The Back 40 Trail Race in Arkansas

Last weekend I completed my first ultra marathon in Bella Vista, Arkansas called The Back 40 Trail Race. Training had been going well since last racing in September and I wanted a chance to use it for a race before the dead of winter strikes. I looked up what trail ultras were in this end of year time frame between the 50K and 40 miles distances and relatively closely located. This one fit the description perfectly. I contacted my friend, Zac, to see if he had any interest in this event. He was on board so we registered and made the plans to go.

We drove to Arkansas the day before the race, 11 hours from my house and 9 from Zac's. It was a full day drive but didn't seem like it due to plenty of good conversation with a longtime friend. We got to Rush Running Company in Bentonville shortly before they closed to get our bib numbers and check in for the race. We found a pizzeria (New York style) and changed our plan of camping to staying in a cheap hotel due to the cold weather (about 28 degrees fahrenheit) and the logistics of preparing for a long race in those conditions.

The next morning we got to the starting line after our GPS took us through the scenic route. We got a preview and a sense that the hills and hollows in this area were no joke. The starting area had a heated tent which was a blessing to sort through and figure out our final kits for the journey. The sun rose at about 7:17am and it was 23 degrees. With the healthy sized crowd that showed up for the races (which included a 40, 20, 13 mile, and 5K on Saturday) we were sent off at 7:30am.

The first part of the race is run on the road going through Blowing Springs Park which takes you through their campground. This section might be about a half mile and then you start on the single track trail. The course is on a 20 mile loop built mainly to be for mountain biking. This made for a smooth surfaced (except small, loose rocks and an occasional small stump), flowing trail that was not too technical to run on.  However, it was deceptively challenging. There was constant elevation change (my Garmin had me at about 4500 feet of gain on the day) broken up into small sections. Anything with a steep grade on the trail was softened by banked switchbacks, which are hard to keep running fast on. Also, there was a steady diet of "whoop-de-doos" which must be really fun on a mountain bike but are basically speed bumps for running, especially with tired legs. Basically, I underestimated how tough this trail would be and how much it would grind me down over 40 miles. I thought I could average around ten minute miles but I was slower than that even on just the first lap. The lesson learned here is don't worry about your pace in trail running, especially if you've never run the trail before. Go more off of your effort.

My goal was to run very conservatively, stay fresh as long as possible, and respect the distance. Ultimately, this helped me complete the race, but I still had to slow down significantly as time wore on. On most of the first loop I hung behind some folks who seemed to be moving at about my desired pace. I had to fight off the urge to press past them multiple times. I told myself to relax and enjoy the day. It was a very pleasant morning being cold, clear, and sunny. Dead leaves covered much of the trail, camouflaging the mostly smooth footing. This trail was never too far from houses or roads. We seemed to be running just down the ravine from the backyards of suburbia and almost always within earshot of a barking dog. There was a fair amount of road crossings, some of which had traffic to watch out for. Each loop had three aid stations roughly at 6 miles, 12 miles, and 16 miles that were staffed with great volunteers. They were very helpful and encouraging.

I finally moved past the group I was behind at around 14 miles into the race and pressed the pace a little until the end of the first loop. This probably wasn't wise because I wasn't feeling great at 20 miles. I checked in at the start/finish area and chatted briefly with Zac. He raced the 20 mile and was done. He offered help with any gear changes which I declined but I did take his unused gel. He didn't talk about his race except that he had fallen and he showed his bloodied wrist and forearm. I was wanting to keep moving and put some distance into the second loop so I set off again. On my way through the campground and back onto the single track I met many 13 milers coming in to finish. Mentally and physically, I hit a low point. Maybe knowing I had almost a whole loop left to run played mind games with me. A deep fatigue was setting in and my stomach was slightly nauseous. I was taking gels (Spring Energy) about every 45 minutes and consistently sipping on water from my 18 ounce handheld. I had started to dread when it was time to take a gel because I thought I might start puking. I was also taking an S-Cap salt capsule every two hours. Maybe I was taking in too many electrolytes. My stomach wasn't quite right for the rest of the race. Also, a very cold wind had whipped up and I seemed to almost always be running into it. When I took a deep breath my lungs kind of burned and the cold wind made it worse.

A little before the first aid station of the second loop (26 miles) I pulled out of the low point and was moving well. Pretzels hit the spot there, looking for anything that didn't taste sugary. I also ate a whole banana. The guys at the aid station told me I was in fifth but the runner in fourth was 8-10 minutes ahead. I got moving again and stopped to urinate at the exact same spot that I had stopped to pee on the first loop. I started walking some sections hoping my stomach would improve and I would get a second wind. I felt like I was slowing down a lot but I managed to catch the guy ahead of me right before the second aid station (32 miles). My walking breaks had gotten to be more of a habit than I would have liked so I was very surprised to catch up to 4th place. It didn't last long. I spent too much valuable time at this aid station and let another guy pass as well as the guy I had caught. To be honest, I didn't care at all about competition at this point. My main objective was just to finish.

At about 34 miles the cold wind, my lungs, my stomach, and deep fatigue put me in a place that I've never felt when running a race. The competitive juices were gone and I was just in survival mode. I coached myself to just keep puttering along instead of walking. Thankfully, quitting never crossed my mind. I forced down the gels at the needed intervals. Somehow, at about 37.5 miles, I caught sight of the guy who I pulled even with at 32 miles. He was probably a minute or two ahead of me walking the uphills and running everything else. I imagined he was fighting his own mental/physical battles to the finish line. It motivated me to keep moving and maybe get myself in a position to catch him. If he was close enough when we got to the campground road I figured I could muster enough of a sprint to pass him. He surely heard me rustling and crunching through the dead leaves on the trail behind him. I never saw him look back, but his pace increased with mine because I couldn't gain on him. I paused at a couple turns leading back to the road at the end of the loop. I was unsure about the markings and which way to go but finally figured it out. He knew I was coming and didn't want me to pass him! I found that he put a lot of distance on me at that point. He was still about a minute ahead of me and that never changed. I ran the last half mile at about 7:00/mile and finished in sixth in 7:41. It felt good to be done.

The finish line scene was much more sparse than it had been at the start. I parked myself in a chair in the heated tent and tried to eat a little. I learned that my friend Zac had won the 20 mile in a course record time. He had eaten, showered, napped, made a few friends, and eaten again. I was completely exhausted and starting to get really cold. My lungs hurt. Any deep breathing made them burn. But it was a good day because I ran my first ultra marathon. I took a shower at the campground and put every layer I had on just to stay warm. I nibbled on some catfish, chicken, and hush puppies but my stomach wasn't ready for very much. I took my complimentary beer to go and we headed off to the hotel. I had trouble with getting the chills for the rest of the night, almost like I was getting the flu. The chicken lentil soup that my wife had made for me to bring was the perfect post race food to feast on at the hotel. I fell asleep at about 8:30pm watching Tommy Boy.

It's been almost a week since the race and my lungs are just now starting to get better. I've researched what might have happened to them but have gotten no clear answers. Cold dry air dehydrating and damaging the lining of my bronchial tubes? Pneumonia? Asthma? Allergies? I'm not too worried about it as long as it goes away. At least my old fragile legs have seemingly recovered well.  

Cold weather running and discovering the value and risks of running slow

It is into November in the state of Minnesota and that is when the outdoor conditions start to change to be unfavorable. I have trained here exclusively in my life and have seen just about the worst of it. It blows my mind that there are ultra marathons in this state during winter months. Dressing perfectly for these conditions is an art that I have not mastered. In my mind there are four factors that create (mostly mental) obstacles to training outside.

Number one is darkness. After losing daylight savings and being in the northern part of the country it starts getting dark as early as 4pm. Not a big deal by itself, but not ideal if you are sharing the roads with cars or running on technical terrain.

Number two is the cold. I personally don't mind running in the cold down to about 10 degrees (with calm winds). If you dress right it's no big deal. Cold air feels great to breathe. Also, if you don't overdress, you don't sweat as much. There are no puddles or mud. Unfortunately cold is usually accompanied by wind and/or snow/ice on the running surfaces, which changes the game completely.

Number three is wind chill. I hate cold wind chills (below about 10 degrees). They make dressing right nearly impossible. You really have to plan your route wisely. Into the wind can feel like zero degrees while with the wind can be like 40. Get yourself all sweaty from going with the wind and you'll pay for it when you turn around into it.

Number four is snow and ice on the running surfaces. If you are not injury prone, congrats.  You could prance through knee deep snow or slip on icy concrete with every step for 10,000 steps and get a great workout with no repercussions. These conditions might actually build some extra stride strengthening qualities. If you are fragile-legged like me, these surfaces will severely aggravate your niggles or put you on the sidelines.

So when deciding to run outside and one or two of these factors are present, no problem. A little mental fortitude will get you through. If three of these obstacles are looming I need above average motivation to get out the door, but it'll still frequently happen. If all four winter pitfalls are menacing outside I will be looking for a Medal of Honor to make it happen. Otherwise, it's on the treadmill or a day off.

Running slowly is something that I have discovered and used only recently. "Slow" running is a relative term but image running about one and a half to two minutes slower per mile than your typical training pace. Your heart rate stays in the low aerobic zone and the focus is being low impact on the legs. This is the way I've been running on all my runs between "workout" days and long runs. It works wonders to recover and I wish I had been practicing it sooner. It's probably not the best way to train for a fast mile but perfect for slower paced trail racing or ultras.

The main pitfall I have found with slow running is losing your efficient and, more importantly, your injury-resistant stride. My legs get lazy and a new set of aches and pains have appeared. I guess the bottom line is with slow training it is very important to maintain mobility and occasional faster running sessions. At a bare minimum a weekly set of strides. Hopefully this recipe can get my training to above 30-35 miles per week without any plaguing injuries.

Moose Mountain Marathon 2017

I experienced my first Moose Mountain Marathon as part of the fall Superior Trail Races this weekend. Coming off a poor summer of training due to recurrent Achilles tendon injuries my goals were mainly to not re-aggravate this injury and finish at whatever pace necessary. I was able to pull this off and had a fun time in the process. This race is unlike any I've ever done before and is easily my new favorite. I will likely enter the lottery for this one again in 2018 as long as my old fragile legs continue to hold up.

The starting area pre-race had cool temperatures around 45 degrees and sun. A robust group of runners had gathered at Cramer Road near the intersection with the Superior Hiking Trail. Beastie Boys played over the loudspeaker adding to the energetic atmosphere. I eyed up the other runners and observed every combination of running gear under the sun. Some looked like they were leaving on a backpacking trip for the weekend while others were flying light as if starting a 5K. I left the heart monitor chest strap at home thinking it would just be a distraction and instead wore a hydration vest. With it I carried two 18 ounce water flasks, 9 gels (Honey Stinger and Clif Shot), and Nuun electrolyte tablets. I would take a 100 calorie gel every half hour and follow it with some water. The last deciding factor to bring this pack was the distance between aid stations and my planned pace. It was a good move in retrospect.

I positioned myself about midpack when the group was assembling at the starting line. After a countdown we were off and running (walking) down Cramer road with a left on another gravel road and then another left onto the Superior Hiking Trail. There was a bottleneck at this point that forced a complete stop and very slow walking as the runners ahead filtered into single file onto the greatest single track trail in the Midwest. Lots of playful banter was heard amongst the runners during this easy pace very early in the race as well as the cheers of the fans and volunteers around the starting area and aid station.

We crossed Cramer Road again and then went through the Cramer Road aid station at the trailhead parking area. The cheering was incredible running through this area but it was for the most part the last fan support until the Temperance River aid station. I was executing my plan to be conservative effort-wise and maintaining good running form. I knew the first 7.9 miles to the Temperance River aid station was a net downhill, so I wanted to conserve myself for the climbs later in the race. I was part of a long train of single file runners and had no choice but to slow down and walk at every obstacle when there was no place to pass. I had to restrain my instincts to start exerting huge amounts of energy to pass when it was still so early in the race. Eventually, at about mile 5, I started passing a few people here and there when the opportunity came up. Also, finally, the runners started to separate and space apart a little more allowing for easier passing. I was able to run at a more natural pace from about mile 6 and caught some runners that I was comfortable to just run with. The ever-changing scenery was beautiful and somewhere in this section I crossed the bridge over the lively Cross River.

The trail leading up to the Temperance River aid station was downhill, smooth, and relatively flat. It was a nice change from the choppy running previous to it. I could hear the aid station before seeing it. There's nothing like some cheering and positive noise to give you a buzz to pick up the pace. I had my two water flasks open and ready to be filled before getting there. Two volunteers were right there with pitchers of water to simultaneously fill them and I was on my way out in seconds. Goodbye to the low elevation point of the race. Once across the the river you turn left and go upstream along the riverbank on the other side. I knew it was the start of a long three-mile stint of mostly uphill. I've run this section up to Carlton Peak hard a few times. We come to Lamb's Resort in Schroeder for a family vacation every August and I routinely sneak away for some excellent runs on these trails in and out of Temperance River State Park. I know that I could put myself in rough shape if I ran this climb even moderately hard. So I let off the gas pedal again and latched onto some guys that were running a good, steady pace. It starts out along the river going upstream and mostly flat after the bridge, then we get to some awkwardly spaced steps for a tough climb. It switches back and climbs some more but then flattens out again. Then we got up Carlton Peak with two more sections of hard rocky technical climbing. To get to the actual summit for the astounding views you have go left on a spur trail that is not part of the race course, but worth the trip on another day. This was tough and draining and to add to it there was some technical terrain to descend shortly after the high point. I seemed to recover alright and was feeling relatively good nearing the halfway point of the race.

I came up upon the Sawbill aid station (mile 13.6) running with most of the same group that lead me up Carlton Peak. I efficiently filled my waters, high-fived a couple familiar fans, and kept right on moving. Up ahead was Britton Peak followed by a series of unrelenting ascents and descents each higher than the previous. This would undoubtedly test how much was left in my legs. It was noticably testing some fellow competitors as I witnessed more falls and "near falls" as time went on. The guy that I paced off since before Carlton was beginning to fade and took a spill in a quagmire of slick roots and mud. He actually said, "I guess this is the point of the race where this starts to happen." I snagged my right toes a couple times on rocks or roots but was able to catch myself before going down. Later on I was in a group of five, with three individuals ahead and one behind me when the leader (female) went down hard. The other two ahead of me and myself stopped to help her up and and check if she was alright. The female runner behind me in a light blue tank top and hat flew past all of us using this opportunity to pass without any hesitation. I was not impressed by this lack of concern for others and poor sportsmanship. I made a point to remember her appearance and hoped to catch her before the finish but my feeble fitness level couldn't deliver. I was feeling good anyway so I kept moving up from group to group until I was alone and nearing the next aid station.

The final aid station was Oberg Mountain at mile 19.1 shortly after crossing the Onion River. I came into it running by myself. A volunteer quickly greeted me and helped refill my water flasks so fast I barely stopped. This place was rocking with music, volunteers, and fans. It pumped me up and I was ready to start pushing the pace. Also, at this point, I noticed my Garmin had me at 18.4 miles. This later played a role in my not knowing exactly how much race was left as it continued to lose distance to the actual race course. I ran up and over Oberg Mountain with no walking and no other runners in sight. On the descent, at about mile 20, I was cruising the muddy, rocky, slippery trail. I took a gel and slammed some water to wash it down. In mid-drink my right toe found a rock that actually had my name on it. In fancy cursive writing was written: Carl Wallin. I couldn't believe it, such a beautiful piece of art randomly located on a 26.2 mile course. Actually, I'm not sure what was written on it or if it was even a rock because I NEVER SAW IT. I only saw the ground at point blank a millisecond later. I think my carcass actually bounced and skipped forward a little during this crash. I yelled like a caveman, got up, checked my teeth, felt the bump forming on my forehead, and started moving again very slowly. It was clear that my left knee, wrist, and shoulder took the worst of it. I had gone to the ground so fast that I couldn't get my hands out to break my fall which was probably for the better. The word "relentless" popped into my head as I assessed what had just happened. I wasn't hurt too badly but it crushed my momentum and caused me to be much more cautious for the rest of the race.

The remainder of the race contained two more challenging climbs. After getting up and over Moose Mountain my legs were starting to feel used up. Mystery Mountain, the second big one, was tough and I was back to walking the steep sections. My quads and hip flexors had become fatigued and stiff, effecting my ability to descend anything steep and technical. I felt like an old man needing a cane or walker to get down anything with rocks. Thankfully, there were no other marathoners around me over these last miles so I didn't need to worry about a sprint finish. The only challenge was actually knowing when I'd be finishing thanks to my Garmin being off. The last 3-4 miles of a marathon usually seem to take forever but thinking there could be 2.5 miles left or as much as 4 miles left started messing with my mind. Also, when I got to the road in the ski area I was eyeing the surrounding ski hills warily, half expecting to be directed up one of them as one last soul-crushing challenge in the race. But it didn't happen, just some downhill road running and a short trail around Caribou Highlands into the finish area. I was handed my finisher's medal, a unique slice of birch with the race's logo stamped on it, offered a seat and something to drink. It was over. What an awesome day. It was time to find a beer and eat some chili.

The setting of this race sets it apart. The Superior National Forest via the Superior Hiking Trail is the perfect venue for this race. The course is relentless, constantly challenging you, making you focus every second. Constant rocks, roots, and mud or a combination of all three. It will wear you down and test your true level of endurance. I have a recurring dream where I am running a race on a long, obstacle filled course requiring hard effort and strategy that is tough to put into words. This is the closest real-life race I have ever run to that.      

A Week Until Race Day

It's Labor Day Weekend and within seven days of the Moose Mountain Marathon. I am still running and evading injury so it looks like I'll be on that starting line. The training is going well.  I was able to run almost 12 miles in an hour fifty on trails at Sibley State Park. My Achilles and calves did not bother me even once. They were not excessively sore the next morning. This is a huge victory in my world and it can only mean I was able to maintain the correct form during this long run. The way things are going I wish I had 4-5 more weeks of time to train for this race, but I'm thankful for where I'm at.

I need to think hard about a race plan for next weekend. I am not at my fittest, nor strongest, and have never ran this race before.  I've done some running on the Superior Hiking Trail and have learned the challenges it presents. I've also done a couple backpacking trips on it. The best word for the terrain is rugged (which is used frequently on the race website). Some parts are simply unrunnable for most runners. So the course will slow you down, wear you down, break you down, that I can be sure of. The best approach for my race is to probably start as slow as possible and then slow down more from there. I will probably wear a heart rate monitor to keep tabs on my effort level. It became clear to me that at the Zumbro 17 this past spring I ran the uphills way too hard. I was neck and neck on the uphill Strava segments on that course with guys who beat me by 10-15 minutes. The only conclusion I can draw from that is I paced them very poorly and robbed myself from possibly a faster overall time. I've been working on it but I am not a strong downhill runner. Uphills have always been my forte. I hope to even those things out at the Moose Mountain Marathon and the heart rate monitor could help. Also, in the race plan is to set the ego aside. I will try not to get carried away with hopes of top ten or even top twenty. This will be an event to survive, recover from, and live to run another day. The final goal of this race is to enjoy this event. I want to take in the beautiful Superior National Forest mixed in with some views of Lake Superior. I am a huge fan of these races and like to be able to watch the other athletes in action, not just read their results.

I've got my gear mostly figured out. The the three extremely important wear-tested items in my arsenal are shoes, socks, and shorts. These things can literally make or break your race. I've got my Salomon Speedcross 4 shoes with a previous race and about 200 miles on them. Depending on how wet the course is I will either use Drymax or Smartwool socks. Finally, my new favorite shorts are the La Sportiva Rapid. They've been excellent at avoided chafe. I'll probably carry a Nathan 18 oz handheld water bottle and some gels to bridge the aid stations. I need some kind of hat to keep the bugs (drawn to my tall position and moose-like hair) from feasting on my scalp.

It seems like I'm good to go, but always learning. Now to allow my battery to recharge with some rest/relaxation this week to be ready for the challenge.

 

I am a runner

Hello. I am a runner. I am a runner which means I deal with running injuries. These injuries could last days or sometimes years. For many of us runners it's just part of the game and adds to the challenges that come along with the pursuit. For a lucky few the worst they deal with are blisters, soreness, or over training syndrome. I am baffled but that last one. How could anyone's body hold up through so much training that their endocrine system is the thing that fails first?

Runners want to talk about their injuries and maybe sometimes obsess over them, but other people don't want to hear about them (especially non-runners). I know this from being on both sides of it and that's why I'm writing this blog.  I want an outlet to vent about mine. I also want to chart my path to eventual complete recovery. I'm hoping to be able to write some race reports on here.

My injuries are in my Achilles' tendons, calves, and other flexors of the foot (mostly left but occasionally on the right).  The common denominator is pain in the left Achilles tendon. I've tried stretching/strengthening, foam roller, Strasberg sock, resting for three months (thinking that should heal almost anything), supportive shoes, supportive shoe inserts, custom orthotics, physical therapy, chiropractic therapy, Graston technique, ART, podiatrist (w/ an MRI), and finally stride analysis.  The most improvement has come with the stride analysis.  I need to give credit to both Joe Uhan and Chris Leisz for helping me understand and improve my lower leg damaging gait. It turns out I have been sinking my own ship all along.

My running stride showcased a violent, lightning bolt-like stab at the ground led by my forefoot and then spring-boarding up and forward off my forefoot without letting my heal touch. All the while my inactive glutes and tight/weak hips remain in a sitting, deflated position. Also, oscillating my hunched, kyphotic 6'3" frame developed from years of poor ergonomics wasn't helping.  It was a perfect recipe to wreak havoc on my lower posterior leg. Even when running slowly I did the same thing, only with a shortened stride. Did I do it my entire 25 years of distance running or did I slowly evolve into this self-destructive prance? Is it age that has caught up to me? Regardless, I couldn't run without pain and the first few steps out of bed in the mornings after running made me look around for gnomes that may have been sawing at my Achilles tendons while I slept. The springs that once made me a competitive high jumper in high school and college had worn out. I had to develop a new way to propel myself forward.  

I've raced a few times in 2017. This included Spicer's Frozen 5K road race (19:26) in January, the Zumbro 17 mile trail race (2:18:41) in April, and a local 10K road race (39:01) in early May. I was training fairly consistently getting up to and over 30 miles per week with minimal/occasional discomfort. I felt like I had this injury under control. Then, thinking I should try to get faster for some more local 5K/10K racing, I tried a track interval session of 200s. I'm sure all my stride correcting advice was forgotten when I tried to run these fast (at 5:00/mile pace) 200s because my left Achilles tendon flared up badly and I had completely torched my right one.  I was hobbling around in pain for three days after this, angry at my poor judgement. Since I was signed up for some races this summer that I really looked forward to I tried to get running again way too soon. The next two months contained a series of false starts in training where I quickly re-aggravated the injuries that had not yet healed. I spiraled into a state of frustration and despair, feeling jealous of those around me that can run without thought or injury. I withdrew from the mid-July Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon, reduced to only watching while my wife ran it. Finally, after about four weeks of no running and really not much for any exercise, I was able to start running again.

I started up running again around the beginning of August very, very carefully. I'm using a heart rate monitor to make sure my easy days are easy. I'm signed up for the Moose Mountain Marathon in Lutsen on September 9th. I'm not going to be as fit as I'd like and I'm prepared to walk as much as necessary but I will be on that starting line. I've been looking forward to trying this race for a couple years. The race is in two weeks and my long run to date has been 9 miles on trails. I've gotten up to 23 miles per week. This with be a new adventure in restraint.