Peacock 100K: From the Back of the Pack

Don called me a few days before Peacocks, excited by the upcoming race, more excited than I  that’s for sure.  I was dreading it.  Peacocks had come up on me far too fast, allowing very little training. I’d done Are’s twice, the Lower Loop twice and still didn’t have names for any of the subsections. I just didn’t know the course very well, didn’t think I could finish it, and was mentally only going out to do one loop because Gordon said it was OK if I did only one and then worked the aid station at Long Road.

The only hope was that Rex and I had done the first sections of the first loop and pronounced it ‘doable’.  Doable in that kind of iffy-maybe kind of way that we back-of-the-packers look at these endeavours.  Doable in the sense that if every thing goes just right then maybe, just maybe, we can finish the damn thing before they ring the bell that signals the clearing of the aid station tables, the removal of the chairs and water jugs from the finish line, and an empty field at the finish.  Doable, just doable, and no more.  But that was the outside chance, and I was not cashing any gold shares to bet on my finish.  

My knees have been hurting me on and off for a year now, and I had aggravated them again with some Peacock training and some bad shoe choices. A similar problem had haunted me last year so this year saw an early return to some stockpiled ‘old faithful’ shoes, and I manged to bring back my knees a bit.  But I still could not go down Long Road without a lot of pain and soreness. The fact was I could walk backwards down the damn thing faster than forwards.  The issue of knee pain is bothersome to say the least.  My time-bomb clock it ticking and I know it.  Peacocks is a miserable test of stupidity if you have leg issues.  So, ‘Doable’  is just sad theater, a kind of tragicomedy of an ultra-running sort for old guys with short running lives ahead of them.  And I was doing Peacocks?  It was theater of the absurd, and I knew it!  

Read more »

A Tough Triple Trek

I probably didn't prepare quite properly--a quart+ of Rocky Road Ice cream and a few beers, a far out carbo loading I quess--and I knew I had a problem with my right calf, but I didn't expect it all to go south on me less than 40 minutes into the race. But on my way up Moleka, after hitting 30 something at the bottom, I felt my calf tighten and knew it was not going to be a great run. I slowed and watched a lot of people go by, and just paced out the tight calf. It went on this way to the top of of Manoa Cliffs, and then down the switchbacks on the opposite side, and along Kalawahine.

Earnest caught me back on Kalawahine, his ankle was bothering him, but he was doing better than me. I followed him for a while, then lost him, caught him again at the aid station and then he moved ahead of me once again. The time was not that bad really. I was still doing a sub 2:15 pace but I needed a 1:45 on the first lap to break 6:00. My emotions ran from rage to despair, but never to humor. I caught up with somebody at the bench at the top of Hogback and found I could handle the down fairly well. Anyway I knew the line and he didn't. I just pushed on making the bottom turnaround by 2:06.

Ernest and I headed out of the aid station together, but I was feeling good and I pushed ahead, finally leaving the other guy from the drop down Hogsback behind and feeling good. Made the Big Bend by 16:30, the top of Smokeys under 22, and pushed past the bench under 30. All the times were good, but at best I was going to be breaking even perhaps. I pushed on up Moleka and across the road, making the strawberry guava patch at the top under 45. I buzzed the Cliffs, hitting the mapcase in just over 60. The back side and Kalawahine were fast, and I pushed my calf a bit hard as it loosened. I could hear Carol Bugarian and a friend up ahead of me every once in a while and managed to catch them down near the bottom of Bunyons where the small seep is. Then by Knee Knockers and the Seeps as quick as I could go. Carols friend was at my heels and I had to push down the last bit of Nahuina and onto Mangos. I lost concentration and she was behind my by the top of Hogsback and I had to run down to stay ahead. It wasn't smart but I just didn't want to be passed. I hit the aid station with a negative split doing perhaps a 1:58 or so. It was a good lap and it made the race.

The last lap was slow. I tried to chase Clem up the Center Trail and lost him before we hit the top. I made the bench around 35. My watch had reset itself and I was just guessing on times. My calf tightened a bit and before I hit the top of Manoa Cliffs I had pretty well given up. I limped into the finish with a 6:36. Sometimes you just take what you can get and move on.

I stayed around and talked and ate for about an hour as the rest of the racers came in, then helped pack up and finally made it home and to back to bed by 2:00 pm.

Dry Rock Ridge Run

The Dry Rockridge Run

Coming up a dry rock ridge and out of an Arroyo

Lots of Dry Rock Ridges...

An arroyo hides water and vegetation. Dry Rock ridges in distance.

The Intrepid starters.

A week after the Rocky Raccoon I did the Dry Rock Ridge Run in Vado New Mexico. It was scheduled for 35 miles, but I only got in about 18 before calling it quits. The run was organized by Mark Dorian,in the orange shirt, who also organized the last run I did in this area two years ago. Mark does a terrific job of making these runs enjoyable and they hearken back to the days when Ultra Running was for the dedicated few who believed in the idea of the hard long trail. Unfortunately local turnout never seems to be very great and I think even Mark, for all his dedication, is ready to call it quits on these Ultra runs along the Sierra Vista trail which runs between El Paso and North of Las Cruses. More Pictures

Some of the run covered the same Sierra Vista trail that I had run two years ago, only Vado is farther south and much more of the run is on single track trail across the desert and through the many arroyo's that claw themselves into the land. Vado, most famous as the retirement area of the Buffalo Soldiers, a regiment of Black Calvary who served after as Indian fighters, when they left service at Fort Seldon, which just north of Las Cruses. These were the troops who chased and hunted Geronimo and his clans over much of this land.

As the pictures show the land is deceptive. One can look over long distances at seemingly low rolling desert and never see the web work of arroyos and washes that crisscross the land. As we ran north the ruggedness of land unfolded before us, and those ahead of me disappeared and reappeared as they dropped in and climbed out of the deeper ravines in the land. Trying to find anyone out here, who knew the land, and wanted to stay hidden would be near impossible. An entire clan could hunker down in the largest of these washes and not even be seen by men passing a few hundred feet away. All it takes is a few hours of running the trails across the desert to understand why the Clans of Indians were so hard to track down. Their knowledge was their key to the land and their freedom.

The vegetation is sparse and nasty. Spikes, thorns, stickers, and prickers are the norm and they scatter themselves across sandy rocky rolling hills in a pattern of defence that even staying on the trails can defeat. Everything protects itself with a vengeance, and all this stuff grows close to the trail, or hangs over it. It is hard to do these runs without getting some kind of scratch or prick or worse. We have a lot of the same kind of plants in Hawaii, but they seem to be much less nasty. The prickly pear in the Chihauhaun desert has needles four inches long while in Hawaii they are barely an inch. Mesquite, or Keawe, here has thorns that can puncture a car tire, while in Hawaii they may be vicious to human flesh but are no match for a car.

I left for the start early, more because I wasn't sure when the run would start. It was dark when I went down the Vado Road and I missed the turn-off which was well taped. I went into a development of homes and trailers and wandered around there, and then came back an stupidly decided to go down a road under the powerlines. I realized the error too late, and when I tried to turn around I found the tires digging into the loose sand. Nothing like being stranded out in the middle of East Vado, makes Buttfuk seem like civilization, I can tell you that. Anyway Wayne's truck has fourwheel drive so after trying to get myself out with regular drive, I shifted into four wheel and backed out (as I should have in the first place) of trouble and turned around at the top of the arroyo and headed back out to the road.

I quickly found the race start, and took it easy for about 30 minutes before others began to show up. Not many people did show. I think Mark took this lack of people kind of hard. He puts a lot of effort into these runs, and gets little support, or participation. Don't know why. Its hard country to run in. People prefer the safety of the roads in the summer months, as the snakes can at least be seen, and in the winter it is bleak out there.

We started, about six of us, and I could immediately tell that my left thigh was not going to do too well. I began a slow walk hoping to loosen it up and after maybe two miles or so was able to begin a better stride. Four miles in and I was jogging a bit. But I was wounded and my heart was not into the run. I knew that Janet, Wayne's wife, was going nuts at home getting ready for the party, and I had told her I would be home by about 2:00. So I moved on, having given myself a five hour time frame. Not a lot of time to do 35 miles. I had expected us to start an hour or so earlier, and now my leg was not feeling good. I gave it a game try. At the end of the first loop, maybe 15 miles in, I decided to go out and turn around at five hours on my watch. I did that. I maybe went out a mile and a half or more before running into Gary and Fahod who were completing their first lap, and I turned around and went back to the cars with them.

It was good I headed back as Janet needed help, and Wayne, still not fully knowing what was going on, was becoming a bit of a problem. I don't normally flake without a good injury related reason, but this was different. I'd seen enough of Vado.

The Big Bad Beautiful Haleakala

Minch makes it to the Run to the Sun

So dude... This is like, not about any of those real fast runners who I only see glimpses of on their way back down the mountain in their cars--those late morningfinishing clowns with broad smiles on their faces and 'Good Job!' cheers who interupt my pain orgy by causing day dreams of dragging them out of their cars and working them over. No, sorry dude, this is about a few of the grunts that made the slow agonizing effort up mountain with goals of 8:00 or more in mind..
It was dark at the start, but the stars were out there hiding in a few clouds and the light glare of nighttime Kahalui. It was cool, but not chilly and it seemed a bit humid, but that may have been the sleepless night I'd had, or some other minor transgression I had allowed myself the night before.

I couldn't see many people I knew and most of those were just the familiar backs of heads. We'd all hung around the front of the running store before moving to the start and it was there that greetings had been exchanged and we'd laid down final insults and challenges. Earnest Tay asked me if I'd brought the binocs he'd given me the night before. 'Just so you can see me way up high on the crater road' 'That's a good one Earnest,' I'd laughed 'Come on lets head to the Ale House, I'm buying you all you can drink!' Earnest had to think about that one, but in the end he turned me down.

I spent the night at the 'Banana Bungalow' in Wailuku. It was Keg night there, and the beer flowed and the party was hot. I was tempted to go catch the action but instead I lay there listening to some guy named Mikey drop pickup lines on the girls who walked by my window. Seems Mikey was a not to successful street entrepreneur from a west coast big town with a very limited catalogue of lines. It's debatable whether I got any real sleep but in a kind of vicarious way it was a busy social night. In the end I got up early, drank some cold coffee and headed to the start.

When Big John said go, well I took about 10 steps and turned around to see who was behind me and even the spectators had moved away from the start line faster than I was managing. I was alone on the street, and I looked up ahead and the crowd of race stragglers was moving quickly out of sight. A new PR: to the back of the pack in less than a minute.
I had to start a fast walk sooner than I wanted to and just managed to stick at the back for the first half-mile. I wanted to catch Don Fallis, so I could slow him down a bit but I couldn't even see him out in front of me. No Don. He was gone, off running and socializing with the fast lane crowd. I ran alone along the dark street for a while before I spotted Cheryl about 100 yards up. It took me a few minutes but she can not disguise herself, even when she goes incognito without her tiger skin compression shorts. So I concentrated on that aspect and slowly pulled in behind her at that HURT training distance I am so used to. I stayed there for a while listening to the group chatter and listening to my body whine about the fast flat start.

Actually my body was not happy with me. I had not gotten a lot of sleep and I had drunk a few beers at dinner the night before and I had not had any hot coffee, and on and on with complaints to the point where and I finally just turned of the internal crazed radical radio rant show monologue that composes much of my conscious processes during periods of stress and watched the ground pass beneath me.

I finally let Cheryl know I was behind her, and we talked a bit. I mentioned I was looking for Don and she said she thought he was just up ahead. I looked but couldn't see his silhouette in the crowd of runners on ahead of us. We talked intermittently and ran slowly through the back streets of Kahalui. I should have stayed right there with Cheryl and warmed up as it was a nice pace that my body could handle at this point in the race, but I was impatient to find Fallis and slow him down a bit, so when I thought that I saw him up ahead I pulled around Cheryl, wished her a good race and moved on.

I chased Fallis' silhouette all the way out of Kahalui, onto the Hana Highway, and then down the road to Pulehu. I believe I finally caught up with him around that aid station where the road jigs and a cane haul road goes straight on---a confusing place where one year I was 200 yards down the Cane-haul road before I realized I was alone. But this year the cane road was fairly well blocked off with cars and it was easy to find ones way through the intersection. I ran behind Don for a while before pulling up on him an letting him know I was there.

Don was running with Chrissy Ferguson whom I had met just before the race. She is the RD of the Arkansas 100, and that is where Don hails from. They were having a very nice conversation and since I wasn't capable of pleasant at that time of the morning, nor generally talkative during a race, I hung back and drafted Don. I may have said something about the fast pace, or made some off-kilter remark but aside from the initial pleasantries I just hung a few yards back and watched the bumpy road work its way by. Somewhere after an aid station, in between the sour smell of garbage and the warm earthy scent of cattle plop and piss, I felt the 'call' and dropped off to the side of the road. A lot of runners re-passed me and I once again began the quest for Don's silhouette. My right hip was beginning to show wear and at one point I felt it let loose and I almost toppled over. My fast pace was a dangerous gamble.

I found myself drafting a succession of people faster than I as they made their way past the long train of racers. I would lose my 'pacers' on the gentle slopes, and then regain my position on the steeper sections where I could out-stride almost everyone around me. The change in pace allowed me to gain some control over the pain in my right hip. But my priority was catching Don, and all the while I was scanning the forward runners for him, and becoming increasingly frustrated by my inability to catch him. As a result each successive 'pacer' I selected was just a little faster than the previous. This carried me up the road at a much quicker rate than I had anticipated, putting heavy stress on my glutes and piriformis-- which never produces a long term positive gain for me. But 'That damn Fallis!' was up ahead of me somewhere and I intended to catch him.

Finally, perhaps two hours into the race, we hit the real hills where I dropped the jog and started my concrete hill stride. For those of you unfamiliar with Concrete hill, it is a steep telephone access road that leads to the top of Pu'uohia at the top of Tantalus road overlooking Honolulu. The HURT crowd trains regularly on that hill. Where the runners around me were acting like they had just hit a wall my body began to sing. Hills! Ups! Steep Sections that were a joy to behold. I greeted a long string of runners as I marched by them. My ass was sore from the evil treatment of flat roads, and a fast pace, but the hills allowed me to rock my hips, stretching the attachments and ease the tightness and pain that had been developing over the lower 10 miles. In all of that section I had only a hand full of racers come by me, and most of those I re-passed before the carnage of Pulehu and Pulehuiki had run its course.
As I made my way through the mid section aid station where Pulehu intersects a main road and you cross to begin Pulehuiki I met up with the Binoc's man himself, my good buddy Earnest Tay. I greeted him with a mad laugh but was saddened to learn that Earnest was hurting, his ankles not liking the long road run. I was wanting to kick his miserable ass fair and square, to pass him as he fought to keep me at bay. I'd perfected a wide selection of annoying noises and cat calls to torment him with before I administered the executioners stroke of a fast pass. It would have to wait for another race.

"Where the hell is Fallis? I've been chasing him for miles," I exclaimed.

"Don? He's back there," said Earnest pointing back down the road.

"Man, I've been after him for a long time, and now you tell me I missed him? He's not up ahead?" I asked disbelieving I had run by him.

"Yeah man, Don is not up there," said Earnest pointing uphill. "You are strong today." he added,

"How come you looking so good?'

"Keg night and plenty ladies at the Banana Bungalow man. Can't go wrong on Keg night," I joked.

Earnest and I talked a bit about the race, and then I felt the need to move on. Not wanting to leave my old pal behind without some kind words I wished him Luck in the race, and comforted him.

"Hey man I didn't bring the Binocs, but don't worry Earnest, you won't get lost. When I get to the top I'll hold up this glow stick. You can just follow its yellow glare all the way to the finish line! See yah!"

My consoling words to Earnest seemed to help him a lot because right away he appeared to be doing better and we pushed past a succession of slower racers as we made our way up the easier sections of Pulehuiki. I looked back a few times and Earnest was sticking to me about 20 yards back. Like Don says, it is always amazing how, if you take the time, a few kind words can lift a fellow runner's spirits. Earnest's spirits were evidently rising even higher because occasionally I could here him yelling "I'm coming Mike. I'm gaining on you! " I felt so good about that that when we hit the really steep sections of Pulehuiki I jogged up the inclines, knowing Earnest would take inspiration from my example. Unfortunately he didn't gain sufficient inspiration and after running a particularly long and steep section I could no longer hear his pleasant chatter. You can only do so much to urge a fellow runner along. Puleuiki was runnable and Ernest just had to accept that.

I was having fun. Perhaps too much fun. The pace I was doing in this section was far faster than I knew I should be doing. But after the ten miles of easy upward slope the hills just felt good. As I rounded a corner I saw my friend David Bonnett, whose father I've known since childhood. David paced me through the critical fourth lap at HURT and we have run a lot together. David had been kicking my ass up and down our training runs on Tantalus and it was a pleasant surprise to run into him on Pulehuiki where the terrain was more like Concrete's than Tantalus. I started howling at David from fifty yards down the hill; long noisy wolf like howls that everybody likes to hear coming up behind them. When I got to within a few paces of David I commenced to breathing really hard. Long gasping kind of breaths, and then I pulled in a step behind him and followed in his footsteps and breathing down his back. It was the kind of thing I had planned for Earnest and didn't want to just waste. Finally David turned around in mock annoyance.

"Oh its you Mike! I should have known." he said shaking his head. "I wondered what kind of an asshole was following me. Should have known it was you," he joked! "You are looking strong today. I was hoping that cold would keep you down, he added with a smile.
I'm feeling fine. I responded. Earnest is just back down the hill. Didn't bring his glasses along but told him I'd light the way for him. He seemed to appreciate that.

"Yeah I bet", said David. I don't know, I'm not feeling to strong, I can not figure out what's wrong, he added.

"I'm drinking loads, and eating all the time." I responded.

"I know, I'm trying that too. I don't think I went out too fast. Maybe it was the run I did on Wednesday. The hills seem steeper than usual."

"Drink more, and watch your electrolytes. It's dry out here today. I'm shriveling up. Drink."

We talked like that, exchanging thoughts on the race, trying to figure out David's situation. We both knew he should be out ahead of me. Then as we hit a particularly steep section it became apparent that I was going to move on. This was a race. No quarter given and none asked. I moved ahead of him a few turns before the killer steep at the top of Pulehuiki.

That last section is about as close to concrete road as a public road can get, and it has got to be one of the steepest roads in Hawaii. I don't think a lot of cars could make it up it, but I took it fast and strong. Perhaps too fast and strong. But I felt good and at that moment I just believed that I could charge on forever. We are often funny like that. Even when we know that something can not happen, that it is impossible, we believe the siren songs of a strong body, the melody sung by short term anaerobic muscle tissues, and march on in spite of our training and knowledge. But it just felt so good I couldn't resist the challenge. At the top I greeted PJ and John, and turned and began coasted along the only down section on the course letting my heart rate drop back past explode level. I reflected on the fact that at the turn John had not said a lot. I knew what he was thinking because it was what I was thinking. As good as I felt, I was doing too much too soon. There was still 20 miles to go in the race. That can be a long way when we are talking about 7000 feet of climb, less oxygen, and colder temperatures.

A mile down the road I took the turn and started up the crater road still riding the adrenalin high of the Pulehuiki steeps. Taking the hill at a good pace I began to gain on the runners ahead of me. I passed Eddie Fan there, and a few other people I knew. It was somewhere along there that I said hello to David Carlson at an aid station. David was having a hard time, but his reason was classical understated; he'd run a low three something Marathon the week before. I saw Carl Wooten, along that stretch I believe and then at about mile 18 or so came into the aid station to find Gordon Lau.

Gordon and I have been running together for years. There was a time when I could occasionally keep him at bay, but in recent years his training has been phenomenal and he runs in a different class. Of all the runners at HURT 2007 Gordon stands out as my personal hero. His seventh place finish was stunning, and taking into account an age handicap he walked all over most of those who finished ahead of him. He has the most steady pace of the runners I can run with, and he almost floats over the trails. I can often take him on the hills but his steadiness almost never fails to overpower me near the end of any run where I manage to gain the lead.

Most everyone is aware that Gordon finds the Run to the Sun difficult. He didn't even want to show up this year, but was urged on by Earnest and Don, and finally gave in. But that doesn't make him any less of a competitor. So running into Gordon at mile 18 was a real surprise. I laughed like a madman, quickly got half a bottle of water while I exchanged greetings with him and chased him out of the aid station sticking close on his heels. I followed him up toward the the hairpin curve that cuts through that first grove of Eucalyptus below the grasslands, then over the cattle crossing and out into the bright sunlight of the lower pastures. When the road got steeper I passed him. But I knew from experience that he would not just go away. I looked up the switchbacks and knew I had to conquer them if I was going to leave Gordon permanently behind. Again I was letting the excitement of the race seep into my pace. I was letting the race run me and not fully running the race. At that point I had my hip pain under control, but only marginally, and despite my constant hydrating and eating, I was beginning to feel the wear of the long run. Alarms were beginning to sound in my system, but I was switching pace and altering my intakes and I felt I had things under control. Anyway it was really fun seeing all my running buddies here at the bottom of the hill, and I was having a good time.

Making the first switch back I looked back to find I was gaining on Gordon. I looked ahead and began to concentrate on the runners ahead of me. I slowly reeled each of them in. One of the fellows I passed was Les Martusko who would come by me time and again along this section. But with few exceptions I overtook the runners I could see, and only rarely did I have anyone come past me. My watch still showed I was making better than 12 minute miles. It was good, but hard work. I was beginning to have to race walk more than jog because of my hip, but it was uphill effort and my high-gear walking stride can match most joggers. But I could tell I was slowing a bit, as a couple of runners I had passed on the lower portion of crater road now rebounded by me.

At one point I looked down over a half dozen switch backs. I could see Earnest far below, then David, and just a bend behind was Gordon. I turned my head up the road and battled the switchbacks up toward that last long windy section of road before the high groves and the curve toward the Park Gate. It was just run 100 paces, stride 100 paces and run 100 all the way to the Ranger Station. The wind had picked up and we had come far enough around the mountain for cool misty clouds to come in on us. My hands were a bit cold and the cold wet wind was playing a number on my lungs, but it was still a nice day. It was just a necessary hard grind to get to my bag at the station and put on some warmer clothing.

Down the Mountain the low clouds were dropping a bit of rain on the cane lands and a rainbow played in the showers. Higher up the sun shone brightly on the pasture lands and groves of Eucalyptus, and on that long upward twistysection before the forest and park gate the winds blew strong and chilly against us--an occasionally misty shower falling from fast moving clouds making the turn into the lee of the mountain, churning angrily and then quickly dissipating in the warm dry updrafts from the lower pastures. I ran with some people I know and even exchanged a few brief conversations, but the pace was taking its toll on me and I don't remember faces let alone names. All that section comes back to me as is a cold hard forced march.

When I made the ranger station, I put on all the warm clothing I had. I figured it was overkill but I was cold and I thought it would be better to run too warm than too cold. Pulling on a pair of nylon pants and a fleece pull-over I was not surprised to see my old buddy Gordon come in. I didn't ask him how he was doing. He was there that was enough to know. I just grabbed my bottle, thanked everyone for their help and moved on as fast as I could.

My decision to wear my nylon pants was not the best. I have carried those pants on every cold run I have ever made. They have been to the Haleakala more times than most tourists. But I have never felt the need to wear them. Running out of the aid station and around the first turn we met the winds head on. The pants billowed out like sails and I my mind filled with images of old fully rigged sailing ships. I wanted to rename myself the Endeavour, or the Prince Le Bo, or some other sailing ship that had churned through Hawaiian waters. But I was warming up and that seemed to help my speed a bit. I kept the stuff on for a few miles as I did the 100 walk, 100 jog, 100 walk cycles almost without thought.

A bit higher is actually seemed to warm up as we moved above the cloud layer. We had moved back into the mountain's lee and all the extra clothing seemed unnecessary. I stopped at one aid station and shed the fleece pullover and the pants and one of the crew there was kind enough to offer to drop it off at the top. I marched on, feeling the altitude from time to time. Drinking what seemed like a great deal of water 15-20 ounces per mile,sucking on my bottle of gue, and eating as much as I could force down. Move, move, move. Ever slower but move. It was hard to gauge my speed as the mile markers were gone. In past years I could at least remember times from one mile to the next. This year I had to rely on the aid stations signs, and do impossible mental math to come up with a pace. Looking at my watch I was beginning to realize that my sub eight hour goal was just about toast. I need to kick ass and I just didn't have the energy to even care that I had to kick ass.

Somewhere below 8000 I came up on an a lady about my age who looked under a bit of stress. It was Carol Laplant who was out to set a record in the 60 an over female age rank. The fact that she was this far out ahead of me was impressive. When I asked her if she ok Carol told me the altitude was getting to her and she felt lightheaded. She asked me for electrolytes. I gave her one and told her to start drinking more water as it was a lot dryer up top then it appeared. I left her in the care of the runner who behind me. Ten minutes later she came running by me evidently rejuvenated and forcing me to dig down deep just to keep her within a hundred yards.

No good deed goes unpunished I mused to myself. I chased Carol into the next aid station where I left her as she watered and carboed.

Once again the switchbacks within the park were a mindless grind and I don't remember much other than the increasing fatigue, pain and the slow motion of my limbs as I struggled to make pace. I was running with Tom Sagawa. We leap-froged each other a number of times. His long aid station stops, or occasional lapses in concentration, allowed me to pass, and my increasingly frequent lapses in concentration permitted him to once again gain the lead.

With about three miles left in the race I hear steps behind me. I didn't need to turn to know who it was. Gordon the Relentless was again hot on my hells. I turned back around and pushed harder hoping that I could once again put him behind me. It worked for a while but this time I couldn't shake him. The second time he came up on me I was ready to let him pass. But instead Gordon just said "Lets go Mike, take us in. Run 100, walk 100. Lets go." Having Gordon behind me is always incentive to try harder. I dug deep and picked up the pace as best I could. My hip was twanging occasionally, my lungs were wheezing, I was getting lightheaded, but I had

Gordon on my heels and was not about to let his largess go unpunished. I pushed.
So the last two miles it was Sagawa , me and Gordon. I gave it all I had. Gordon would fall behind a bit as I summoned the strength to push, and then as the next wave of fatigue washed over me he would be right back behind me, relentless and constant. Up a head Sagawa was having similar problems. I'd gain on him, and he'd look back, see Me and Gordon and summon strength from deep down and burst ahead of us again. If I had run a smarter race I would have been able to take him at this point. But my games on Pulehuiki had robbed me of finisher's sprint. I could summon neither the energy nor the will to chase him down.

We made the first parking lot, with two tenths of a mile to go, the wind blowing hard and forcing me upright. I grabbed a quick drink at the final aid station and pushed on with Sagawa just twenty yards ahead and Gordon right there with me. I strode hard up that final hill, chasing Sagawa and fleeing Gordon. We made the turn, moving into that final nasty windy cold steep and I looked back and there was Gordon not five yards from me. "Don't worry about me Mike. You got it. Its yours." Said Gordon. I strode on. Sagawa looked back from his lead position a few yards ahead. I just nodded at him silently echoing Gordon's words. I was spent, and just wanted to finish. And that's how we crossed the line. me at 8:13 something. Race over. Not long after our finish Les came across the line and then Carol. Good finishes all for the over-fifty crowd--over 60 for Carol and Les!

....So I didn't break eight hours which was my goal. My 'easy' goal, I might add. But 8:13 was a personal record and I finished 4th in the 50-59 age class, Sagawa taking third and Gordon fifth. I'm proud of that, as that age group has proven to be a tough bunch. The best thing I did over the race was focus on my pain and keep it manageable, and if I would have gone out slower and walked Pulehuiki I think I would have eliminated the pain and been in kick-ass shape to move up the mountain and take a sub eight. That will have to wait until next year when I am a bit younger and stronger!

It was a good fun time. Wonderful aid and support and thanks to all who were there to provide it. A great romp up the Big Bad Beautiful Haleakala! ....mnmuench
March 29, 2007 at 04:10 PM

A Siren Song and a Warm Bed

Mike Minch faces his first 100 Miler

I have been moving forever and I must move forevermore. There is only the shuffling of my feet and the occasional attempts to run which are stalled by the pains in my legs. It is clear to me that the myth of Sisyphus is derived from ancient tales of runners given phenomenal tasks.
I am weary but it is the tightness in my hip that is slowing me. Occasional runners plod past me and I feel only mild frustration. The sense of urgency has abandoned me, and this is no longer a competition; it has become a way of life, an existence, a soul purpose. I move on, each step is past me. The next step faces me and demands my strength. I am in the meditative state.

I am running without a light as the brightness of the moon is almost blinding. It lights the trail with a cool feverish glow that causes what it touches to vibrate and casts long ink dark shadows that ripple softly across the barren landscape. It is the world of the Necromancers where the pale sun is near death and strangeness stalks a shadowy land.

Dark forms on my right become Mayan warrior heads as I approach. They line the trail like a history painted on the walls of a ceremonial pyramid, each head marking the passage of an ancient reign. I know each will tell me some gruesome story if I stop, but I move slowly by focused on the trail. They silently mouth strange curses and charms to me; each in turn offended when I do not stop to listen to his tale. One head leers at me flicking a snake-like tongue, eyes wide and ogling, it raises a dagger as I stare back in fascination. The image morphs and I find myself confronting a dancing kokopeli who plays a tune on his flute that draws me toward the darkness. Blackness sweeps over me and the entrancer slides out of my vision in turbulent rolling focus as my eyes cross and roll to search the back of my brain.

Forcing myself to concentrate on the moonlit form, I come almost to a stop before the shimmering dancer takes on the appearance of the white fluffy heads of a large cactus. I look ahead and a giant grinning coyote sits like a chinkit guarding the left of the path. I gaze to the right for its twin just as a large dog bounces out of the deep darkness howling and yipping after my unsteady steps. Turning on my headlamp in the hope of dispelling the marauding images I find the moon is so bright the beam of the LED makes only a smudged and cloudy mark on the ground and conjures up distortions worse than those of the simple moonlight. I turn off the lamp and jog slowly on.

The trail is familiar. I have passed over it five times already, but the vistas off the trail are surreal aggregations of animals, Indian spirits, and tawdry trailer parks. I just accept them as they appear; it is too much trouble to fight to clear my brain. It is ok I tell myself as long as I can see the trail, as long as I do not allow some enchantment to lead me astray.

A coyote growls and yips not 30 yards away, pulling me from another cycle of moon struck illusions. Yipping back I press along the brightly lit path through a large sleeping pueblo village where I am suddenly startled by a smiling black haired woman who waves to me from a second story window of the pueblo. She calls out the window and sings a song promising a warm shower, clean sheets, and eternal sleep in her arms. A siren I tell myself but I am tempted nonetheless and stagger toward her home. Her white cotton gown is translucent in the moonlight and I can see the roundness of her breasts and curve of her hips. The wooden stairway, the smiling woman, the promise of a warm bed it is all so good. Then suddenly I stumble and my attention is momentarily on my feet, Looking up I find she is gone, and the pueblo has become yet another light industrial zone trailer park. I do not want this to end, but there are no lights, no second story windows, no enticing woman; just large metal boxes. Moving on the memory of the promised warm bed and the dark haired woman’s knowing smile and laugh fill me with desire like a soft hit of pakalolo. I may be tired I think to myself, but I am not dead.

The sky lights up as I catch the flash of a large meteor burning a florescent green and yellow trail through the western sky. It moves so slowly it appears to be a burning plane and as it disappears behind the mountain I half expect to hear an explosion, but all is silent. Moments later another flashes along the same path. They are so clear and bright I feel I can almost reach up and touch them. I stop, raise my arms and give thanks to spirits of this place for the beauty of the night.

A coyote howls and briefly drowns out the sound of my feet shuffling over the gritty trail. Another trickster off to the left answers the call, the barking and the yipping echoing back and forth through the glowing moonlit night. I yip back and howl at the moon. A long mournful cry echoes from my lungs and the coyotes chuckle in response.

I am somewhere beyond 75 miles. Somewhere out on that long stretch of trail that winds up into the hills before beginning the long arch of the loop that carries the trail back to its beginning. I have stopped shivering. The pain in my hip is no longer so bad that I limp along, but I still cannot jog without looking like some kind of busted up land crab skittering lamely along the rocky path

I press on and slow only when the trail begins to become unfamiliar twists and coils along the back of a giant rattlesnake. Shuffling along the coils, I look ahead to see a car sized wedged head moving back and forth in the distance, its black eyes reflecting bits of moonlight as it prepares to strike. Entranced I stumbled toward it hypnotized by the shimmering eyes. It strikes and just as the great fangs are about to rip into me two runners appear out of the blackness, their headlamps bobbing in unison.

Squinting and shaking my head I mutter the often repeated acknowledgment ‘Hey how you doing?’

The often heard benediction ‘Good Job! 'Keep it up buddy', is the quite reply.

I’m tempted to ask “Where’s the beach brah?” but know it’s an insider joke.

The world flips and I am once again in a race that has no ending. Pains in my hip and feet replace the numbness that had filled me; the outlandish landscapes are held back by this brief brush with beings from an alternative unreality. Then as I push on as my eyes cross, and I focus once again on a world gone mad. I make my way silently through another trailer park toward a giant smiling neon cowboy who waves a great ten-gallon hat back and forth on a mechanical arm and as I pass he howls a loud ‘Yippee!’

My aid-station stop at 75 miles had been hard at best. I sat down on the bench of a picnic table and could have fallen asleep with my head propped on my hands. Perhaps I did. My body simply dissolved and I sat there as naked as a skeleton, little more than pain and complete exhaustion. When I rose to get a drink my hip spasmed and I doubled over, staggering to the cooler. Somebody asked me if I was all right and I shook my head ‘No all left actually” I mumbled. Somebody else asked me if my leg was cramped. I shook my head and ‘piriformis and rotators’.

“Few steps and I be right as rain?’ I heard myself quip. It was the most outlandish thing I could think of saying, but they seemed to believe it the truth of an affirmation. It was preposterous that I was thinking of heading out again. The reasons for stopping were mounting.

I looked down at the salt streaks that formed like icicles on my shirt and made the mistake of reading the shirt front. H awaii U ltra R unning T eam…. Is plastered across my chest. HURT. Well I am that, I thought sardonically. But the shirt had POWER. It was a bit of the Islands, and I suddenly realized it carried with it the strength of mythical Hawaiian trail runners, and more importantly, the Hurt Family. The shirt evidently also had an audio chip built into it because I distinctly heard Don Fallis chuckle at me and tell me this was the time that he told me would come. This was time where it counted.

“Now look Mike, you are not very fast, and you are certainly not too bright, as your present situation shows,” He added with a laugh. “ But you are not a quitter. You are not going to stop,’ he said with a taunting laugh, “because you can not come home a quitter!”

People in the station looked at me kind of strange when I answered Don on that one.
Now, I had asked John Salmonson for the shirt, and I put it on with pride. But, quite frankly, it wasn’t until mile 75 that I realized I had yet to really earn the right to wear. I looked up and I could feel the entire HURT gang standing silently at my side in that Aid Station. I could feel the power of Hawaii. I cannot honestly say I wanted to feel that power. The strength to go on came to me unbidden. But I knew I was going on despite all my excuses, and all the reasons to do the ‘sane’ thing. So I struggled to my feet, had one last drink of Succeed, and hobbled, shivering and quite miserable toward 90 miles. It was insane and I giggled about it for a mile or so. But there was no way I could quit. I would crawl before I quit. HURT was not going to DNF the Javelina. And I was, on that particular day and place, the HURT.

Fountain Valley lies to the east of Phoenix, which is one big sprawl of homes and developments that fall upon the dry land like a colossal cancer. Fountain Valley does, indeed, have a fountain. One which shoots so high into the air it is as if the earth itself is taking a long needed leak and I whenever I gazed at it I half expected to hear Gia sighing in relief. It is so high, in fact, that one can see it from many places on the trail even though it must be five miles from the McDowell Mountain Park, miles from the Pemberton trail that winds snakelike up into the foothills and then takes forever to work its way back down. It is low desert, despite the trail’s climb, with saguaro cactus and mesquite brush. There are lots of coyotes up there but the javalina were too shy to accept the honor. The way is along mostly gravely trails and tracks, hard packed and well used. The trail winds in and out of arroyos and rock formations, up and down a mild grade that can turn the distance between aid stations into an eon long march.

The daytime had been clear and hot, too hot for a soft-bodied creature such as myself. My water consumption peaked near 60 plus ounces every five miles or so, with a high dosing of electrolytes to balance the inflowing river of fluids. The low humidity, perhaps 15 percent, meant that every opening of my body was expelling water at a rapid rate. Lungs, nose, mouth and skin were all being sucked dry. Salt collects on the body faster than on a Hawaiian tidal salt flat and abrasion is a constant problem at all those common tender points. A large can of Bag Balm was my regular friend at the main station. Though it felt very good not to be soaked and smelling like an ammonia factory, the trade-off to parched and dry was no less difficult, and the cautions no less severe.

It was the hardness of the trail that I found most difficult. Much of the time it was like running on asphalt. My right piriformis began acting up early and I could only beat on it with my water bottle for so long before the compressions became a problem of potential bruising. Ibuprofen had its limits. The bad hip cost me hours of time. Race walking saved me and allowed me to finish.

I ran with gaiters and was glad that Don had lent me his pair. The dust was so fine it worked its way through my shoes, but the heavier stuff did not get into my socks. I saw a few runners at aid stops who were having foot problems that appeared to be related to gravel and sand. The bottoms of the arroyos were often like running along Kailua beach and there were sections where the rock and gravel was strewn so loosely down hillside paths it made it hard not to kick up lots of dust, gravel, and rock. Desert running demands gaiters. In fact I think gaiters are a new essential for me no matter where I plan to run.

I started smart with a reasonable time on the first loop, got stupid for a couple of loops chasing those ahead of me, and then paid for it through the night. I saw a chance at doing under 24 hours disappear by 60 miles, 26 fall by 75 and 28 at 90. I managed to get something together on the last ten miles but could not break 28 hours, and settled for 28:24. I was happy with that considering how I felt out there beyond 75 miles. It is my belief that I could do a 24 if everything went just right, and an good 26 with proper self pacing.

The Javalina Jundred is a great race and a good run for a virgin 100 miler. In terms of difficulty I met a few people who had done the 100K at HURT and were in the 26-hour range at Javalina. I did 22:20 for the HURT 100K last year and did a 28:24 100 Mile at Javalina. If you can run streets it’s a fast run. If you are a mudder you may suffer, as I did, from some foot, leg, or hip wear due to the hard packed nature of the trails. The trails have some technical issues but you could probably encounter just as many in that 200 yard rooty section coming into Manoa.
Jimmy Wrublik and his crew of Javalina Jundred Aid Station volunteers did a wonderful job. I was treated very well at every stop and every effort was made to make my stay good and short. But it was at 60 and 75 miles when I really needed the help. I came in at 60, the heat of the long day frying my body and brain, and there was a very kind volunteer waiting for me. He stuck by me seeing to my every need, getting me to eat and drink when I just wanted to sit, talking to me about my gear and my plan, and finally offering me a lot of encouragement when I limped off in search of 75. That really helped. I never got his name, but I will always remember his kindness. At 75 I was spaced out for a long time and the patience of the volunteers was phenomenal. Limping away from the station I felt like I was going out the front door of a Hospice when I’d come in destined to quickly leave via the rear exit.

Javalina offers the Hawaii Ultra runner a complete change of scenery and methodology. The washing machine loops (out, turn around, and back the way you came.) give you a chance to see all the runners on each loop and get a good feeling of participation in the event while still remaining fairly isolated on the trail. The optional Halloween theme is fun and adds to the character of the experience. I followed the Grim Reaper for miles and would occasionally catch sight of him flashing across a barren ridgeline, black robes flowing, sickle held high, a group of collected souls following close behind him. I finally passed the Dark Soul when he stopped to take a leak. At the time the surreal nature of that occurrence seemed to have almost life changing significance. One of those ‘You had to be there!’ moments, I guess.

I strongly recommend the run. Jimmy and his gang are a great bunch of people. They got Aloha! Mahalo Jimmy and to your Crew!
November 21, 2006