Ode to Peacocks

Trail Marking, Taper Run and Pot Luck.

Gordon has asked me to post a request for volunteers to mark the Peacock trail this Saturday Morning. We will be dividing up into groups and heading out of the Airport parking lot at 7:00 as usual. We will then meet up back at the airport at about 11:00 for a Pot Luck. All are invited to come and do a bit of trail marking, a light taper run, or more if you wish, and then we will do a Pau Hana to our Peacock training. You don't even need to go up the Kealia to show up for the Pau Hana.

Gordon needs some volunteers to do A. Upper Kealia and Are's Loop B. Gordon's and Lower loop. C. Cross Over to Rock Piles. D: The Kuaokala Makua Ridge from Balls to Stash.

Race Day Note: If you plan to enter the airport prior to 7:00AM you will be required to present current vehicle paper work. (Insurance, registration, inspection). Please check you paperwork prior to race day so you will not have be barred from coming in due to this preannounced idiocy.

Ode to Peacocks

The mountains have been climbed and re-climbed, the long stretches of twisting trails and fire roads have been memorized, the infinite ups and downs have been suffered and the culmination of another running cycle draws near.

Peacocks, which was so recently an audacious experiment, then born an ambitious 54+ miler, morphs into a full-blown madly-rugged 100+ K, and is now upon us! We've crammed in all the training possible and stand waiting, wondering what to do other than be out running hard along the northern ridges of the Waianae. One last chug up the hill perhaps? One last visit to the panoramic vistas we will have little time to appreciate on race day? Maybe, or are we just yielding to the unbreakable habit of over training?

It is always at this particular point in the cycle that each of us asks ourselves the questions, 'Am I truly prepared? Did I do enough? Will I even finish?' And we are forced to look back on our training efforts and draw some conclusion, post some grade, for better or worse, concerning our preparation in meeting the lofty goals we set for ourselves so many months back. Of course, with Peacocks the answer will always be an honest 'No...'. Even Gordon had doubts as he pushed hard on the last real week of training, and was full of questions about his ability as he headed up Kealia for the second time, hoping to get in a hard forty, one last push, making one final 'Gordon would Go' effort to be ready. Gordon has designed a course that is a nasty test of his own proven abilities; the ultimate statement of Peacocks' incredible challenge.

The inability to answer the readiness question in the affirmative, to always have honest doubts about doing well, or even to question one's ability to finish the race, is what makes Peacocks, a world class race and an instant Hawaiian classic. It fits so well into the tradition of the longer Trail Series races. It is the natural next step in the progression from Maunawili, and Triple Trek, the obvious follow-up to the naive question 'What's next?' It is where the real ultra runners appear, and where many have been born. Peacocks has become the Kukaniloko, the birthing stone, of Hawaiian ultra running. It is on the Kealia, the Kuaokala, Cross-Over, and Long Road that runners come to find their ultra souls, discover the enchantment of the long and the difficult, learn to transcend their own doubts, and proudly regard themselves as ultra runners.

A great race course should be stunningly beautiful, and Peacocks flies beyond this boundary. On almost any day it is hard not to stop repeatedly along the winding trail up Kealia and and stare out over the northern ocean broken by humpbacks at play, or look eastward down the white wave lined North Shore coast, or stare at the far reaching verdant valley of the Wahiawa Plain, the cloud shrouded Koolau blue in the distance. It is impossible to concentrate fully on any run when the color of the pacific enchants the eyes and fills the heart with joy, when one's spirit can so easily drift off and float like the gliders that rip by in the wind toward the far horizons. Then, deep in the high hidden valleys one is surrounded in cool verdant greenery and strides through a timeless natural world that brings peacefulness to the soul. Peacocks, our Po'okelanani.

Beauty is the yin, while hardship the yang of a great race. Peacocks mocks any theoretical level of 'necessary ultra difficulty' offering rockbound hardship guaranteed to inflict deep and permanent emotional and physical scars on any ultra runner attempting the course regardless of training or ability.

Most will agree that a great ultra race should have more than one outstanding physical moment, it must offer a pantheon of harshness where the mind is pulled from its fragile hold on reality and thrown to the wind. For Peacocks such moments are highlighted by the extraordinary; the long unending climbs up the switchbacks and red clay roads of Kealia; Kuaokala with its long draining climb up the western ridge lines that begins deep in the bowels of the dark valleys and ratchets ever higher toward the ridge line summit overlooking Makua; the eternal hard hot and dry trek through the endless valleys of the cross-over; the devastating Long Road repeats and their infinite array of terrible turns and awesome vistas; and the winding harshness of Are's Loop with its deceptive closeness to shore, and then its almost vertical upward conclusion. The list could be refined and expanded but the point is made: Peacocks takes your breath away and leaves you in agony time and time again.

Any truly honest attempt at Peacocks challenges the soul, tears up the heart, and can leave the strongest of runners unsteadily wandering the road jibbering incoherently. Peacocks repeatedly releases runners to the lowland shore, only to sadistically claw at their reserves and force them back into the high hills and valleys where it devours goals and exposes illusions. Peacocks ambushes runners from the trail-side undergrowth, slashing at resolution and eviscerating self assuredness with the stone knife of Kukukinimamaunui, the god of ultra running, offering up many a runner as sacrifice to the god. Peacocks can leave the strong and confident crying for their mama's arms, or begging to dance with any devil who promises release from the mountain. Peacocks is the rogue black panther of trail races that can attack you and drag your soul into some tree high on the Makua ridge, there to feast on it for an eon or two.

Long after the race is complete, Peacocks can steal into your night dreams, gnawing at your insides, mocking you for your gutless failures during the race, and unwinding nightmarish memories of dark moments when you saw through the shoddy facade of your life into the terrible truth of your miserable existence and despaired all. You will awake, heart pounding, sweating and drained, still fearful that your failures have doomed you to treading high tails endlessly among the Marchers of the Night.

Very few Hundred Mile Runs can lay claim to such an impressive list of physical challenges, and very few groups other than HURT would seriously consider this a doable 100+K race course. Perhaps it is just our great fortune for extraordinary geography and beauty here on Oahu, but I believe it essentially arises out of the soul of the mountains of Waialua. The Hawaiian warrior spirit still dwells high in the hills and fills the minds and bodies of all who run this course. It fires our competitiveness and ultimately entices us all to meet the seemingly impossible challenges of the race. Our blood surges and the anticipated glory of Hawaiian victory bursts within and we are one with the glorious past. In another moment the aura of the fabled gateway to Milu, the dark afterlife of Hawaiian mythology, which lies deep in high Waialua, slips up on us in the shadowed reaches of the high back valleys. The despair of the dead as they wend unending on their eternal forced march round the dark fires of purgatory, seeps into the souls of all who traverse these mountains: There are times we run Peacocks not to meet a challenge, but because we have simply come to know nothing else. We suffer the run, because on Peacocks we have come to know only running to suffering.

The sun rises glorious on the Waialua mountains and sets mysteriously far beyond them. The heat of the sun and the power of the warriors' challenge, the dark loneliness of the moonless night and the desperate weariness of the doubtful survivor, lies before us. In one instant we run hard and victorious with Hawaiian knights gloriously meeting all challenges, in the next we push painfully and wearily on alone, fleeing the shuffling dead and their insistent whispers to join them. In either moment the experience of Peacocks is a reflection of the magnificent spirit of these mystical mountain ridges and valleys. We, the living, simply give life to past energies and a reflection on the meaning and power of our beloved island world

The fact is that you can flee to an isolated cave in the distant hills and meditate for years on the your place in this existence, or you can actually commit to suffering through your best effort at Peacocks; in either case you will find humility and walk away with a greater understanding of the meaning of the next of life's breaths. It is said the way to heaven leads through the center of hell. If true, then Peacocks is the Ultra runners trail to transcendence.

Peacocks. An Hawaii race. And until mush brained clowns ruin it, Our race.

In Praise of Youth

Note:  I've been letting this site drag a bit.  I have never been good at journals, though I have been writing.  I'll try and post most of the stuff here, if only so that I can see it all collected in one place.

This is a piece that I did for the weekly HURT training post.

In Praise of Youth

I slogged the western hills this past week-end for the first time in weeks. Injury has had a hold on me, and I have been plagued by aches and pains and was reluctant to go out because there is nowhere on this island where a runner can meet with weakness more directly than on the edgy cliffs and slopes of the northern Waianae range. Unfortunately for us all, Gordon has developed a penchant for the edge, and much of his selected route for the up coming 100K is steeply up, or, for me at least, ever more steeply down.

I found myself running with old friends; Bob McAlester and Rex Vlcek, and it struck me somewhere along the cross-over while pushing to keep up, that I was the newbie. Both Bob and Rex have been around HURT for very long times, and have scores of races and unnumbered volunteer venues to their credit. I've been running with, against, and with the assistance of each of them for as long as I have been on HURT trails.

When running with old buddies it is not uncommon that the chatter will dwell for a time on injuries, healing, rehab, and hopes for the future. We have all been injured, missed months of training, and come back after hard fought mending of our bodies. It's a constant effort. This Ultra stuff is physically demanding and takes a toll on older bodies, but the hard fact is that the mental toughness so necessary for ultra running is not something that is learned well among the younger crowd. Ultra running poses the conundrum of benefiting from age's mental toughness, while punishing age's physical weaknesses; a destructive and somewhat masochistic brew.

Proof of such is easily verified, for if you have been an ultra runner for any length of time you can count at least a few faces that are no longer with you when you hit the trails. And as you get farther along you are bound to miss a few good friends. Of course, some, Rex, Bob, and I among them, have been fortunate to reappear on the trails and push on for a while longer. But there are those who never come back out, or who never seem to make it back onto the trails for any length of time, and who fade from the pantheon of Regulars.

Runners often rue these departures with 'group-hug' levels of sadness, and though individually one may honestly rue the loss of a good running buddy, on the group emotional level the feelings often seem a bit more coarse, and often have a perverse attitudinal inflection that attributes someone's lasting injury to weakness, or worse, failure of will. Perhaps it makes it easier on the tribal mind if fallen breatheren leave us through the subtle accusation of a lack of determination to strive, rather than the more truthful facts of their physical breakdown.

The deception not only allows surviving runners to avoid the truth of injury but also permits survivors to assume the unmerited mantle of toughness, while at the same time humbly laying claim to having more of 'what it takes', all the while avoiding the cruel fact that little more than fortune and blind luck are the primary factors deciding runner's futures. Such myth is a product of the cultural organism and is fabricated to promote its survival as it comes to understand that truth, the antitheses of myth, is no friend of cultural existence. We communally delude ourselves because it is the only way we can continue to rationalize our own self destructiveness.

The weakness that causes us to demonize injury and mythologize simple luck, also runs amok in our attitudes toward aging. The mantra is that we are as perpetually young as we choose to be, that we reach our goals through good training and mental strength, and that given enough training and will power we will continue to be high achievers far out toward the event horizon. Good training is the salve that cures all ills. If one falters, applying more good training will mend the problem.

The fact that we are all navigating sinking ships is rarely honestly addressed. Instead we aggrandize the most foolish or physically adept, or both, and heap praises on those who possesses the most fleeting of qualities; speed. True, on any given day, speed is the easiest identifier of success. But a static measure makes little sense from the point of view of the individual human body since speed is destined to decline quickly over time. None-the-less as a group we are fixated on time, on bettering our own times, and on always using time as the intrinsic marker of success. Unfortunately time has a back side, and all of us are constantly facing that too, as blind to it as we may choose to be. In our unwillingness or inability to face one problem, declining times caused by aging, we create another problem, severe injury caused by the self deluded belief that we are just as fast and capable as we once were. We are not, and failure to realize you are getting older will ultimately ruin your running day.

As you may have guessed by this point, I have little to say in praise of youth. Quite frankly I'm ambivalent with regard to those who may lay claim to experiencing that period in their present lives. I neither praise nor disparage them. But the idea that older men and women can reclaim or hold on to youth is an absurdity that is, in my opinion, very destructive. That it is an entrenched aspect of our running culture makes it even more so.

So the next time you hit a section that you used to romp up or down, take heed. Things have changed since the last time you ventured out and it may pay to listen to your body just a bit more and a little less to the joyful 'I am always young!' voice of your soul. The truth is that your soul is a self deluding butterfly, while your body is fixed in the reality of this world; the very place where the trails run toward the horizon. If you wish that story book run into the sunset then you best listen to what will get you there.

Run Long, Run Hard, but not necessarily fast........ Aloha, Mikem ;)

Running with Friends.

It is often hard, when you get into the training mode to remember that one of the best things about 'running' the trails is the chance to spend time with good friends. Conversation out there in the midst of the rain forest often progresses at a relaxed pace and as the trail permits. This often means that people have time to think and reflect before responding. It means better and deeper communication than one might obtain over a cup of coffee or amidst the gang at the start line of a race.

But like I said you have to weigh the costs of communication against the costs of training. Old friends, and in my case that has come to mean the upper echelon of the HURT gang, are often less likely to be 'on pace' as you head up the Hogback and somewhere along Roots and Rocks you may have to make a decision: Am I training hard, or am I running with a good friend? As one who habitually takes the back of the pack position on race day it is hard for me to do the switch. Others, like Fish, have developed a truly benevolent character, and do it regularly. But the point is that often training with friends requires some decision making.
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PR comes alive

Well, I guess the kind of training that I feel most comfortable with, the kind of training that I can fit in during the late afternoon, the kind of training that doesn't require I drive to the other side of the island, is actually paying off.

Went out with Fish to do a HURT loop this morning. We did the turn, hit three balls and I knew there was something different about the day as I stared down at 3:10 where it has been about 4:oo. We pushed up the HOGBACK and I felt good, and it wasn't until we hit Tree Forts that Fish began to harangue me to get me to do the last hundred yards as well as I had done the previous. It worked and we hit the top of Hogsback in 15:25. A PR, but hell every section was going to turn into a PR so just let that be understood.
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Running Everyday

I've been out on the trails everyday now for the past two weeks. I'm getting in about 5 to 9 miles per day. Mostly HURT trails, the first section of up Hogsback, Crossover, up Makiki Valley to Nahuina, and then up Concretes. I come back which ever way seems to suit me at the time. That includes a retrace, down the back and east or west along Manoa Cliffs, and up and down the Makai slice of Pu'uohia trail back to the road. Today I went out and did a midday Round Top, cross-over and home. Good Psudo-Peacock training.

I was out of commission for a while, and this daily two hours seems to be helping me get back into it. But I got to admit that it is a slow recovery, and it does not look like I am going to be able to do the '61 days of HURT' for my 61st birthday. I don't know if that will ever be a reality. But in its stead I am working doing a highly scaled back 61st observance. It will be a bit of Whimp I must admit, but it is something. I'm going to do a 100K run each month (61+miles) over the course of the year. This will be a bit more manageable. In conjunction with this I plan to volunteer at the hospice either 6 hours a week or perhaps as much as 61 hours a month. I have to think about the logistics on that one. But I will be volunteering considerably more than I have been over the past years. I'm more effective as a volunteer than a contribution magnet.
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Elbows is Gone

Stole this poem from the HURT site.




Elbows Is Gone




Elbows is gone!
She lays lonely
down the gritty black slope.
The tree missing an arm
Looks lopsided,
Forlorn.
No longer intimidating;
Lost perhaps.
Its purpose shorn.

One more dread
Disappears
As Ahuilama is
Slowly tamed.

There was that rooty
Always wet section
With more technical ground
Than most 100’s.
They cut all the trees
It dried out and became easy.
I still breath
a sigh of relief.
Fell there five times
loop three in 2005.

They chopped
The spider webs in
The tangles
Of the river of roots
Down near the Banyans.
Went down hard there once
And the dread still rises
like bile to the back of my throat.
Almost runable now.

Huffer cleared out
That nasty bit
Of roots and rocks just below concrete posts.
Years back now.
I slipped there once.
My body still whines
Even as I skip down
The easy steps.

Saw a man in a leg cast
Trying to get up
Manoa Falls Trail today
“You know I’d think about this,”
I cautioned.
He ignored me,
moved slowly along on crutches.
Will complain when he breaks
The other leg,
Demanding more gravel,
a bull dozer perhaps.
Visitor safety is imperative!!
Morons making rules.

Do we need to schedule a
Trail unimprovement day?
Work back toward more
Trail personality?

I’d say I’m just getting old
But that makes no sense.
The black hole
Of the Trails
Has consumed me,
Spit me out.
I wander paths that are
Inverted mirror images
Of my shadowy memories.

But they cut down Elbows!
Elbows who let me
Flirt with danger
A couple times a loop
What is there to fear now high up
On this mundane Ahuilama?

And Elbows,
She lies there down the slope
As lost and forlorn
As I feel staring down at her.


Kalapu Ulavale

HURT 2010 Personal Stats

HURT 100

Statistics for Mike M.

...................N-P..P-J...J-N.......Total
Loop 1 2:03 1:38 2:21 6:02
Loop 2 2:39 1:30 2:22 6:31
Loop 3 2:35 1:59 2:23 6:57
Loop 4 3:21 2:05 2:30 7:56
Loop 5 2:47 1:53 2:16 6:56


Averages 2:41 1:49 2:22 6:52 34:22

(The formatting is difficult and I have given up.)

Well there is the raw data. Looking at it I have the following comments. If you keep in mind that the aid station stops are included in the NEXT loop then it obvious that my stops are difficult. Secondly the Nature Center is the worst.

I think what I need is one bag with just the essentials. Electrolytes, Muscle Milk, Lube, Lights. I started getting the staff to do my water, but even that can be a hassle if they don't know what they are doing.

I have to admit that I am often confused when coming in, but unlike a raw stash the aid stations are filled with very well meaning people who won't stop asking you stupid questions. I forgot to lube up at least twice, and that after I was busy trying to answer somebody's questions and forgot my emergency jar I always carry.

I am not complaining. I think the trick is to get the routine down better so I can get in and get out. I could have saved an hour of total race time with easy five minute short cuts in the aid station.

The short comings aside I believe I did much better than I ever expected to do. My new routines such as Muscle Milk on the heights, Blocks, low sugar, ice water, all seemed to aid me in maintaining my mental and physical acuity much longer than I have done in the past. Another factor was the Beano which I took to avoid gastric problems. It worked. I have run too many races with a gut full of gas and pain, or forced off the trail. There is an hour right there.

Of course having been out on those trails for 60 hours in much worse conditions just gives me a much better understanding of the problems I have to deal with while out on the trail.

The training, Many hundreds of miles of long slow jogging and walking, followed by faster 20 mile pacing loops, followed by even faster sectional pacing loops, gave me an understanding of the trail and the tasks I had to accomplish. Going up the first hill was often either a red flag or a caution just because I knew where I had to be at that moment to get where I wanted to go at the required time. If you know the terrain you can push the flats and light slopes and gain time if necessary.

100 mile running is a moving meditation. You need to be aware of every moment. Lose that awareness and you will either slow down, fall, or go too fast and injure yourself. You must always be in the moment. It is as hard as a long vippassana sit. The best thing you can do is put your head down and work on making the next step the best one you have ever taken. Don't look up at the heights, or whine, just head down and take your best step.

As I have said in the previous post, the weather was stunning. Dry, cool, and sunny. There was almost no mud on the trails. A few of the seeps were moist, but everything else was hard ground. I went down a few times, once quite hard, but it was inattention, not a slip.

I ended up with some knee soreness, I won't call it pain. I have blisters on my feet and some raw spots on my ankles from an old pair of socks that seemed to have shrunk a bit. I have some blisters, but nothing I wouldn't expect after the last loop where I ran too fast too far. On the trails I kept it together. I didn't bonk, didn't tighten-up, didn't hallucinate much, kept my electrolytes under control and maintained.

The journey for these races is in the preparation. I will remember this year for all the Runs that Rex, I, and a lot of good friends did over the past months. Getting out into the hills above Honolulu is always a treat, but to be able to visit many wonder places again and again was a wonderful gift from the spirits of the trails.

Like Rex said. It is just a foot race. I agree completely. But I also feel a good deal of satisfaction about the time, and the fact that I kicked some ass on the last loop. No body else over sixty finished the race, though Gary Marr at 58 tore up the course and came in almost an hour in front of me.

The End of HURT Training is on the Horiizon

At the 'Bench' on the Grassy Knoll above Nu'uanu.

I've been training so much I've been too tired to care about posting to a blog that very few people read, even if it is my diary of the trails. As you can see on the running log to the right of the text I have been out on the trails a few times a week for the last few months. After the 60 hour birthday run Rex and I have done a 60 miler, a 12 hours of Hogsback, another 60 miler, and numerous 20 milers for speed, mixed in with some shorter 10 to 15 miles runs for speed and timing. It has been a long hard process. A process that basically comes to an end about a week from now and a few days before the HURT 100.

Rex, Jan, and Ernst on Last 20 of Training Season at Paradise Stash

Today's run was not for speed, we are both kind of beat up and it seemed to make no sense in pushing too hard. But even with our relaxed pace we were putting down times that are very good and well within the realm of the times we want to be clocking during the HURT. We managed to make it to the three-way at Pauoa Flats in under 60, the bench in about 75, and then did an down and out of Nu'uanu in under 90 minutes. Even in its disjointed order the times speak of a 6:30 or so. Its about what we want to be doing, and if we can do it at a hard pace, rather than a run, then we have achieved our goals. (The opportunity to run, or need to, if the case may be, is there but it takes about 40 percent greater effort and produces only minutes of time savings on each section. Yes it adds up, but the toll on the body is just too great. Better to be smart and go slower at a good hard race walk.

People thought I was nuts when I decided to do the 60 hours of HURT for my birthday run, and Don got down right nasty with me when I decided to do another 60 two weeks later. By the time we did the Hogsback 12 hour night run he had quieted down, and after the last sixty he just gave me a pat on the back and told me I was a lot more crazy and capable than he had thought. Of course the proof will be in the 100 miles we run on the 16 and 17 of January.

The trails are in great shape, so I am expecting a hell of a storm in the week before the run. That's OK, I did three nights of rain on the 60 hour run. It was as cold and wet as I have seen up there on the ridges. It didn't stop us then and I don't see it making much of a difference if it does. Times will suffer of course, but that's just the was it is.

I wish everyone a Happy New Year. Get out and run a bit, or at least walk.

Another Hurt Loop for Speed

Rex and I have altered our training approach. We are now working on Speed rather than distance. This mean mostly hard 20 milers and shorter runs over ground we will be running in the HURT. The goal is to get the times down so it becomes natural to push at desired paces over important ground.

We are climbing the Hogsback in sub 20's, doing the run to the three way at Center in 30, and making the top of Tantalus road by the upper 40's. This gives us the ability to hit the map room by 1:20 or less; a pace that carries us down to Paradise in 2:00, and back up to the bench at the grassy knoll in 3:00. The goal is do a down and up of Jack-ass by 4:20 or less. That puts us in line to do a 5:30 or so if we decide to run the downs back to Nature Center.

This is way beyond the race pace I intend but it is good to know I can do this pace if I need to. For a while there I was wondering if I could break 7:00. These sub-sixes are a real confidence booster as far as speed is concerned. Doing sub-sevens over three loops now seems entirely possible while just a few weeks ago I was not so sure I could do it.

We plan a half dozen of these over the next few weeks, and that will be the end of the training.

Night at Peacocks

I headed out toward Dillingham before the Friday afternoon rush hour fouled the roads and brought the flow of traffic to a standstill. Made it there in less than an hour and with surprisingly easy driving.

Moving along the bottom of long road by 4:10, I was hoofing it up the quickly sloping road with an extra gallon of water on my back. The going was slow, very slow at first, and the longer and higher the trudge the heavier that extra gallon became. If you have not had the pleasure of doing long road I have to tell you that the first mile is pretty flat, and the 1 mile marker sits at the base of a large tree that marks the first real steep. But the road is wide and smooth asphalt making it just a 'dig-in and do it' kind of up. Farther up, at the 1.5 mile marker the road moves through a gate and becomes narrower, older, and rougher, as it turns into the first valley. There the trees get a little taller at the sides of the road offering small patches of shade in the afternoon sun, false promises of relief from the humid warmth that rises off the old asphalt and the heat of the late afternoon sun. Moving toward the back of the valley the road hair-pins and heads up once again on the first of a long succession of switchbacks.

Its a bit deceptive, at first the road slopes up a bit more, but the sky opens up again as one turns out of the narrow valley and the view is of the ocean and the greenery of the coastal plain, the climb is steeper but there is sense of relief in being able to look out and away from the enclosing valley. In less than 2 miles the road probably rises 500 feet, but most of that is in the second mile. Then the switch-backs start up the western side of the valley wall and all calculations are thrown out the window as one begins to face an increasingly steep wall of asphalt.

The second switchback is the longest, hardest section. It must be a quarter of a mile long, with a surface that deteriorates quickly into a patchwork of forgotten lost budget cuts. Near the bottom there are often long fans of loose gravel which have collected during the heavy rains that hit the area on occasion. These patches are a problem going up, and dangerous coming down--a slide through one of these can do serious work on a knee. But the all pervasive fact about the second switch back is its stamina sapping, seemingly unending steepness. It quickly becomes an up that demands a momentary respite, a breather, a moment of bent over agony, as the body scrambles to cope with the sudden rush of a stark breathless reality. As one makes the hot rugged climb one is quickly convinced there could be nothing worse in life than pushing up these switchbacks, and this long second one to be most precise. It is always a bad omen to find oneself looking up and praying for an end, but it is, for me at least, inevitable on the long steep second switch, and by the time one finally sees the turn one has usually been defeated by that stretch of road, and one makes the turn slowly, humbled and thankful to be done with it.

'How can anything else be as bad?' is the thought that rings true, as one makes the turn with the feeling that the worst is behind, heart throbbing relief, and a prayer that the lungs can last a few more minutes. But the road is remorseless, sadistically coy, and after a brief flattering moment, when one wrongly assumes the hill is pretty much history, the road twists and turns upward once again. The grade is almost as steep, but the view is out toward the open ocean where cool breezes blow lightly over the dark waters. But the only water one feels in the hot late afternoon light is the sweat pouring off  one's head and dripping from arms and hands. The road wiggles like a nasty snake, threatening to strike, causing the heart rate to climb and a the breath to become shallow and quick. Somewhere deep in the back of one's mind the crying voice of a child is heard protesting the need to go on, the need to feel so bad. One soothes the angst, but to no avail, moving on despite the nagging cries of an evidently poorly trained spirit.

If one has not been numbed by the disapointment of hard training one may find the need to see the next turn as essential. It is a deceptive turn as it moves around the ridge into a long bowl of the next valley. I don't know why I always look forward to making that turn. Perhaps it's because it opens into a fresh place, another valley that promises something different. It's a false hope. It takes years of going up Long Road before one  admits that it doesn't get any less steep after the turn into the upper valley, and even after too many climbs it is hard to admit it is not less steep, that once one has made the turn it will not be better. But it's not really, and the grade continues close to 15 to 20 degrees. However the road surface is not as bad on that last stretch and the footing is better. So perhaps it can be said that it gets easier, even though any reasonable honest individual would have to say that it is no less steep than the switch backs.

One can see by this description that on the upper reaches of Long Road most thoughts are of the road. How far to go, where it might not be as steep, where one can catch a break and recover a bit of breath, where it would be good to take some water without puking. One may look out over the valley, or toward the ocean, but it is never with much appreciation, never in awe of the beauty or the stunning views. No, one looks out of blankly focused eyes, stinging with sweat, only to refocus the vision on the road, lower one's head, and grind ever so slowly up the hill.

When the road finally does bend around to the right and the gate becomes a promise rather than a myth, one is always defeated, spent, and breathing rapidly and painfully. The legs are jell-O and the back is aching, vision may even be harmonic, vibrating to the pulse of a heart that seems ready to explode. And even then the gate is only a promise, even then one is moving up through belief the end is near, not the reality that it actually is. Then, when finally there is a sight of the gate there is no celebration, no cheering, often not even a feeling of relief. On most occasions one does not even have the strength to remark about it; simply ducking unsteadily through the bars of the gate and standing there wondering how one made it, and if disintegration now follows.

But this is Peacocks, and this is just the beginning. There is the long Cross-over and then the steep down into Dillingham followed by an up that is perhaps more steep than the one one has just negotiated. But its too far away, to long to think about and the knowledge that the next 200 yards is down hill is sufficient as one  stumbles on looking forward, if nothing else, to a different kind of pain.

Night Run

Devon called me Sunday morning to ask me about the Triple Trek and tell me he was going to do a night run. We talked about it and decided to try at least a Manoa-Nature Center-return and maybe more depending on how we felt. I have not done much night running, with the exception of those few evening runs that ran late so it seemed a good chance to get back into it. We agreed to meet at Manoa around 8:00pm.

It had rained on and off most of Sunday in the valley so I was expecting some mushy conditions. It was slippery along the Falss trail but the mud level was not bad and we made the falls fairly quickly. My calf was tight and I had told Devon I would be walking most of it. That seemed to agree with him. The Ahuilama up the back of Manoa Valley was its usual succession of mud pits. And after the initial dancing around the least of them we were forced to get good and muddy at that long deep trench in the midst of the bamboo. It began to rain heavy as we made our way up the trail and before we hit the Switchbacks we were soaked.

Ahuilama is not in great shape. It need to be worked on badly, but all in all it was passable and better than I had expected. The trenches are deeper and there seem to be more rocks littering the trail--all evidence of bad water management--but the biggest fallen trees were cut and we made good progress up to the concrete posts and slide. The last set of switchbacks were good, though the area around elbows is pretty steep and needs to be graded again.

The ginger was in full bloom and the night air was filled with the sweet aroma of white and yellow gingers. Some of the last of the night Jasmine was also in bloom and it added to the heavy fragrence of the evening. We made it to the Pie Stand at the top in about 55, and pushed on. Niether of us were up for a full HURT loop when we hit the cut-off for Nu'uanu and we agreed to head toward the Nature Center via Manoa Cliffs. Near the top of the cut-off we ran into another fragrance that just about put us to sleep. The Kahili ginger was in bloom along that little pocket of wetness near the top. I have never been out at night when it as in bloom. Sweeter than Olena. Amazing. Devon and I hovered around the blossoms like bees after honey. ( I was happy to find my nose is coming back a bit. I could not get a full close up sniff of the flower to register much, but the ambient smell a few feet back came to me pretty strong. I guess all the time on the trails is having a positive effect on my nose.)

We briefly hit rain along Manoa Cliffs, and then things calmed down. The moon couldn't break through much but the trail is good and I have done the reverse direction enought times recently that it was not problem. I was a bit surprised by the climb up into the straberry quava though. How easy it is to forget the ups when all you have been doing is the downs. The drop down Moleka, the cross-over and the Center trail all went well. We hit the Nature Center around 2:20.

We turned around and headed out just abut 2:30. Hogsback was a bitch. I was a bit tight from the rest and found the climb hard. But we pushed on and by the time we got up Roots and Rocks I was feeling better. The downlines often worked on the up and we hit the bench at the top in 24 something. No great shakes but a respectible time none the less. The climb up Mangos and Nahuina was hard but good and we hit the road around 1:05. Again, a decent under 7:00 HURT pace. The backside of Kalawahine was filled with ginger and it was intoxicating. We reached the Mapcase in about 1:40 or so. I'm not sure why we slowed. That area coming up the Cliffs trail switchbacks is pretty overgrown, so it was a bit slow going.

Devon wanted to get a picture of the Kahili, so we took a little time going down the cut-off to find a good bloom. Then it was a good push to the flats and toward the Pie Stand. Devnon and I have both been up on top during bad rains storms and we spent some time comparing our 'how much water' stories. The entire Flats can go under water and it doesn't pay to try and get down the trails on anyside if its been raining hard. I've seen the Cliffs trail flooded and running with waterfalls, I was down the Nu'uanu section with Judy last year and it was hair raising at times. Both of us have seen the Ahuilama in full rush. Given a choice we agreed that though the experiences were great they were not something either of us would knowingly repeat.

The going down the back of Manoa was slippery and slow at times. We slowed a bit and didn't get out until the clock had ticked by 3:00 hours I believe. I was a bit disapointed with the time on the return. I usually look at a 2:30 as the goal. A three is more of a 7:00+ pace. But it was slippery in the back of Manoa, and neither of us were up for a fast pace down the falls trails. All in all it was a good night run.

To the Bench in sub-30

I ran into Gordon on the way to the Nature Center. We had different work-outs planned but we started the run together spending some time talking a bit. It's like oil and water really. Gordon has a seemingly slow, never wavering gait that is a match for all but the best runners in the ultra distance. I can move up a hill pretty well, but lose it on the flats, and am useless on the downs.

I hit my stop watch at the bridge and we walked the first few hundred yards, over the two bridges, and up toward where the green curtain used to hang. We hit the real trail and started to move a bit. At the top of water pipes I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it saying 7 something. I dropped into gear and started to attack the hill. My goal was to go to the top of Manoa Cliffs, but I could feel the late meal churning in my gut, so I just decided to go-for-it until I lost energy. I had Gordon pushing to keep up a bit, but I knew it was an illusion.

We hit the big bend at about 17 something, and I felt we had made up some time for the walking, but I could hear Gordon moving along behind me just fine, so I kept pushing up foot prints, the washboard and toward rooty-run. At the top at Smokies my watch said something in the low twenties. We moved fast down Easies, and made the turn up shorts. Twisters was dark and muddy, the roots and rocks glistening in the reflected light of late afternoon. I attacked the staircases and pushed up them hitting most of the plastic risers. We came up to the bench at about 28:50. A good run.

I was not in good shape; bent over wheezing and gagging. Gordon was fine. "I'm just going to do my pace." he said as kind of an apology for leaving me there, and off he went toward Moleka. I pushed to keep up with him but he was gone before I could figure out what had happened. I'd done what I came out to do, perhaps not getting as high up as I'd liked but it was OK. I'd pushed my heart-rate to the max, and had cleared out my lungs a bit. It was a good effort.

Jogging after Gordon for a while, my heart finally went out of the run. I had an appointment at 6:30, so I headed back down. I spent some time on Hogback trying to find a better downward line. Not a bad day.

Out the Hard Highway....

On the Road Again....

1. Looking back along Kalaniana'ole toward Diamond Head

2. Up the Lighthouse Road.

Its been a while since I was on the roads, or at least it seems that way. I did do that 40 up the Haleakela a few weeks ago, but that was mostly uphill and it isn't the same as running along Kalanianeole out toward Hawaii Kai. Lots more concrete and the ground is almost flat at 10 feet above sea level.

I left the house at about 6:15 headed for Makapu'u, walking fast and listening to my body complain about the time and place. It was slow, as my time checks were putting me farther and farther behind the paces I have set previously over the same ground. But its been a while and I was not interested in 'sprinting' out the starting gate. But I hit the top of the hill in Kaimuki along Waialae Avenue and I was 20 minutes behind my one-hour pace marker. I started pushing a bit figuring I could make up some ground along the bottom of Waialae and out onto Kalanianeole. I did, and for the first few miles of the road toward Hawaii Kai I was making an impressive pace. I looked at my watch and realized that I could be into Hawaii Kai under 2 hours if I kept up the pace.

But things have a way of changing fast and moving slow. I started to notice that the fast jog was starting to remind me of problems I used to have when I was running this stretch with Don when he was getting ready for Bad Water. My knee was hurting, and I was beginning to feel that nagging ache in my right hip. My piriformus was muttering nasty things and my left foot was starting to pick up some pain in the ball of my big toe. I backed off a bit, changed the pace, walked, ran some more, and continued to vary it as much as I felt I needed. But it was all over as far as the running was concerned and I knew I was going to have to walk long and steady to pace myself out of the spasms that had set in on me.

The two hours into Hawaii Kai evaporated. I was at the Lunalilo Home Road turn by 2:30 or so. I pushed on and was shaking my head as I remembered that I had often been to the top of the hill by this time on other occasions. Somewhere down near the Fire Station Don passed me in his car. I figured he'd pull over and give me a lift. I was looking for one! But instead he said something inane like 'I'll meet you at the Park!" and sped off. The park was over a mile away. I adjusted my pace and pushed on. 15 minutes later I rounded the corner at the light and saw Don coming down the hill. We greeted, discussed the plan, and decided to head over to Makapu'u. He was parked in the school yard and I was not comfortable with that. He is a presentable kind of guy, but I figured I'd be picked up for sure if I was caught hanging out near an elementary school. Better to just move the car and run somewhere else.

We headed over to Makapu'u and did some repeats. It was an overcast day, with calm seas. The first time up we didn't spot any whales, and a lady we met remarked that she never saw whales on calm days. The next time up and down we saw a half dozen whales. They must have been waiting for that woman to leave the hill.

So in the end I did about 12 miles for the day. I felt pretty good. The pains from the hard highway ebbed and my legs snapped back well. It was what I was hoping for.

Recovery

Out on the Kalawahine Trail.

One Definintion of Kalawahine is Cleansing Rain.

Well, the hallucinations have ebbed, and the periods of coma like inactivity have passed. I have managed to scrub the dirt off most of my appendages and the blisters are not as bad as I had feared when they were burning the bottoms of my feet. I still have GI problems, but I always have those, and for some reason nobody is the least bit interested in hearing about them.

I feel relatively good, I have some knee pain I do not like, but I will go easy for a few weeks. I am coming back into the world. The endorphin bath is always quite blissful, even with the tremendous pain and hardship it takes to get there.

loop 1: 5:59:00 Being Really Stupid actually slowed on last section to rest.
loop 2: 7:05:00 Minor Bonk coming into Paradise (chills/sweats, loss of balance)
loop 3: 8:11:00 Major Stop sock change, bonk (20 minutes) Loop run all in the dark
loop 4: 7:34:00 Gut Cramping (15 minutes slowing)
loop 5: 7:01:00 Gut Cramping (30+ minutes-- almost put me out. I just walked through it.)

35:50:00

I'm wondering what I can do next.

We who about to die, salute you!

Well I am not about to die, nor do I need to pay homage to a mad emperor, but the days are gone and the hours are fleeing, and the HURT 2009 is upon us.

I have trained well, I believe I have prepared well, and I am ready to meet the trails for as long as it takes to do five loops. It will be wet, cold, slippery, and unpleasant. But that is what it is. I have my idea of how to do it and that is the plan I will stick to.

Time now to simply do what needs to be done for the next 48 hours.

Kuli'ou'ou Revisited

Kuli'ou'ou Ridge

Don and I walked the lower reaches of Kuli'ou'ou today. My back is still tight and he is just beginning to feel ready to return to running. So a nice walk was in order. It was good to talk to Don, good to hear about his trip with Heather to Canada, and good to talk about my HURT plans. We took it slow going up the switchbacks toward the bench.

Kuli'ou'ou Ridge Trail. View down Kuli'ou'ou Valley to MaunaLua Bay.

We made our way up the first steep section, but the second one, that is full of roots caused me to call a halt to our ascent. I just did not want to slip and fall on my ass on the way down. Given my stiff back and the extra clumsiness that would instill in me, I just thought it best to turn around. A second day of going out with old buddies and being pretty flaky on the trails. But then I am doing, or planning on doing a 100 in just over a week.

A Hike Along the Old Pali Road

Along the Old Pali Road

I called Pete this afternoon as the wind was down and I figured he was already burned out working. I was right. We met at the Pali Lookout parking lot an hour later. I didn't want to do much as I screwed up my back with that bottle pack a few days ago. I'm stretching things out and trying to walk upright now. So we walked down the the old road, and ducked under the new highway to continue the old road stroll. It was pleasant. The weather was shifting from cloudy and rain to sunshine. We didn't get too wet or too cold and didn't have to fight the sun either.

Pete has been spending most of his time wind surfing. He filled me in on his exploits and showed me a new web sight that monitors the winds. He can key into Kailua Beach, set a minimum average speed and the site will page him when the speeds have exceeded that average for a set number of minutes. Pretty neat.








The Pali Trail, Kailua-side.Drawing from Fisquet,

Voyage of the Bonite, 1836. Courtesy Hawai‘i State Archives.

We walked down the old road and actually found a set of older roads near the bottom where the Kailua branch intersects the New Pali Highway. It looks like they improved the old forties road and cut off a switchback in the fifties. There was also another smaller road the branched off the old Pali road and headed back toward the eastern side of the hill, where the new road now runs. That must have been the access road to the Seminary which is now accessed via the new road. It has been there for a long time. It needed an access road to Kailua before the new road went in. Interesting to find all this.

We hiked back up the hill to the Pali Overlook. On the way up Pete found a small Jackson's Chameleon Lizard, not more than a week or two old. It is one of those moving kind with the horns. It was the color of the road it was crawling across. He picked it up and put it in the bushes where it likely perished from having to find its way back out onto the road again.

We finished up the hike by going to the Big City Diner and drinking vast quantities of beer and eating large plates of Pupu. Pete showed me his 'Star Gazer', some computerized piece of junk that he is thrilled with. He has been trying to convince me of the value of this 'As seen on TV' item for at least six months. I finally got to see it today and have to admit that it is a bigger piece of shit than I had feared it would be. The only thing it could find was the moon, and that was because I was slappin my ass and screamin "over here Clowno!" really loudly so he had to point it toward me. (In all fairness, on a later date we went down to Kailua Beach and it is a really neat little piece of electronics.)

It was a good walk, my back feels much better, though anything should feel better after a few 24 ounce stines. We stayed around to watch Ohio State, Pete's old school, finish up against Texas. The only thing that failed more miserably than the Buckeyes was that electronic piece of junk Pete calls a star gazer.

First New Year Run over Well Worn Trails

I was going nuts at home listening to a hard rock station and doing core training when I finally decided to call Fish and find out what he was doing. He called me back about an hour later and it turned out he was ready for a run too. We agreed a tener was all we could handle and set a 4:30 PM meet time below the water tank. Fish was waiting for me when I showed up before 4:30.

We hadn't even entered the park area near the trail head and it was obvious it was wet up there. The ground was a muddy plain where usually it was hard packed. I had opted to wear a hip bottle pack, which seemed a good idea considering we were only doing a ten miler. But it was already giving me problems. Bottle packs take me a while to get used to and I am always rash to just throw one on and go running. This was proving to be the case and I could feel my glutes tightening even as we headed across the bridge an onto the trail.

The heavy rains had seeped onto the grounds and were now finding their way out at lower elevations. There were small seeps, mud holes, and small flowing wisps of water all along the trail. It was a mess. Broadway, which is usually dry, was almost like Pauoa Flats, and it wasn't until we reached the end and made the turn at three balls, the beginning of the upward trail, that it finally dried out a bit. It was muddy all the way up the hogback, even in places that are usually dry. But we made good time regardless and hit the top in 17.

I was over the edge, past the bench and down onto the staircases quickly and trying to play that game between running and stressing my tendons to early into the run. Staircases always does that the first time through. We crossed the bridge at the bottom and headed up Twisters, the mud making the going a bit slippery. There was a group coming down and we weaved our way between them reciting the 'thank you ' mantra. We hit the top, dropped into Gingers and passed a another couple who were walking the course. I began to run a bit up into Easy's and was feeling good, but I could tell the bottle pack had been a bad idea. Coming down Rooty Run my ass started to tighten, and then my back spasmed. By the bottom I was telling Fish that I needed to cruise a bit to see if I could work out the spasm.

I was hurting as we started up Mango's and I was looking for a place to lie down and adjust my back. We made the first turn and I found a place where the ground cover was thicker than the mud and lay down and tried to pop myself into a straighter stance. It worked a bit. We moved on, and I adjusted the bottle pack a bit to take the weight off my right hip. It was muddy in the upper reaches as well. The old pig ruts were thick with mud; it's been years since I saw them like this. Farther on the flushes, seeps, and rills were working and the ground along the trail was at best soft, with deep mud in many places. We just ran through the slop.

The late afternoon was working into early evening and the birds were active along the trail; many of them reluctant to give us right of way as they foraged along the watery flows. The sun was far in the west, lighting up the lower landscape but casting the western slopes of Makiki valley in shadows. We pushed up the hillside, making time where we could, and hit Tantalus at just over fifty minutes. A good showing.

Kalawahine was aglow in the late day sun. The trails were wet, and many places showed the effects of the heavy rains of the early week. We pushed on at a fast jog, fast walk, and occasional run. I was feeling a bit better, adjusting the bottle pack now and then to alleviate the pain in my back.

Half-way down the trail we spotted a dog. The beast was heading out on the same trail we were running in on. Unfortunately we spooked it, and it took off ahead of us retracing its footsteps. Fish rued its fate. Dogs that get lost up along the trails have short lives. Hunting dogs are never well fed, and a few days off their feed and they are weak. A dog that goes a few days on the trails will likely weaken and end up being eaten by the pigs. A cruel reversal of how things are supposed to go. We ran the trail looking for signs of the dog, but it was spooked and just took off down the trail. We made the turn at the bottom of Manoa Cliff's hoping that it would try to retrace its steps and get out at the Kalawahine trail head.

It was wet and muddy on the up. The heavy rains had been doing some work on the trails, even over the week since I had last seen them. It was hard going but I pushed where I could, and just ignored the mud and trudged on. We made the Map room at 1:17. The sky still bright but the sun had set. We were in a race now, trying to get as far as we could along Manoa Cliffs before the light faded. We made the top of the trail and headed down Manoa Cliffs, the valley shadowed below us, the outline of Diamond head highlighted by the still bright southern sky. Lights were coming on below us. We ran on.

I used my light in the heavy groves and darker valleys. The mud was heavy, the trail was littered with greenery, the winds were suddenly whipping up and blowing hard down the valley. Most of the dead wood had already been blown out of the trees, so nothing was coming down on us. We ran quickly along the trail, making the bench, and then the stairs in good time. I didn't look at my watch, and just pushed on up the stairs and switchbacks, and into the muddy section near top. The final high steps came easy, the mud tracks were slop, we crossed the foot bridge and headed down through the thick mud at the top.

We were moving fast at the road and came out right into the path of a car that was speeding down the road. We must have made some scene because the driver slowed and watched us disappear off onto the Moleka Trail. I had both lights out now, and was pushing through the wet areas, going on memory. Whenever I could I ran. We hit the switchbacks and I pushed up, making it to the top and ten yards down the upper trail before my system was screaming for more O2. It took a minute before I was running again, fast, then slower as the roots got heavy, then cautious as we approached the steps. Down the steps and faster down the long slope toward the Bench at the top of Hogsback. I still had not looked at my watch.

Fish and I took the crossover at good speed. I ran Easies, and danced down Rooty Run, chugging the last of my water as we rounded Big Bend. Then we pushed down Center Trail. Hard to run now, and I was watching my knees. No need to be reckless. We counted our way down the slope; Bad Stairs, Concrete Pipes, Dams, into Hau Trees, around past the giant rubber tree that has slipped down the slope, down the steps, along the Lava Dyke, into Bamboos, the Gulch, Samoan Road, Green Hales, Yellow Brick Road, up the small rise and around and down toward Water Pipes, Fish and I running almost side by side as we hit Rocky Bottoms, then snaking through the final section where the Green Curtain used to be, out onto the last of the path before the Bridge. Over, up, around at a run, the next bridge, Right at the giant Norfolk Pines at the beginning of Broadway and the Korean sign. Down into Taro Patches, along the stream, past what is left of the old tree, and out. 2:12. In the mud, half in the dark. Not bad.

Speed Racer....and the cliff at the side of the trail.

This was a post to the HURT site that I felt compelled to write after seeing half a dozen good friends lose their 'regular' status because of injuries related to trying too hard too soon to go too fast without much training. It is also a response to the recurrent 'injury' posts on the Ultra list from people who seem unwilling to face the reality of their bodies.

This is a comment that is not based on any particular runner’s experiences, and is not directed at anyone. It is a general lamentation based on some observations I have had over the past years and meant as a point of contemplation for all of us as we continue to meet the challenge of our ultra running ambitions.

There are some simple anatomical facts that many people do not seem to understand. The first is that muscle tissue is compliant. Muscles are relatively responsive to our demands and will grow, or shrink as need be over a matter of months. They are ‘red’ tissue, which is highly nourished by rich blood supply.

Tendons and Ligaments, and even Cartlidge are less responsive. They are a ‘white’ tissue, which receives much less blood supply and they are very delayed in their response to increasing demands. One of my professors of Physiology commented that tendons and ligaments take as much as three to five times longer to respond to changing demands, and lag behind at increasing rates during rapid muscle growth.

Bones are not static but are indeed organic and responsive to physical demand. Bones take even longer to respond to changed demand. Increased stress will increase density and broaden attachment points for growing larger ligaments and tendons. Increased area for cartlidge is also possible. Cartlidge is not regenerating but may, over the years, form broader firmer bases to support increased activity and stress.

Now, with this in mind, picture your leg and its attempt to respond to the desire to be an Ultra runner. You get out there and do ten and it hurts. You go home and your muscles respond and get a bit bigger. You go out again a few weeks later and you can do that 10 with far less muscle pain. You may even be able to go faster. However, your tendons will just be registering a need to increase in size. Your bones may be aware of a change in activity and demand.

As you continue to work on your hill climbing and running your legs begin to change their form. Standing in front of the mirror in Dionysian style you admire your progress and plan for ever longer challenges. Your tendons are just awakening the need to grow and blood and nourishment begins its long slow journey into the white tendenous and ligament tissues. You bone cells have registered the increasing impacts and slowly, very slowly, the cells begin to divide and grow. Far off in the future you will have tendons, ligaments, cartridge, and bone density to match the needs of a ten-mile jaunt through the hills.

But you are absorbed in the size of your muscles, and the resiliency of your heart, and the sound of the air moving through your expanding lungs; all tissues that respond rapidly to need. In months you are doing twenty and dreaming of your first Ultra. You got it. You can keep pace with those old gray haired long-winded guys who always seem to trudge along at the back of the pack. You begin to run past them, to charge out and run with the rabbits. It’s not so hard. You have put in the work and you deserve to be running with the rapid deployment team. The words of caution from the old gray-backs sound like sour grapes. You don’t need to run with them any more, and you don’t need to listen to words of caution, you feel fine.

But in your body, the tendon growth is far outpaced by the muscle tissue growth. The ligaments are still those of a short distance runner. Bone tissues and density are not that different from the first day you started moving up a trail. You don’t realize it, but you have built yourself an overpowered racecar. A giant motor mounted on a frail frame that can power over a course, but lacks the shocks to deal with the bumps, and the heavy frame to resist the impacts of hitting the wall.

But luck is with you and you place well in shorter races. People encourage you to continue. Some tell you a fifty or a 100K or even a 100 miler is in your future. But you don’t understand what they are saying. You are still a Speed Racer, a short distance long distance runner; the kind who think 5K is cross-country. Words of caution go unheard. “If it hurts, stop doing it.” Sounds like capitulation. It doesn’t matter that the guys saying that are the long lived, the veterans, the finishers of many 100s. Like a Samoan Radio you know only two speeds; Off and Full On.

As verification of your effort you feel your ability to climb hills increasing. You can charge ahead of most of the people you first struggled to stay with. Muscles continue to grow, now far out pacing your support tissues. Finally muscles are pulling at tendons far beyond their capacity to respond, or you are hitting the downs so fast and hard that bones are feeling the impacts beyond their support capabilities.

This precarious rise in ability reaches a crescendo as pain in tissues becomes ever more present. Ibuprofen becomes a vitamin. But the ‘Just do it’ motto, draws you in and you listen to some super asshole star with super human abilities, and discard the cautions your own body is sending you with increasing urgency.

Then it happens. You are doing a down and ‘Phittttt’ goes a tendon in your leg. You go from being a super star in your own mind to wondering how the hell you are going to manage to limp off the mountain. Or you ignore what is tendon and ligament pain in your knees until the underpowered tissues slip and cartridge damage occurs in your joints. Or you suddenly have severe leg pain that is finally diagnosed as micro fractures to bones in your foot or leg.

You go from being an up and coming superstar of Ultra running to being ‘What’s his name that used to come out with us?” You may limp back out, but now you are wrestling with a major injury and it just won’t go away. If it backs off a bit you quickly charge down another hill and rip up weak tissue some more. And those old boneheads are still out there, at the back of the pack, enjoying the sunsets and sunrises. Feeling the leaves wet with dew brush their faces as they saunter along doing a twenty every week.

You really want to excel. You are willing to work at it but your body just won’t respond the way you want it to. But wait. You got this all wrong. You are looking into the wrong end of the telescope.

The fact is that you are not responding to your own body that way you need to. In your search to do it all right now, you have forgotten that at 30, or 40, or 50 years of age the body takes a long long time to develop the infrastructure necessary to do long hard trail running. How long? Two, three, five years is not out of the question. Vastly overpowered muscles can reap havoc on support tissues, and you can do damage to yourself even when you go at half throttle. It takes time. It takes lots of time; years and not months.

Despite all the clowns claiming otherwise it is not a matter of getting through the pain, it is a matter of listening to the pain. Because pain is your body telling you what a real asshole you are. Assholes are muscle tissues. Boneheads are support tissues. Bones, tendons, ligaments decide what you do over the long run. Muscles just get overpowering and screw you around.

How many of you young punks have to wreck your running careers with unnecessary ‘Fast Guy’ injuries before you begin to learn to listen to your own bodies. There is enough going on out there on the trails to hurt and maim that you don’t need self inflicted wounding to occur. I know trail fuzz often clouds my brain, but I’m really saddened by the number of ‘what’s his (or her) name’s?’ we see fall by the way side when it just is not necessary. Stick around, slow down, relax and let the years help your body understand that Ultra running is a part of your life.

Hope to see you on the trails....it will mean I'm still alive.

Mikem, Ph.D., MS, BS, LMT, CNA (for those who are impressed by academic compulsiveness)

December 14, 2008 at 12:18 PM Permalink

If we had a boat, we would still have been bailing....

A 38+Mile training run through wind, rain, fog and water hazards....Saturday 12/13/2008

It was a great day on the trails on Saturday and there were about a dozen people out despite the pending Marathon. Conditions were a bit muddy in places, and Pauoa was a snake filled pool, but it was a bit cool with the cloud cover and everyone was making time. But things slowly began to fall apart through the day as one after another of the runners had to drop for various reasons. It was only the stalwart rabbits like Maricio and Larry who seemed to be getting done what they set out to do. The rest of us pushed on as the winds on the ridges began to chill sweat soaked bodies and the skies grew steely and darkened. At 2:00 PM it was twilight and almost dark enough to haul out the lights again. An unsettling quiet crept in with the clouds that hugged the high ground.

I was running with Judy Carlucci and we were making good time, sticking to our 6.5 loop times. We were only held up by that sick water fountain at the nature center. Need to establish a water drop down there if that is what we got for water. So we finished our Trek loop and finished our HURT loop and were pleasantly surprised to find Cheryl waiting for us at the Paradise Gate. She popped the trunk and we huddled under it to eat and suddenly the skies tired of their threats and just let loose in an awfull display downpour that turned the road into a river. We huddled there, eating and fixing gear as tourists stumbled out of the trail-head, soaked and stunned by the deluge.

It was there that we learned of Paul's problems. Great try Paul! An inspiration and a great achievement just as it is. Hope you are well and recovered. (Paul was doing a 165 Mile attempt which included the Honolulu Marathon. He was forced to quit at mile 85 do to kidney problems and symptoms. He had promised his wife he would at least be sane with regard to his organs....)

It let up a bit, and we headed out again. It was wet and often muddy but not slippery. I pushed Judy hard stamping up behind her, breathing hard, threatening to tell her my thoughts on the gold market. It was the economics that got her to the top in fifty. By then it was raining again. Pauoa was deep, The bamboo channels up to our calves, the snake fields lakes of dirty brown water. All we needed was one of those crazed nature guys to be wadding around looking for the biggest python. Turning the corner it got windy, and by the ridge at Nu'uanu it was gusting hard, chilling us deeply. Judy kept saying she was from the Northwest now and her house was colder than this. But she didn't walk around her house in a wet shirtsleeves HURT shirt. I kept promising that when we hit the bottom of Five Minutes it would warm up. It did but suddenly unloaded on us once again. The hillsides began to disgorge water, the clouds dropped low, it became hard to talk to each other.

I've been through it before, and it seemed ok. Serious but not threatening, But the cold was getting to Judy, and she began to loose the line, and make the difficult spots treacherous downs. We passed Dougy Justin at the lookout and they were not looking to happy. Steve had phoned to tell them about flash-flood warnings, it was raining in big heavy drops, running out of the trees in water falls, but they had been up and down Nu'uanu and were going to go up and down Manoa to get their 50. It was unsaid that in this storm Manoa Cliffs was a Red Zone. Bad place be. And Kalawahine showed deep gullies that would be running and hill sides that were sliding and trees falling over. No need to be there if you didn't have to be.

We pushed on into the Enchanted Forest, and the rain got worse I joked with Judy that it was only really bad when you could scream and not hear the sound for the train rain. Judy was showing signs of early hypothermia; and as much as she wanted to complete the run, she had overloaded on the harsh conditions. We turned and headed back up, fording streams, and crossing waterfalls. Water was coming off the hillsides in torrents. Beyond the bench, in the last section of the Nu'uanu trail it was a stream, as was the Flats itself. Few roots, just one vast pan of water. The bamboo trenches were torrents, knee deep, but not dangerous. We were using lights as the darkness had descended quickly. Manoa Falls was roaring, creating its own wind storm as we pushed by and headed down the valley. We had not been out for 10 minutes when a harder rain swept through the valley, confirming the our decision to bail.