Teacher : Mt Werner Classic
Lesson : How to Race a 50K
Grade : Incomplete
When I ran my first marathon, everything went perfectly. In fact, I made no real mistakes and the race went so well, I was afraid to do another one, because I wasn't sure if I had learned anything or was just lucky. I did learn one thin at Chicago in 2000, which I will get to later.
But racing the marathon actually was very easy for me. Running and racing in grade school, high school, college, then post-college, I knew what I could run for a 5K, 8K, 10K. When I ran my first half marathon, the pace I needed to run was just a slightly easier effort than a 10K, a pace that was pretty much already ingrained in my legs. So the marathon was easy. Just plug in numbers into Jack Daniels VDOT tables, or PR's into any of a number of other tables, and your expected time is easily calculated. These tables are based on thousands of data points collected over the years. Once I knew my expected time, I could train for that pace. Then on race day, just run that pace. And I am really good at feeling what is the correct pace and not getting caught up in what others are doing. Case in point, at Berlin Marathon in 2005, I started immediately behind the elites. I could touch them at the start line. Half a mile into the race, I felt like a thousand people were ahead of me. But it didn't matter. I was going to run my first few miles in 6:00-6:05 pace and not worry about them. By the end, I would pass nearly all them back. I can chug out miles right on pace. It is why nearly all my "raced" marathons went very well. (In the only "bad" one, I knew early on I wasn't feeling right, but decided to chance it and stay on planned pace knowing a blow up might occur. Sure enough, I knew my body well enough and unfortunately was right, a blow up did occur at 20 miles or so).
But the ultra thing is totally different. Courses from one race to another are totally different. What should I expect to run a 50K in at an altitude of 10 000 feet with 5 400 vert feet of climbing? There is no table to plug in numbers. What pace should I go out in? How does that pace feel? In a road marathon, in the first few miles, I can feel the difference between 5:40 (which might be too fast), 6:00 (which was roughly just right for most of my races) and 6:30 (which would have been a bit too slow). In an ultra, 9:00 per mile to start feels really easy, but if I should be doing 10:00 or even 11:00, I can't tell the difference between them. I already feel like I am running easy. And since I am still getting to know the ultra community, I don't necessarily know who to key off of. Ultimately I don't exactly know what I should realistically run, so I don't know if I should go out in 9:00 minute pace or 11:00 minute pace. There is just a whole lot more variables that road racing just doesn't have.
This all is a prelude to my recap of the Mt Werner Classic 50K this past Saturday in Steamboat Springs. My second ultra effort, having debuted with the Moab RedHot 55K back in February. It was a perfect morning to race. A light rain had fallen the night before, cooling temps down. The clouds never cleared out and it remained overcast for at least the first half the race. Looking at the registered starters, I only recognized a couple of names. One, I would have like to keyed off of, but since she was coming off of injury, I didn't think she would be up to speed. Based on previous year's results and my fitness, I guessed I should be in the top 10. That was roughly a finish time of 5:30. I thought I could do that, or if all went well, 5:20, which was 7th. So when the race went off, and I found myself running at the back of a group of 3 other guys, putting me 7th, I figured this was appropriate. Now, a few days before the race I felt like I was coming down with a head cold. Had a slightly sore throat. Some head congestion. A bit of a sluggish feeling. I didn't run Wed, Thurs or Fri and just rested as much as possible and popped zinc tablets. Saturday morning I felt okay. I went ahead with my race plan, as much as I could call it one. And during those first few miles, running with that group, nothing seemed obvious that I might not be up to speed. But again, here is the difference between an ultra and say a road race. Going out at 9-10 min pace is going to feel pretty easy, unless someone is desperately ill. But in a road race, if you are feeling a little under the weather, you can tell, either the miles are a few seconds slower than you want, or they are on pace, but you can tell you are working a bit too hard.
The course starts with a roughly 10 mile climb up from the base of the Steamboat Ski Resort to the top of Mt Werner. It's a gain of 3500 vert feet. So it doesn't run straight up the ski slopes, but meanders up and across the mountain, before getting a bit steeper near the top. At Moab Red Hot 55K, I felt like I went out to quick the first half, partially due to it being a relatively easy the first 10 miles. I wasn't able to handle the hard parts of the course to be found in the second half. Here, with the climb right at the start, I would be able to stay in check. And I felt like I did. One of the guys asked if I wanted to pass and I declined even though I did feel like I was clipping their heels. I didn't want to make the same mistake as Moab.
Initially, the course ran through the aspens trees that make help make Steamboat such a fun place to ski. As we got higher, the trail came out of the trees and started running up the slopes themselves. The upper parts of the ski slopes were completely full of wildflowers and we ran a singletrack trail that zig-zagged up the slope through the flowers. It was a beautiful scene. My only complaint, once again a race director decided to mark the course with colored flags, that as a Red-Green colorblind person, don't stick out well against the green backdrop of grass. This time it was orange and pink. Add in thousands of blooming flowers and they all but disappear to me. Luckily the course was pretty straight forward and hard to get lost on, but once I did have to ask the guy I was running with, which way to turn. Would someone just use yellow or maybe yellow/black striped markings. I can see those. Anything with red in it, not so much.
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| Early on into the race. Photographer caught me just as I was grabbing a gel from my back pocket. Makes for a great photo. Photo by Joel Reichenberger. |
Anyway, the climb went pretty much as I had planned. I struggled a bit near the top, losing touch with the guys I had been running with, but still reached the aid station at 9.5 miles in 1:47. I was shooting for somewhere between 1:40 and 1:50, so this was about perfect. I didn't feel like it was too fast or too hard an effort. I took my time at the top, grabbing some chips, M&M's, and downing some Coke, plus refilling my water bottle. I had refilled it at the 5.5 mile aid station as well, so figured I was drinking appropriate amount of fluid.
From here the course rolls along at 10 000 feet. You gain a hundred feet over a mile, lose a hundred, gain 150, then ultimately lose about 200 feet as you hit the turnaround point on the edge of Long Lake at 16 miles. Then head back on those same 6.5 miles to get back to the top of the ski slopes. On the way out, the group I had been with pulled away I was pretty much alone this whole time. I felt like I could average 10 minute pace in this section, and make it from the Storm King aid station at 9.5 miles to the Long Lake aid station at 16 miles in about 1:10. This was based on splits posted from the previous year. And pretty much that is what I did. I came into Long Lake at 2:55, in about 11th position. The group of guys in 7th, 8th, and 9th had about 10 minutes on me. They were still in range.
Again I took my time at the aid station. I had a gel (which was my 4th for the day, having already taken 3 while running.) I grabbed some more potato chips for salt. Downed some more Coke. Refilled my bottle. Then headed out. This was the point of the race that concerned me. My training this summer actually has been going well. My climbing, which in many ways is a weak point, had gotten better. I felt pretty fit. But I know I hadn't done enough long, long runs. I really only had a couple of runs of 14-16 miles, or 3 to 4 hours, in this summer. I wondered if I could make it 31 miles, without having done any 20+ mile runs. I kinda figured, I just needed to make it back to the Storm King aid station (on the return trip it would be at 22 miles) and then I could just stumble downhill the last 9 miles.
On the return, I felt like I was slowing up. And I was. This initially wasn't too concerning as, ultimately, I had to regain a bit of elevation that was lost running down to Long Lake. But a number of people were passing me easily, and I couldn't really match their efforts. This was a little frustrating. I was running closer to 12 minute pace. I tried to stay positive, because my math said, if I could make the return trip in 1:20, I would be at 4:15 at Storm King. Surely I could descend in 8 or 9 minute pace and run around 5:30.
The clouds were breaking up and sun was coming out. But at 10 000 feet, it still was a really comfortable temperature for running. Yet I was beginning to feel bad. Not a specific bad, but a general, I don't feel right, bad. I have felt like this running over Imogene Pass or the last few miles of Pike's Peak Ascent. I didn't think 10 000 feet elevation would effect me, but I had been running at this elevation for over 2 hours. This is where potentially, with my body just being slightly off from the mild cold I had, I was not able to handle this elevation. The last half mile or so back to the Storm King aid station felt endless. It just never seemed to end. This is where I cracked. When the trail meets back up with the ski area, there is a little hill up to the aid station at the top of the Storm King lift. It kicked my ass. I arrived at 4:24. Return trip was 1:29. I really did fall apart the last mile or so.
When I got too the aid station, they asked how I felt. "Bad" is all I could say. Just felt bad. Drank a bunch of Coke. More chips. Took my time. Refilled my water bottle. Then walked away. I slowly got into a shuffle. In my head I thought, "I have been here before." Every Imogene Run, I feel like death at the top of the pass, and the first mile or so of the descent are hell, but as I get lower, I feel better, and end up hauling ass. I thought today would be the same. Once I got going, and got a little lower, I would start to feel better and roll through the last 5 miles. I was few minutes behind goal pace, but still thought a pretty good time was in grasp.
Alas, that was not the case. With the sun out, the temps were rising as I descended. It started to get plain hot. In the trees it was very still, no breeze to cool things. And as I descended my stomach began to have issues. Before having my gallbladder removed in April, I could get away with a lot. I could eat pretty much anything. I could run on anything. Since Dirty Thirty 12 miler at end of May, my digestive system has been very finicky. And on a couple of long runs, this has shown up on long descents. So 2 or 3 miles into the descent, I had to stop and step off the trail. Explosive diarrhea is the best description without being to graphic.
Then I had a couple other issues. I was wearing short tights. I had pinned my race number to my shorts. Well, I hadn't realized that I had also pinned through the tights and into underwear as well. So as I was trying to pull my underwear and then my shorts back up, I initially couldn't figure why it was so weird. This took a few seconds to get straightened out. The second issue I had was my shorts had started to rip along the inseam in the crotch. This had been going on for a number of miles and was creating some chafing issues, as my skin was exposed on my inner thigh and was rubbing on the loose fabric. I had found a way to adjust my shorts to minimize this, but now had to figure out how to get back to the sweet spot where it wouldn't bug me.
With that behind me, I thought maybe I would start feeling better again. I didn't really, but continued shuffling along. I reached the aid station with 5.5 miles to go, feeling like death. It was still a long way down this mountain and I just wanted off of it. I had some more Coke, but didn't feel like eating anything. I didn't know how I would react. They were cooking bratwurst at the aid station and normally I would had some along with the beer they were offering. I just didn't think any of it would stay in my system long. But I did take them up on the cornhole challenge. They had a cornhole setup, and were offering $5 if you got a beanbag in the hole. 4 attempts. This I thought was money in the bank. I might not finish top 10. At this point I felt like I was 50th with the amount of folks who had slowly gone by the past few miles. But I am pretty damn good at drinking sports: darts, horseshoes, and cornhole. I will at least win a few bucks.
My first toss was perfect distance, but 2 feet to the right of the board, into the dirt. Okay, just adjust aim. Second toss, perfect distance, 2 feet to the right of the board, into the dirt, basically on top the 1st bag. Okay. Relax. Just a little to the left. Third toss, a little long and about 1 foot to the right of the board, into the dirt. Seriously, I felt like I knew exactly what I needed to do, but couldn't get my body to do. Fourth toss, about right distance, hit the right edge of the board and off into the dirt. No money. And great experiment showing how mental and physical fatigue effect you.
With that behind me, I shuffled along. Not 10 minutes away and stomach was all out of whack again. I remember passing an outhouse on the climb up (one of those ones that are on ski resorts in out of the way places). I couldn't remember exactly how far it was from the aid station to the outhouse. I hoped I could make it. Alas, this struck me hard and quickly, and I was back off the trail. I had gotten rid of the offending safety pin that had caused my issues the first time, so getting shorts and underwear down wasn't a problem. Which was good as this came quickly and more explosively. Soon I was back on the trail. And trying to get my shorts arranged as to not aggravate the chafing. It really is telling how quickly these two incidents came on me and passed thru, that looking back at my splits, it is hard to tell in which miles I stopped for these incidents.
Now I have 4 miles to go and I am thinking it is going to take me over an hour to get down. This sucks. It is hot. I feel like crap. I want off this damn mountain. I was thinking of ways to shortcut it down. The gondola might have a mid-loading station I can get on and go down that way. I am pretty much just walking. But I am still moving forward.
As I eluded to way at the beginning of this rambling recap, I did learn one thing at 2000 Chicago Marathon. As it was my first marathon, I was worried about the dreaded wall. And at mile 22, I thought I had hit it. I had been running 6:10-6:15 pace for the last few miles. I was starting to feel bad. I went through the 22 mile point and saw I had run like 6:50 or something. I thought, well I guess that's the wall. My primary goal was sub 2:45. I was closer to 2:40 pace at the time. I just told myself to hold on. If I just run 7 minute pace, I can get my primary goal. When I went through mile 23, my split was sub 6, like 5:50. Right away I recognized that mile 22 was mis-marked. I was angry. How could a major marathon do that. Over the next half mile (mind wasn't working well. Another experiment with mental faculties when physically fatigued) I calculated that my average pace for the past two miles was 6:20. I hadn't really hit that wall at all. I was still fine. I might feel like crap, but I actually was still running a good pace. Had I let the "bad" split at mile 22 effect me mentally, I would have slowed up and then when I realized the mistake a mile later, I might not have been able to get back into the groove.
So with 4 miles to go at Steamboat, I just kept chugging. On the slight downhills, I could get into a decent shuffle. The more extreme downhills were harder, more like a survival walk. Any uphill was definitely a walk. The flats were a mix, walk/shuffle. It wasn't fast by any means, but after awhile I had chugged through a couple of miles. I am now coming up on the gondola. I am also approaching the 2.2 mile to go aid station, which is just tables with water jugs on them. I drench myself with water. Chugged a bunch of cold water, and realize, its only 2 miles now. I can do this. This is less than a half an hour.
I can't say it was a remarkable transformation, but I did run (ie shuffle quickly) the vast majority of the last 2 miles. More so than I had the previous 2 miles. Finishing in 36th place with a time of 6:23:56, nearly an hour slower than I thought I would run, wouldn't seem fulfilling. But somehow, grinding out those last 5 miles, really made finishing feel like a major accomplishment. Almost better than if I had finished in 5:20 and in 8th spot. But than again I don't know what that feels like yet.
It took me a little while to feel slightly normal. At this point I would be remiss in not giving a shout out to all the volunteers. The aid station people were great. And at the finish, I had sought out shade to lie down and put my feet up. A volunteer, seeing me hobble then crash, asked if I wanted any food. She would gladly bring some over. I declined. But when I asked if there was any Coke, she said she was sorry, but it was back at the finish line. Seeing my crestfallen face, she sent her daughter (probably 9 or 10 years old) to go fetch some. I am forever grateful. It got me feeling better, than I did eat a little food. I was going to stick around for awards, but decided I probably only had a small window of feeling okay before I would crash, so I headed back to my campsite. A nap in the hammock was start of recovery. Then back into town for dinner and a beer. Finished recovery by heading to Strawberry Park Hot Springs, my favorite hot springs in Colorado. Under a moonless sky, filled with stars and the Milky Way, relaxing in the hot springs, is really the best post-race recovery there is.
So what are my grand takeaways from this race, i.e why did the last 1/3 of the race turn into a death march, much like Moab Red Hot 55K.
There are a few things that probably caused this. I can't definitively point to any one as being the singular reason, but they all probably contributed.
1: Slight cold I had few days before hand. I didn't notice it race day, but it is hard to quantify how that effected my body along with the altitude. See 3 as to how this might have been corrected
2: More important the 1, and probably biggest factor, lack of long runs. Only having a few 15-17 mile runs, covering 2.5-4 hours isn't enough. I thought I could get away with it on this race as the last 9 miles were mostly downhill. But it may have started to catch up to me at 19, 20, 21 miles, before I even got to the downhill.
3: I need to lose the competitiveness. I know I am not going to win any races. I know my talent level. But I still want to do well and I thought I could finish top 10. But my next 50K, I am going to have to put that completely aside and do the first third super easy, even if that means I am 50th. Because I would like to run a race where I pass people the 2nd half as oppose to watching a train of people go by me. When I can finish a 50K running, I know I won't feel good, but running versus death marching, will go along way to figuring out how hard I can go out. In the case of Mt Werner Classic, knowing I was a bit under the weather the few days before, meant I should have been a bit more conservative going out. Instead, I couldn't let go of the top 10 group. I easily let go of the top 3, because they obviously were faster. It was that 2nd group I might also needed to let go as well.
4: Stomach. This obviously was a big problem the last 8 miles. What is hard to quantify is how much it might actually been a factor before that. Was I really digesting everything I took down. I would think gels would get absorbed quickly, but maybe I wasn't actually getting as many calories as I thought. Going forward this is my biggest worry, because it might be the hardest to control. I can run more in training. I can run smarter in races. But if stomach doesn't cooperate, there isn't much I can do. Paying closer attention to diet likely is the biggest key. And taking something like Imodium as a precautionary measure before/during a race might be something else I need to do.
Here all the nitty gritty's of my race, course, profile, splits, pace, etc. http://www.mapmyrun.com/workout/664692481#
Full race results:
http://www.runningseries.com/sites/ssrs.signup4races.com/files/u4/2014_mt._werner_classic_50k_trail_run_-_final_race_results_with_splits.pdf
I would highly recommend Mt Werner Classic. Volunteers are great. Course is nice. Very runnable, not technical, which I like. Wildflowers at the top are beautiful. Nice mix of trees and more open exposed areas. Not amazing alpine views like other courses in Colorado, but still some pretty views. And Steamboat is a cool town, and the hot springs afterwards are huge plus.
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| Running through the wildflowers at mile 24ish. Photo by Joel Reichenberger. |
Next up is Imogene Pass Run in September. I know how to run that. The climb up Mt Werner did give me a good feeling about IPR. That my climbing, for me anyways, is in a good spot. Goal there is to be competitive and finally make the podium in my age group after finishing 4th in my age group each of the three times I have run IPR. It is my favorite race and I look forward to getting back there after not being able to run it for a few years.
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