climb higher, go farther, do more.

climber. ultrarunner. cyclist. lover of mountains and the outdoors. always seeking adventures. always trying to do more. check out my other blog, which chronicles my goal of running all of the roads in my town, Natick, MA: http://redlining-natick.tumblr.com

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Great Blue Heron, at Great Meadows National Wildlife Refuge, Concord, MA. Left my camera at home so I had to take this with my phone. With my luck, we came across this heron about 3 feet off the path. I snapped a couple of photos before it took off and managed to grab a couple more shots. What I would have given to have my DSLR in my hands in that moment!

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Been birding quite a bit lately, taking advantage of spring migration. I’ve lost count of how many new life-list birds I’ve seen in the past week, but there’ve been quite a few! Excited to get to a point where I can reasonably juggle binoculars and a camera so that I can inject my passion for photography into another hobby. Now, perhaps it’s time for a newer, faster lens...

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Mount Washington!

Hiked Mount Washington on Sunday with a group of faculty and students from school, summiting via the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail and Crawford Path. After hiking through fog and clouds, we encountered sunny, blue-bird skies and warm temperatures. Beautiful day to be on the trail!

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Redlining Natick Update

Been following my progress as I work toward running every street in Natick, MA? Probably not. Given the winter we’ve had, I haven’t logged many miles. But I’ve picked things up in recent weeks. Twelve runs total and some good progress being made. Check out the GIF below to see how I’m doing. And then check out my other blog, Redlining Natick, to read more about my experience.

(If you look closely enough, you’ll see some red appear in the middle of Dug Pond. You can read about how those came about, too!)

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I got up early to take this photo before the sunrise. I had in mind that I really wanted the silhouette of a Joshua tree in front of / over a crag, and so I had to search a little bit (though not too far) for this shot. Taken at campsite three at Sheep Pass Campground, Joshua Tree National Park.

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Spring Break is coming to an end. Reminiscing about an amazing week of climbing, hiking, and camping out west. Here’s a sunrise at Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada. Make sure to click through for a larger view!

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Just got back from a week of climbing out west. I took these photos sunset/dusk at Joshua Tree National Park, California. It’s amazing how clear the night sky can be out there!

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Progress

Had some time today, so I created this GIF to show the progress I've made with my goal to redline all the roads in my town. Check out my other blog -- http://redlining-natick.tumblr.com -- to read more about my runs.

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New blog: Redlining Natick!

I've started a new blog, chronicling my goal of running all of the roads in my town, Natick, MA. Follow my journey here: http://redlining-natick.tumblr.com

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A few photos from a recent trip to the Whites to hike Mounts Tom and Field.

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Hiked the Franconia Ridge on Monday, going up Falling Waters Trail to Little Haystack, before crossing the ridge over Lincoln to Lafayette. Completely socked in all day until we descended from Lafayette. The clouds lifted, offering views of Cannon, Lonesome Lake, and the Kinsmans on the opposite side of the Franconia Notch.

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100 miles later.

Everyone who runs, or attempts to run, 100 miles has a reason for toeing that start line. Why do it? The usual refrain sounds something like this: to push one’s limits and to see what the body and mind can really do. But there’s more, a reason so hard to articulate that I don’t think I can do it justice. But I’ll try anyway.

There’s a desire to confront the self, to know and understand the self in a way that can only happen when one strips away all that is unnecessary, when one is completed disconnected from all else that exists and knows no attachments, when the past stays in the past and the future doesn’t yet exist, when the present is all there is. And in that present, there is the self, stripped raw of pride and ego, engaged in its own battle of existence and survival, in which moving forward and reaching some arbitrary pre-defined terminus is all that seemingly matters. There is the body passing over land and through time, in daylight and darkness. The mind travels its own journey of highs and lows, experiencing joy and sadness, confidence and doubt, courage and fear, self-love and self-loathing. What is it that I am trying to do? What will I learn? What is there to prove? Who am I? I decided to find out at the Ghost Train Rail Trail Ultramarathon.

(photo credit: S.Latour)

***

I run into the Camp Tevya aid station at the south end of the race course; nine laps in, I’m at mile 67.5. My headlamp, narrowly focused on the strip of road ahead of me, lights the path to the bridge, which I cross and re-cross to begin my next 7.5-mile traverse from Brookline back to Milford. As I near the aid table, I notice someone approach me from my left. I recognize the maroon puffy L.L. Bean jacket before I realize it’s my wife. I try to muster a smile, but I’m so far within myself at this point that I say little more than necessary to keep a conversation going. Bonnie’s aunt has come to see me, too, and I ask her how she’s doing. But she and Bonnie just want to know about me. I do my best to be polite, but I find it difficult. I need to refill water. I need to get some food. I need to keep moving. The whole interaction is one big blur.

By that point, I have spent 13 hours searching myself, and I haven’t come up with any answers yet. But I can feel myself getting closer, and so I begin that retreat back into myself as I begin lap ten. The darkness of the tunnel I’ve entered mirrors that of the night. I don’t quite know where I’m going, but I keep forging ahead. So I continue on my journey as behind me, the stillness of the night swallows Bonnie, Janice, and the commotion and lights of the aid station. I am alone again.

***

Back in 2005, as I began my second year of teaching, I needed a way to stay in shape that didn’t require the hours that road cycling did. And I needed something that I could do in the dark. Along with a few friends, I decided to train for the Philadelphia Marathon, my first foray into long-distance running; by the end of November of that year, I had completed by first 26.2-mile race. I was hoping for a Boston qualifying time, though in reality, I knew that it was more unlikely than likely that I’d attain that goal. I remember thinking that I should try to keep up the running and maintain the base that I had built, but winter and wrestling season arrived, eating up my free time. The snow eventually melted and during the spring season, without any coaching duties in the afternoons, I got back on my bike, free to ride wherever, whenever, and for however long I desired. Summer came and went, and by the time fall rolled around, I found myself training for the Marine Corps Marathon; I bettered my time by four minutes, but I was still nowhere near a BQ time.

Sometime in the midst of this marathon training, I read Dean Karnazes’s Ultramarathon Man. I hopped on the Internet and learned as much as I could about this crazy eat-pizza-on-the-run guy and began to have ideas of my own. I had found my solution: I just wasn’t very fast, but I certainly could run for a long time. I decided that I would run ultramarathons. However, it would take me seven years, until the fall of 2012, for me to run my first ultra.

***

I am so sleepy. It’s past midnight. 1 AM? Later? It doesn’t matter. I’ve been running since yesterday, having recently crossed the threshold between Saturday and Sunday. Yesterday morning seems like a distant past. I remember feeling so fresh, fast, light, able to continue indefinitely. I remember telling myself that I was running too fast, that I was too far ahead of my goal time. I had monitored my heart rate, though, keeping it steady and comfortable so that the number appearing in the lower right-hand corner of my watch rarely left the 70-75% zone. I was barely working. At a few aid stations, Bonnie scolded me for arriving too soon. The seconds, minutes, and hours kept ticking by on my watch, and my legs carried me along. I needed to slow down, but I couldn’t.

And now, all I want to do, so badly, is to lie down on a bench to take a nap. All day long, I had seen stone benches along the side of the trail. Where are they? Why can’t I find any now? I scan the left and right edges of the path as I go, seeing nothing but trees and bushes. I look for large boulders that might serve a similar purpose. Nothing. And then, just as I locate a bench and contemplate my break, a cold drizzle begins. I know better than to stop now. Grudgingly, I continue.

***

It’s one thing to want to run an ultra, and it’s another thing entirely to actually run one. And the process in between? From 2005 to 2012, I mused about ultrarunning, at various points “starting the training” but never getting very far, literally and figuratively speaking. In April of 2012, I ran my first trail race, a 10-miler in the Blue Hills, giving me a taste of life on the trails. Rocks, roots, steep climbs, sketchy descents — I loved it all, and within 24 hours of finishing that race, I signed up for another one. I headed to CT to run the 24k Soapstone Mountain race. The course humbled me in so many ways, but I was hooked. I started thinking about finding another race, and finding people with whom I could run and train. Over the next few months, the Blue Hills became my second home, and the Trail Animals Running Club became my second family.

Around this time, Mark, a colleague of mine and an ultrarunning veteran, pulled me aside one day to ask me a question that ultimately changed my running trajectory. He’d been trying to qualify for Western States and hoped to have his name in the lottery that December. “If I get in, I want you to be my pacer.” That was all I needed to hear. I needed to run, a lot. I needed to figure out what this whole ultramarathon thing was all about.

(photo credit: S. Latour)

***

Should I have had lined up a pacer or two? I had been so certain that I wanted to run this race solo, but now, at 3am, somewhere around 83 miles, I begin to question my decision. I’ve been power-hiking since mile 70, my quads having tightened up many hours ago. And now my left ankle starts to act up, too, feeling a bit bruised, battered, and swollen. I can’t run right now. Every time I try, I make it one or two minutes before I have to stop and walk again. I certainly don’t save myself much time by running (if I can even call it that), and I have no idea what cost my body will incur with these repeated attempts to run. So I resolve to walk until mile 95, and then run what I can of the final five miles.

Despite my many hours of training, back-to-back long runs, hill repeats, and speed sessions, nothing would fully prepare me for what I would experience during this race. I’m going as fast as I can. My nutrition plan is still intact. I’m not worried about getting lost or getting hurt out here. I’m not worried about quitting. At least not yet. What would a pacer do for me? A pacer would certainly help my mental state, taking my mind off of the pain, misery, and the occasional bouts of self-loathing. But I knew this would happen. This is what I signed up for, and I want to face it all head-on, by myself.

***

I made my first attempt at 100 miles in June, 2013, about one year after I began trail running. I went in healthy, feeling confident, and ready to burn up the course. Torrential downpours in the days before the race transformed the course into a muddy mess, and although I ran my first 25-mile lap in five hours, I slowed considerably during my second. An inflamed Achilles tendon reduced me to walking, and soon, my knees and hips began to bother me, too. I came into 50 miles at 12 hours; it had taken me seven hours to complete lap two, and I was not getting any faster. I was defeated. I was not going to meet my goal of 24 hours, and with the heat of the day setting in, I gave up. I let some friends talk me into walking a few more miles, but then I threw in the towel at 53. I had failed.

I think about that race often. As adults, we rarely put ourselves in positions to fail, and I came up with all sorts of reasons for why I didn’t finish, most centering on the fact that I wanted to save my legs and go into the summer healthy. But it wasn’t the whole reason. I simply was not mentally strong enough to finish what I had started.

***

I’m heading back toward the start area, approaching mile 90. After that, just one truncated out-and-back to complete the final 10 miles. I’ve been walking for almost five hours in the dark, and I’m not having very much fun. Over the course of the past 19 hours, my world has shrunk. No longer do I think of home, an hour’s drive away, and no longer do I think of running from one end of the trail to the other. The 7.5-miles between the ends of the course may as well be countries apart, with the intermediate aid station serving as its own nation. I’ve named every section of the course, the result of a game I’ve been playing all night to keep my mind occupied and to reduce the distance between recognizable landmarks. From the north-end DPW in Milford, there is the tunnel, “The Hill,” steep staircase climb to road, Power Lines Aid Station, pothole city, railroad ties section, the swamp, pumpkin bridge (with the scented candles, one of which smells like a teenage boy who has just discovered AXE body spray), short stretch of road, Chrysanthi’s, huge boulders on the left, gate to Tevya, and finally Tevya itself.

But now, even that list needs additional refinement. I begin to walk from one tree to another, 10 to 20 yards separating each one. Yes, my world is much smaller now, defined by a circle whose radius is traced out by the beam of my headlamp. Again, why am I doing this?

Up ahead I see a curtain hanging between the trees, waving slowly with the breeze. As I approach, it seems to move away. I approach, and it retreats. This is the best course prop yet, I think, until I have another thought: I am seeing a ghost.

***

June 7, 2014: TARC 100, Round 2. My friend, Jeff, ran the race this year, and I offered to pace him from miles 50 to 75, along with whatever additional miles my legs could muster beyond that point. We moved at a decent pace from miles 50 to 70, a mix of running and walking. But then Jeff’s Achilles tendon tightened to the point that he couldn’t really run anymore. Our trek became a long and arduous one, slow and painful. I had no idea what was going through Jeff’s head, but there were so many moments when the thought of power-hiking 30 miles through the night made me want to quit. I couldn’t leave Jeff out there alone, though, so I stayed with him, and we focused on making forward progress. His longest run to date being 50 miles, Jeff entered uncharted territory and earned a new personal record with each step he took. I will always remember the look of relief and pride on his face when he crossed that finish line. He was a 100-mile finisher.

***

It turns out the “ghost” is just a figment of my imagination, the result of light scattered by the mist of the early morning; the combination of light from my approaching lamp with the fading light from a distant runner’s lamp has created the illusion of a ghost floating over the trail. I reach mile 90 at just over 20 hours. It’s 5:07 am, and I know now that I can finish. I can definitely finish under 24 hours. I might even break 23 hours. Regardless, I know that I will definitely finish within the 30-hour time limit, and that thought nearly breaks me. I can surely complete my final 10 miles in 10 hours, and if I know I can do that, why bother? Can’t I just stop now, with the knowledge that I could have finished had I chosen to? It’s my choice right? I’m in control right? I am the one who decided to run. I can decide when it’s time to stop. What do I have to prove anyway? Somehow, I persuade myself to keep going.

At mile 92, just having gone up and over that hill for the penultimate time. I’m still wondering what the point of all of this is, and I’m still curious about what it’d be like to go to sleep right now. I look ahead and behind me, and seeing no one, I sit down at the base of a large tree. I lean my back against the tree’s trunk, put my head back, and close my eyes. Sleep enters my body quickly, too quickly, and the shock of it snaps me awake. Ten seconds in, I begin to yell at myself to stand up and keep moving. I slowly rise, using the tree for support, and I hobble on my way. I will finish this race. Nothing will stop me. I will not stop myself.

Ghost Trail 2014: 100 miles. 22 hours, 41 minutes. 10th place overall.

(photo credit: B.Nguyen)

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Ultrarunning talk with training updates, interviews, race previews and reports, web site reviews, discussions of running issues and more!

The guys at DFL Ultrarunning interviewed the Race Director and several competitors who'll be toeing the line at the Ghost Train Rail Trail Ultramarathon next week. RD interview at 00:04:20, and mine starts at 1:02:00.

Listen to learn about the history and philosophy of the race, and hear different runners talk about their training, nutrition, pacing, and strategy. Enjoy!

http://dflultrarunning.com

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Ten days to go!

In ten days (minus 22 minutes), I'll be on the trail, starting my 100-mile run at the Ghost Train Rail Trail Ultramarathon. Legs are feeling good, mind is feeling strong, body is feeling healthy.

At this point in the training cycle, everything is planned out. Number one priority? Don't get injured! I know which days I'll run, which days I'll cycle to school, and which days I'll rest. A solid plan is my friend. And then yesterday rolled around. Yesterday was one of those days that defied the plan. I had to drop off my car in the morning for a brake job on the rear brakes. Done. In the afternoon, while driving, I sensed some strangeness with one of the front brakes, and pulled over to check it out. Lots of heat radiating from the brake and the smell of burning pad. Not knowing what the issue might be, I called my mechanic, and he suggested I get it into a shop, any shop, but probably not his shop, as he didn't want me driving with the conditions I described. 

I drove a few extra miles to a shop close by and they discovered that I had a frozen caliper that needed to be replaced. Completely unrelated to the brake job I had done earlier in the day, but what a coincidence that this occurred. After waiting around for a bit, the shop told me they would do their best to finish the job that evening, but they were unsure as to how things would play out.

At that point, I knew what I needed to do: I changed into my running clothes and ran home, a leisurely half-marathon. It was a beautiful fall afternoon and I got to run. Not such a bad outcome (aside from the bill they'll slap me with after they finish the job.)

There are times when the best-laid plans don't materialize, and the need for flexibility kicks in. Sounds a lot like running an ultra, I guess. Maybe this was all part of the training plan after all.

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Foliage season is upon us! Here's a panorama from Dartmouth's Moosilauke Ravine Lodge, looking up at Moosilauke's summit. We hiked up the Gorge Brook Path and descended via Carriage Road and Snapper Trail. 

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Haven't been slacking off. Here are my workouts from the past few weeks. Feeling strong as I head into a big-volume weekend. 50-mile training run on Sunday!

Countdown to 100: 5 weeks away.

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Inspired by some recent "planets" I encountered online, I decided to create my own. I took the original photo several years ago in NYC, just as the sun was setting over the reservoir in Central Park.