Night runs

No, not the kind of night runs you get when you eat some bad Mexican food.  The kind of night runs that involve running.  At night.  Besides being something drunk college students do on a regular basis, they're also something that many ultrarunners training for a 100 miler do.  So, I decided it was high time I went ahead and did one.

I run in the dark quite a bit.  During the winter, it actually seems as though I spend more time running in the dark than in the daylight.  But those runs are on city streets or country roads where street lights or the moon/stars provide sufficient illumination (i.e., no headlamp required, other than if I want to make sure motorists can see me).  Truth is, even though I have finished a 100 miler, I had never run on a trail at night.  Yes, the Lean Horse 100 is held on the Mickelson Trail, but the Mickelson is a trail in name only.  In reality, it's a wide bike path that offers virtually none of the technical challenges that come with a "real" trail (like the Centennial, for example).  We were lucky enough during Lean Horse to have a nearly full moon (it was about 4 days past full), which provided.ample light to follow the Mickelson.  I turned my headlamp on a couple of times, but found it easier to run without it.

Bighorn will be another beast entirely.  No streetlights and, basically, no moon (we will be nearing the new moon on June 15th).  Just a dark trail in the mountains.  So, I got to thinking that I should get some experience at this night running thing, both to test my body and to test my headlamp in "real" conditions.  All of last week, I had planned on running 20 miles on Friday night followed by another 20 sometime on Saturday to get a nice back to back in for the weekend with a bit of extra physical fatigue, all while getting my runs done around my kids' soccer game on Saturday morning and a10K my wife was running on Sunday morning.  Of course, Mother Nature, in all of her bitchly glory, tried to throw a wrench in the whole works.  After bright, sunny afternoons with highs in the low 80s during the week (which transitioned into running-perfect overnight temps in the 50s), we got pelted with a cold, two day long rain event on Friday and Saturday with highs in the 40s and snow in the high country.  Rationalizing that it could very well rain (or even snow) during Bighorn at night, I stubbornly forged ahead with my plan.

After running an easy 6 miles on Friday morning before work, working the entire day (which isn't a physically demanding activity, but can be mentally exhausting sometimes), I headed out for Sturgis just after 8:00 on Friday night.  By the time I started running, it was a bit past 8:30.  By then, the rain had tapered off some, there was a slight drizzle floating around, and the moon was actually starting to peek through the clouds.  My biggest trepidation about the run was what condition the trail would be in after the all-day rain, but it turned out to be mostly solid.  A few muddy spots here and there, but that's to be expected.  Other than getting pelted with a brief downpour of freezing rain just past the halfway point of the run, the precipitation stayed away and I stayed about as dry and warm as you could expect given the conditions.  Once I got my headlamp positioned correctly, I didn't have any problems running the trail, although it was a bit slower than my "normal" daytime pace.  But, I think that was actually a good thing, because at the end of the run I still felt great.  The slightly slower pace overall seemed to pay big dividends in endurance, something I need to remember the next time I'm running in the daylight.  Maybe I just need to find a race that starts at night (I know there are a few out there).

Finished the run a bit past 12:30 on Saturday morning and drove home for some sleep.  Turns out, the rain cancelled the kids soccer game on Saturday, so all of my careful scheduling was for naught (2nd time that's happened in the last 3 weeks).  At around 3:00 on Saturday afternoon, I headed out for another 20 around Belle.  The wind/rain had picked back up by then and that 2nd run was fairly miserable....much, much worse than the night run, and not just because it was on roads instead of trails.  My legs felt fine, but the cold, wet wind and a slightly sour stomach were making life a living hell.  Wanted to bail after 5 miles, convinced myself I needed to go at least 15 and then eventually managed to forget about what mile I was at until I glanced at my Garmin and saw I had done 17 and at that point, well, you might as well just get to 20.  So I did.  And then I ate pizza (after chewing on some ginger to calm my stomach down).

Tacked on a meaningless 4 miles, for the sole purpose of hitting 90 for the week (turned out to be 91 actually...damn it, ran one extra), before going to Shannon's race on Sunday morning (where I tacked on another mile running the kids race with my daughter....92 now).

Now, time for a cutback/taper week before Quad Rock on the 12th (where I'm hoping the 5 AM, headlamp-recommended, start will help me set my pace for the day).

Catching up (with more pictures)

Alright, I've been slacking around here. Time to get back up to speed.

A few weeks ago I met up with Ryan and another local runner, Phil, who is registered for this year's Black Hills 100. The plan was to run the first/last 29 miles of the BH100 course, starting at Dalton Lake and working back to the finish line at Woodle Field in Sturgis. This is probably the toughest part of the course with a few good climbs/descents. The northbound direction (the way we were heading) is theoretically easier since you have a net downhill dropping from the Hills into Sturgis, but there are still some good climbs in there (plus, if you're running the 100, you already have 70 miles on your legs).

First thing we noticed upon arriving at Dalton was that it was noticeably colder up there than it had been when we left Sturgis. Cold enough that the puddles in the road were iced over. So, our first mission was to get moving up the hill and into the sunlight. The first picture is taken a few miles from Dalton Lake, on the ridge above the Little Elk drainage (which is dammed, thereby creating Dalton Lake.....somewhat interesting random trivia factoid: of the 22 named reservoirs in the Black Hills, only 4 are natural lakes). The lake itself is to the left, further down the drainage. You can't really see it, but the road leading into the lake is down there somewhere.

After the initial climb out of the Little Elk drainage, the trail rolls a little bit along the ridge before you start a long descent into the Elk Creek drainage. At this point, you're starting to get fairly close to the norhtern edge of the Black Hills and occasionally can catch glimpses of the open prairie to the north and east. Interstate 90 is actually located just below that timbered ridge (referred to by locals as the Hogsback) in the middle distance of this pic.

As the trail nears Elk Creek, you get a few good views of the canyon below. We've heard it referred to as the "Grand Canyon of the Black Hills", but there is also a different canyon that is in fact called Grand Canyon on the Wyoming side. The idiosyncrasies of local names. Regardless, the canyon is fairly impressive from up here.



A bit further down the trail you com across the Crooked Tree, which is incorporated into our race logo. Ryan and I have a strange fascination with this tree. What can we say, we're fascinated by freaks of nature. That's me in the blue and Ryan in the white, by the way.

Not long after the Crooked Tree the trail crosses Elk Creek multiple times. As I documented in a previous post, the creek was totally dry back then, although it might have some water now that we've gotten a few days of steady rain. But probably not much and certainly not as much as it had at this time last year.

Basically, from that point on, we were on the same route that I had run the previous weekend, so I won't rehash the details here. I'll just mention that it was getting a tad warm (upper 70s) by the time we emerged from the Hills into the more open areas around Alkali Creek, Fort Meade and Sturgis. A sharp contrast from the sub-freezing temps that had greeted us at Dalton Lake when we started. The last few miles were a bit of a slog for all of us, although the speedier duo of Ryan and Phil had pulled a bit ahead of me by then. All in all, though, not a bad day on the trails.

March Summary

Miles: 377.9

Time Spent Running: 60:08:04 (10 more than Feb., 15 more than Jan.)

Runs: 38 (just shy of 10 miles/run...guess I should've got in another 0.1 mile somewhere)

Rest Days: 1

20+ Mile Runs: 7

Lookout Summits: 8 (would've been more, but the Tinton trail is now snow free, giving me two lunchtime run options)

Roughly a weekday to weekend mileage ratio of 1:1. My typical week consists of 40-45 miles between Monday and Friday and then 40-45 on Saturday/Sunday (30/15, 20/20, 25/20, etc.). Generally, one of those long runs (the longest one) is done on trails and the other on roads. Not ideal when training for a trail 100, but due to the logistics of juggling running, driving at least half an hour to a trail and family activities, that's just the way it is. Could be much worse....I could be training for Bighorn while living somewhere like Florida (I'll never understand how people do that....or why they would live in Florida in the first place for that matter).

Considering I was happy with 328 miles in February and stated I'd like to get that up to 350, I've got to be pretty happy with 377 for March. Honestly, didn't expect it to be that high, that's just kind of how things worked out, which I'll take as a good sign (it's always better when the miles just happen, rather than struggling to achieve them). I'd expect April to be similar. I'm fairly locked into a routine of 85-90 miles for three consecutive weeks followed by a cutback week of around 60 miles on the 4th week. I may flirt with a 100 mile week if I get in a 40 miler one of these weekends, but it's not something I'm striving for (well, except for the week including the Bighorn100, of course).

Oh, and I'm down about 11-12 pounds since the start of the year. I guess burning roughly 13,000 calories a week will do that for ya.

Spring on the Centennial (with PICTURES!)

Alright, by popular demand (*cough* Rob and Mike *cough*), I toted a camera along on my long trail run this past weekend. I just got a new iphone last week when it was finally time for me to upgrade and the picture quality is pretty damn good, actually better than the two or three year old digital camera I have (the actual location of which I'm not entirely sure of, it's been so long since I used it). Besides that, it's a pretty damn sweet device if you're into electronics, although Siri didn't have a damn clue what I was talking about when I asked "how far is an ultramarathon?"

But that's beside the point. The plan for the day was to get in 25 miles on the Centennial Trail. After venturing further south to Wind Cave and the Deerfield Trail the past couple of weekends, I elected to stay closer to home this weekend and started my run from the Alkali Creek trailhead just outside of Sturgis, which is about 5.7 miles into the Black Hills 100. The hill in the first picture below is the first (and also last, due to the out and back course) significant hill that must be climbed during the race (I wouldn't climb it on this day as I headed in the other direction instead.) The trail going up/down the hill is actually just on the other side of that rock face you can see in the picture.

After leaving Alkali Creek it's a steady four mile climb to the top of the next ridgeline. This climb is entirely runnable as the trail switchbacks up the hill at a fairly constant, relatively gradual grade. Once you get to the top, it's back down into Bulldog Gulch. On the descent, there's very little switchbacking as the trail basically just dives straight down the hill. This is all fine and good if you're heading south, but it's kind of a pain in the ass coming back up the other way, especially on tired legs.

Bulldog Gulch doesn't generally carry a ton of water. Last year, there was enough for the creek to be flowing, but you could easily cross without getting more than the soles of your shoes wet. As you can see from the next picture, not even that much moisture can be found this year. It was bone dry.

After some gradual, rolling trail along the bottom of Bulldog Gulch, it's time to start another climb. As with the descent into Bulldog, the climb out is a fairly straight shot. You COULD run the entire thing, but powerhiking is probably the more prudent option if you're going for distance. Just before the steepest part of the climb started, I got passed by a mountain biker who was making pretty good time. Before too long though, he was thwarted by the loose rocks on the steepest part of the ascent and I pulled back ahead and continued to the top before he caught me again after the trail had leveled out.

At the top, the trail goes through Beaver Park. This area is somewhat notable in that it is the site of a congressionally approved timber sale back in the 90s that was meant to stop a mountain pine beetle infestation (perhaps the only thing South Dakota's mixed democrat/republican congressional contingent has ever agreed upon). You don't see much evidence of pine beetles now, but there are also notably fewer trees.


From Beaver Park, it's a long descent (about three miles) into the Elk Creek drainage. I hit the Elk Creek trailhead and was sitting at about 11.4 miles for the day so decided to continue on to Elk Creek itself, which is about a mile beyond the trailhead. The trail actually crosses Elk Creek a total of five times within about two-thirds of a mile. Unfortunately, I don't have any "before" pictures for reference, but I can tell you that last year Ryan and I strung ropes across each of the crossings. While the creek was flowing fairly quickly and was about knee high on us (keeping in mind that we're both over 6 feet tall), we didn't really expect the ropes to be necessary to cross the creek....we put them there more as a reference point for the 100 milers after dark because at some of the crossings it's tough to see where the trail is on the opposite side of the creek. Well, as it turned out, it was a good thing we did install those ropes because the severe thunderstorm that rolled through during the race swelled the creek significantly and the ropes became fairly instrumental in runners being able to cross safely. As you can see from the picture below, one year without much snow can make quite a difference. I was actually fairly shocked when I got to the creek and saw nothing. Not a single drop of water. Sure, there is still some snow that is yet to melt in the high country, but not that much (and, really, not much high country in the Hills). Unless we get some significant spring rain, wet feet and raging creek crossings won't be a concern at the Black Hills 100 this year.

I turned back after reaching Elk Creek and was able to run pleasingly strongly (with some powerhiking mixed in) back up to Beaver Park and down into Bulldog Gulch again. The ascent out of Bulldog required pure powerhiking, but wasn't bad at all (it helps that it's only about four-tenths of a mile). After that, I was pretty much home free with just a nice, easy four mile descent back down to Alkali Creek remaining. As I was cruising down the trail, about 23 miles into the day, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. The first pasque flowers of spring (or the first I've seen anyway).


Exactly 25 miles for the day in just under 4.5 hours of running (closer to 4:45 including picture, food and bathroom stops). And the best part was that when I got back to my car, I felt great. My legs felt like they had some miles on them, as expected, but they weren't achy at all and, perhaps most important of all, my stomach was happy. All in all, a great way to kick off the spring (which is remarkably summer-like so far).

First 30

With summer weather fully settled in (in March, no less) and the Quad Rock 50 only a couple months away and the Bighorn 100 a month after that, I figured it was high time I got in a 30 mile run. I've come close a couple of times with runs of 26.5 and 27.5, but hadn't hit the magical and totally arbitrary big 3-0 yet this training cycle.

I also decided that with the snow pack rapidly receding (70-80 degree temps will do that for ya), it was time to explore some new territory. I set my focus on the Deerfield Trail, which branches off of the Centennial Trail not too far from the southern-most point of the Black Hills 100 course. The Deerfield is about 23 miles long in and of itself, but also connects to the Deerfield Loop, which loops around Deerfield Reservoir for 11 more miles. So, conceivably, you could get in a good 34 miles by running the whole kit and kaboodle. Unfortunately, the logistics of such an endeavor aren't all that simple. Doing so pretty much necessitates having two vehicles and leaving one somewhere along the loop and the other at the Deer Creek Trailhead, which services both the Centennial and Deerfield trails. Complicating things further is the fact that the road system in the area doesn't provide a quick and easy way to drive back and forth from the reservoir to the Deer Creek trailhead to drop off/retrieve those vehicles...there would be a fair bit of driving (and subsequent time wasted, which I hate) involved. So, a full running of the Deerfield and its loop would have to wait for another time.

Instead, the plan was to meet Ryan at the Deer Creek TH. From there we would run out on the Deerfield Trail for aways before turning back and returning to Deer Creek and then I would continue on the Centennial to wrap up the rest of the mileage (Ryan is on the mend from a bout of pneumonia, so he wasn't up for a full 30). We ended up going 10 miles out on the Deerfield, for a solid 20 out and back. After a fairly steep but relatively short climb upon branching off from the Centennial, the Deerfield dropped down into the old mining town of Silver City, which is now not much more than a city hall, a fire hall and a few houses. At that point the trail leveled out considerably, following a paved road for a very short stretch, and then a dirt road and then a wide single track trail (much like a rails to trails trail) and then finally dwindling back down to single track.

After leaving Silver City, the trail first parallels Rapid Creek for a ways before branching off to follow Slate Creek, a smaller tributary of Rapid Creek. The Slate Creek section is where the trail really got interesting. It was still fairly gradual along that stretch as we were immediately adjacent to the creek, but as the canyon narrows, the trail starts criss-crossing the creek multiple times. As in 25 times in 3.5 miles according to the informational sign we came across at one point. All of the crossings have footbridges, which was good on that day since the shaded canyon was still holding a lot of ice and snow and the water in the creek was fairly frigid. Not really conditions where you want to run with wet feet for a significant amount of time. All in all, it was a nice, easy, very scenic section of trail (pictures, I know, I need pictures).

Not so easy was that damn climb out of Silver City back over the mountain to the Centennial. I swear to God, we went up three times as far on the way back as we had come down on the way out. Funny how that works out. Regardless, upon returning to Deer Creek, I refilled with water and parted ways with Ryan not feeling all that hot. I chugged a Boost at the trailhead and that was sitting pretty heavy in my gut, so I took it pretty easy for the first couple of miles along the Centennial. Eventually, my stomach settled down and the Boost kicked in and I started feeling significantly better and managed to crank out the final 10 miles on the Centennial without too much trouble.

All in all, not a bad way to spend 5.5+ hours on sunny and warm Saturday morning/afternoon. If nothing else, it got me out of a trip to Chuck E. Cheese. I definitely think I got the better end of that deal.

Bison and coyotes and elk, oh my!

I've run certain sections of the northern Centennial trail (i.e., the Black Hills 100 course) many, many times. But the trail in its entirety is approximately 111 miles long. The Black Hills 100 course only covers about 49 miles of that, which leaves a good chunk of trail to be explored. With spring weather settling in, I decided Friday was the perfect day to do some of that exploring.

The original plan was for myself, BH100 co-director Ryan and trail running friends Nathan and Bob to all meet up for a run starting at Wind Cave National Park, which is the southern terminus of the Centennial. However, Ryan was diagnosed with pneumonia the day before the planned run, so he had to bail. So, Nathan, Bob and I met up and set out to do some exploring.

Bob had been on some of the trails we were to run before, but this was totally virgin territory for Nathan and I. Even with one of us being somewhat experienced with the terrain, we managed to fall victim to the "head down, charging forward" trail runner blunder and just a couple of miles into the run ended up taking about a six mile detour off of the Centennial on one of the park's other loop trails (actually, we aren't entirely sure it was even an official trail, but buffalo tend to blaze a path that looks remarkably like legitimate single-track trail). Eventually, we decided we should probably backtrack and sure enough, when we got back to the intersection where we'd left the Centennial, it was painfully obvious which way we were supposed to go.

So, go that way we did. By that time, on our detour, we'd already run through a prairie dog town and spotted a few coyotes trying to snare a morning meal. We'd also seen a few buffalo and some deer. Not long after getting back on the Centennial, we came upon a burn area from one of last summer's wildfires and up ahead on the trail spotted a very large bull buffalo eyeballing us. He didn't seem too interested in yielding the trail to a few scrawny humans, so we gave him a wide berth, detouring around through the burn area before finding the trail again on the other side of the buffalo. Not long after that, just as Bob was commenting that he hadn't seen any elk during his last few visits to Wind Cave, we spotted a small group of them up ahead. Deer, elk, prairie dogs, coyotes, elk, various species of birds...it was like a genuine South Dakota safari.

We continued on the Centennial for several miles with no more navigational errors, although there was one section where the trail was totally just not there, but luckily there were marker posts guiding us across the open meadow. Eventually, we left Wind Cave and crossed over into adjacent Custer State Park. Through there, the trail was actually a jeep road, which always seem less interesting to run on for some reason, although they are essentially just parallel single-tracks. With the miles and time accumulating, we didn't delve too deep into Custer before turning back for the trailhead.

Lucky for me that we turned around when we did. Although we only covered about 24.2 miles all told, I experienced a minor bonk in the last few miles. It's been awhile since that has happened and I've run longer runs in the past couple months with no problems, but I think the "heat" (60 degrees was feeling pretty warm after most of my long runs have been in the 20s-40s) combined with not taking in nearly enough calories took its toll. The last couple miles were pretty slow as I felt hazy and just had no energy whatsoever. Ended up walking most of the last mile, even though the trail was virtually flat, which is a shame because I had felt pretty good all day right up until that point. Still, a good run on some good trails in some new country, so can't complain about that.

The Barkley Marathons

I've come to the conclusion that something is wrong with me. I know several people who would probably say that they could've told me that a long time ago, but it's becoming more and more obvious to me. How so, you ask? Well, maybe you didn't ask, but you're gonna find out anyway. Because I have a weird fascination with The Barkley Marathons and the more I read about the event, about how horribly, brutally punishing it is, the more I want to do it someday.

Okay, so a little background for the uninitiated. Chances are, if you're not an ultrarunner, you've never heard of Barkley. Hell, if you're not an ultrarunner, chances are you haven't heard of ultrarunning period, but I don't have the time to go that far back. To put it simply, Barkley is on the tattered fringe of a fringe sport. The race begin in 1986, but the race's roots actually go as far back as 1977. That was the year that James Earl Ray, the assassin of Martin Luther King, Jr., made an escape from the Brushy Mountain Penitentiary in Tennessee. Ray spent three days on the "run". In those three days he made it all of eight miles. Ultrarunner Gary Cantrell, known widely as "Laz" for reasons unknown to me, was convinced that he could've covered 100 miles in that time. And the Barkley was born.

The event takes place in the Tennessee mountains of Frozen Head State Park, immediately adjacent to the Brushy Mountain prison (in fact, the race course now includes a trip through a drainage tunnel under the prison, which has long since been abandoned). Everything about the event is just....different. The registration fee is $1.60. Why? No one knows (except Laz, I suppose). In addition, if you're a first timer, you must supply Laz with a license plate from your home state. The race has no official website, although through the magic of Google you can gather quite a bit of information about it. One thing you won't find via Google is an entry form. That's because the registration process is largely secret. Basically, you have to know someone who has done the race before or knows how you can get ahold of Laz. It is known that the entry process includes writing an essay explaining why you should be allowed to run The Barkley. Reportedly, Laz receives about 200 entries each year and selects 35 or so, possibly at random (although once you've participated once, it seems your odds of getting in again are fairly high). One entrant each year is designated as the sacrificial virgin, i.e., the one who Laz thinks has the least shot of finishing.

In reality, though, no one has a decent shot of finishing. The course consists of five, 20ish mile loops (some people claim the total distance is closer to 130 miles). The cut-off is 60 hours. When compared to other 100 mile races like Leadville (30 hours), Western States (30 hours) or even Hardrock (48 hours) this seems quite generous. But in the 25 year history of the race, only 10 runners (out of 700+ entrants) have ever finished. The course record is 55:42. Laz seems to delight in the extreme difficulty, and almost absurdity, of it all and also seems somewhat offended whenever someone actually does finish; a finish one year virtually ensures that the ever-changing course will be even more difficult the following year.

As for the course, it includes roughly 59,000 feet of elevation gain. That's nearly twice as much as Hardrock, which is widely considered the most difficult "conventional" ultra in the U.S. The route follows very little actual trail. Laz refers to any type of established trail, whether it's been maintained in the last 30 years or not, as "candy ass trail". Much of the course involves bushwacking, often through sawbriars, straight up and down the mountainsides. To prove that you've covered the entire course, on each loop you must locate 10 or 11 books that Laz stashes in specific locations. For each loop, you are assigned a number. Upon locating a book, you rip out the page corresponding to your number and continue on in search of the next book. At the end of each loop, you turn your pages in to Laz, are given a new number and sent on your way for the next loop (if you're brave enough). If you manage to finish three loops (60 miles) you go down in history as a Barkley "fun run" finisher. The chances of finishing the fun run aren't all that great either.

The race doesn't seem to have a set date, but it looks like it's always around April Fools Day, which Laz probably gets some twisted pleasure out of. The race starts sometime between midnight and noon on the designated day. Laz signals one hour until race start by blowing on a conch shell. Once the hour is up, he signals the start of the race by lighting a cigarette. Last year, he blew the conch at 12:07 AM and the race started promptly at 1:07. How's that for a good night's sleep before a race?

Sounds like a grand old time, doesn't it? So, I guess the real question is, why in God's name would you enter this crazy ass, brutally tough event that you know damn well you don't have a prayer of finishing? For me, it's the intrigue. Everything I've described above just seems too crazy to be true. The event has this almost eerie, haunted, surreal aura around it that some part of me wants to witness first hand to see if it really is as crazy as it sounds. Will I ever actually take that plunge? I don't know for sure. Hell, I don't even know where to send my essay. But I've obviously been thinking about it.