still see the red shirt dude about 2 minutes up, and my friend Megan about 8 minutes up.

The next loop up the Coyote Trail, past Hidden Pond and down Sin Nombre into Danielson Horse Camp was rough.  So stiff.  Climbing difficult. I was lucky that my buddy Bill (running in 2nd in the 50-miler at the time) came up on me and we started conversing about running and racing, shoes, etc.  It took my mind off the legs and I was able to push through the pain and feel rejuvenated!  Thanks for the miles dude!  I was also glad that he informed me that the dude who had just blown by me was leading the 50.  I thought I had gone out way too hard and that the 100k-ers behind me were going to start blowing me up from here on out!

At Danielson, I packed up some Tailwind, got my reservoir filled (or so I thought) and headed up the biggest climb of the race: Blue Canyon to Chamberlain Trail, about 2300 vertical feet.  More importantly, however, is that just outside the aid station, there was a fresh-cut stump on the side of the trail, and I decided to stretch out my piriformis on it, followed by hip flexors and hamstrings.  All of a sudden, my hips released and I felt like I could move again!  I charged on up the hill, sure not to overdo it with my newfound enthusiasm, and headed for the summit at a run/hike.  About 5 miles out from the aid station, I was disappointed to discover, however, that my reservoir was only half full and I ended up running out of water on this long, hot, section.  It wasn't a super bad situation, but it was a little worrisome since I wanted to keep my hydration topped off after guessing that my hydration at Wasatch Front is what caused some stomach issues.

Unknown valley between Split Rock and Mishe Mokwa Trailhead Aid Station.

Either way, I kept a solid pace all the way into the Mishe-Mokwa aid station where I saw some friends, filled up an ice bandana, and headed off for the 100k-only out-and-back to the Grotto.  Howard, Mike, Manly, Chamoun, Pedro and some workers that I didn't know all worked to get me hooked up at both my trips through this aid station.  I headed out for 1400 ft. down, and then a 180 degree turn to right back up!  The downhill hurt a bit and I could feel my stability was suffering...aching in my glute and some nerve pain in my left quad were mild but present.  I was making some groaning noises and dealing with some nausea, but nothing too bad...just beat up a bit.

I saw my girlfriend Crista who was staffing a road crossing on the way down, and then an hour or so later on the way back up.  Unfortunately, Greg got lost down in the canyon near the turnaround because someone had vandalized the 'Turn Around' sign, which was marked 'Right Turn' on the back, so he wandered around for a while before figuring it out, but he had lost the lead to unnamed dude and Megan, who was in 2nd trailing by only a minute or two climbing back out of the canyon.  I was about an hour behind the lead at this point.  Woof!  Greg and red shirt dude had fixed the sign and warned me about it just in case when I saw them climbing out together.  Thanks dudes!

Makes sense.  My buddy Marshall marked the turnaround.

When I arrived back to Mishe-Mokwa for the 2nd time, I refilled ice and took off on the home stretch...less than 20 miles to go!  I was stoked because my legs felt good enough to slow jog or run the uphills, however, I was getting beaten up on the downhills and flats because everything ached so much!  I stretched every few miles and tried to move well.  I knew I had a couple miles on the guys behind me, so at least I could hold 5th if not make up some time to catch 4th overall.  I hoped that the twinges in my back were just twinges from being fatigued and wouldn't develop into a full on back-spasm that I have seen other runners endure.

I made it down Chamberlain Trail, took a quick break to pass through Chamberlain Rock to 'shed my sins', as is tradition, and turned down Serrano Trail, still very tight but managing to keep a 12:30-ish pace into the Serrano Canyon/Sycamore Canyon Junction Aid.  I refilled bottles, and was told I only had 5 miles to go! Woohoo!  I was pretty ready to be done running, both with the race, and the season.  Time for some R&R!

I ran the Fireline Trail climb and hiked the steeper top section well, ran the Overlook Trail, and cruised the Ray Miller descent in front of a brilliant sunset over the water.  I held sub 10 minute/mile pace as the sun dipped below the horizon and in no time I came through the finish in 12:25.

Done!

When I crossed the finish, I found out that Megan had won!  Nice! Last I saw she had 20+ miles to go and was only trailing by a minute or two! Stellar job Megan!!  I sat down and drank a Cream Soda and tried to feel normal, but everything hurt!  Ouch.  It was uncomfortable and my stomach had been churning for miles!  I finally made it through a couple Subway sandwich pieces and drank some water, after which I held on to consciousness until my last friend, Erin, finished before I hobbled off to sleep in my tent.  I was lucky that my girlfriend was volunteering because we were allowed to camp at the start/finish area.  It was amazing because I was in no shape to drive an hour home!  I couldn't even crack open my finish-line Sculpin!

So what did I learn from this whole ordeal?  Well, first off, don't race a 100k hard 2 weeks after running a hard 100 and going deep into the cave.  I was beat up and felt it all race long.  2nd...I can run hills better than I thought!  I was consistently able to chug up hills that I normally don't...maybe it's because I spend enough time running in the San Gabriel Mountains that I wasn't used to my own capability at sea level over ultradistance, but it felt reassuring that even in my beaten down state that I could still push the climbs a bit.  Maybe I just hadn't ever attacked a race like I did this time because I was too conservative and worried about blowing up...time will tell if I can put in that type of effort in another race to yeild a positive outcome.

Keira's race delivered in spades and I am totally happy that I put up with the suffering to make a finish happen. 

Now it's time for a month of recovery and then getting ready for next year!

Cheers!