Jemez 50M Race Report

I'm often asked how I can run for 10+ hours without getting bored out of my mind. Races like Jemez make me laugh when asked such questions. This race is quite literally a rollercoaster of a ride, including climbs that give you no option but to bear down and put one foot in front the other, downhills that literally take a leap of faith to get down, absurdly technical terrain, burn areas, and even a dusting of snow.

I ran the Jemez 50K last spring, and even though I finished 2^nd and had a great day, I left Los Alamos feeling like I'd missed out on the adventure. I'd heard stories of the caldera, the “butt slide” descent, and the double black ski slope decent. By the time I got in the car last year, I knew that I'd be back to see what all of the hype was about. My experience this year did not disappoint.

I carpooled down to the race on Friday afternoon with my good friend Jeremiah. He was going to run the 50K, however a slower-than-ideal recovery from his previous 50M race a few weeks back turned him into road trip buddy/race volunteer. I was also lucky enough to have a nice free couch to call my bed for the weekend, as an old college friend, Hunter, now resides down in Los Alamos. The drive down was uneventful - lots of catching up on NPR podcasts. We took 285 down, and I have to say CO is looking quite beautiful right about now. It's awfully green, and all the mountains have plenty of snow on them. Friday night consisted of the typical packet pick-up, dinner, beer, catching-up, overly planning and packing for the race in the morning, and then setting an alarm clock for a painfully early wake-up.

That wake-up was at 4am. I lubed, sunscreened, coffeed, clothed, honey stinger waffled, drove, parked, port-a-pottied, and checked-in. By 5am, we were racing.

Honey Badger Good Luck Charm given to me Pre-race.

Since it was only 5am, we actually needed headlamps at the start of the race. I intentionally brought the worst one I had for two (2) reasons: 1) I didn't want to lose a good one, and 2) the crappy light from my headlamp would force me to hang in the crowd at the start of the race instead of going out too fast. I found myself hanging onto the back of a group of runners (who I gathered later were Los Alamos XC alumni) led by sage of ultra-running, Blake Wood.

Sunrise in the Jemez Mountains

As we headed up the first of the four major climbs, the sun came out and the group broke up as each person chose his own climbing pace. I only over-ran one switchback on the first descent (an improvement over last year). A running friend, Brenden, came running by on the downhill looking relaxed and speedy. I could tell he was going to have a good day. About 2/3 of the way up the Caballo Mountain, Nick Clark came hauling down at an astonishing clip. It would be at least 10 minutes before I saw the 2^nd place runner. I couldn't believe he had such a lead already. It was likely going to be a lonely day for him. After grunting up to the top of Caballo, I stopped to snap a photo, and got heckled by the volunteers as this was supposed to be a race. The view was just too good to pass up. I counted runners coming back down and estimated I was in 8^th place at the top of the Mountain. I cranked “Sleigh Bells” on my ipod and started the descent back down Caballo. This stretch was a blast: the music was perfect for the situation, the downhill was steep, fun, and runnable, and I got to hi-five several friends as we crossed paths.

Rounding the tree at the top of Caballo. By the end of the day I will have ran up and down that ski hill in the background

Another four miles or so got me to the pipeline aid station (AS). When you look at the elevation profile you see four distinct climbs. These four miles go un-noticed on paper, but they are tough. The AS was a drop-bag location. I ditched my long sleeve and all warm clothes and grabbed a handful of gels and headed off. I was quite excited, as up until this point the 50K course had followed essentially the same route. It was off into the unknown, and it started off with a ludicrously steep plummet into an old volcano caldera. I went bold off the bat and just kept moving my legs as a means of survival. I'm sure I looked like an out of control ball of dust rolling down the mountain to any outsider. I was.

The next four miles or so were probably the most runnable miles of the entire course, and runners ran. I got passed I think four times along this stretch. I thought I was going at quite a respectable, not quite-lead-runner-ahead-of-the-pack, above-average pace. These people were hammering it. I wasn't going to follow them.

The nice runnable scenic caldera stretch ended abruptly. A quarter mile cross country trek through clumpy, annoying grasslands led to the hardest climb of the day. This climb was not runnable. In fact, it was so steep that even if it had been paved, I would have been reduced to a walk. Just to make sure nobody tried to run up the climb, the race course continued straight up the mountain, across a rock garden, and through more of those clumpy grass heaps. Good times. Luckily, the view at the top made the climb more than worth it.

The Caldera

Un-runnable clumps of grass

The reward for getting through the clumpy section. Rocks, lots of Rocks.

Then it was straight down another technical downhill. An amazing amount of work went into clearing this trail. Thank you to all the volunteers who likely spent several days chain sawing through fallen trees. After running down a valley, I came to the Pajarito canyon aid station. I chugged a couple Cokes and headed out, back uphill.

After several miles I found myself at a spot on the trail that crossed a paved road. This is the moment we all knew was coming: I was lost. I couldn't find the trail or any markings. There was some chalk on the ground heading off in a line to my left, so I ran on the road to the left. Still no markings 100 yards up. This is when I should have turned around, but I just couldn't help trying to see what was around the next curve. Another guy was following me as well. I don't mind getting lost (I might actually enjoy it a bit), but I felt bad assisting another runner in getting lost. We wandered around walking with our hands in the air as we slowly kept looking for markings. Maybe a quarter mile into my road foray, I saw course markings several yards above the road. I waved the other runner to come check it out. We were back on course, but had obviously walked on the road instead of following the intended trail that paralleled the road. What to do? We decided that in all likelihood we had gone further than the intended route to get to this point, and had walked all of it like confused idiots. We definitely hadn't benefited from our idiocy. We agreed to proceed on the trail in the correct direction to the next AS, which was maybe a half mile away. When we got there we informed the AS personnel of our detour. They seemed cool with it, so we proceeded with the race. This other guy was Rick, a 24 year old 50K? rookie. He killed it. I lost track of him shortly after the AS, and never saw him again. Quite a debut.

Soon I found myself on the last major climb of the race, up Pajarito Mountain. I should mention that I'd lost all interest in eating gels, or any food for that matter, before this climb started. With the exception of Coke and HEED, I didn't have any calories the last 20 miles of the race. Anyhow, I was feeling good on the climb, and actually started reeling in quite a few runners on the way up the ski mountain. By the time I reached the top, I think I was in 7^th place, my highest placing all day. Then they sent us straight down a ski hill, a double black ski run to be exact. I managed not to fall, and was soon at the ski lodge drinking more Coke.

The ski hill I had to run down. Whoopsy Daisy.

I was once again in familiar territory, as the remaining 14 miles of the course are shared with the 50K course. This was also nice because I had a lot more company on the trail now. For some stupid reason I stopped at the Pipeline AS to grab more gels, even though I already had plenty and had no intention of eating any of them. I got passed by Blake Wood as this was all going down, and he was out of sight in no time. He'd end up finishing over 18 minutes before me. I'd get passed by one other runner as well.

As I approached the last AS with two miles to go, I knew I wasn't catching anybody in front of me, and, to be honest, I didn't really care if someone else passed me. So, when offered a cup of beer I didn't even hesitate to imbibe. It was Fat Tire, and it tasted great. Thirty minutes later I was done. Finishing in 9^th place in 10:18. Decent. Not great, not a disaster. I really enjoyed the time out on the trail.

The afternoon consisted of a few sips of post-race scotch, and several beers as I socialized with friends and racers. I got a cool little pot for finishing. We sat around in the sun for several hours soaking up the great weather and atmosphere. The rapture came and went. No earthquake. We headed to Santa Fe for some great food, but I had no appetite. Then I spent the majority of the night tossing and turning and in general being wide awake. You gotta love what ultra-running does to your body. I was starving and exhausted, but was neither hungry nor sleepy. Overall, it was another great weekend.

Post Race Scotch. I'm hoping that I will actually acquire a taste for this soon, but don't I look sophisticated?

Pre-Rapture beer. Russian River's Salvation Ale.

I was actually raptured, but they didn't have any beer up there, and I was enjoying myself so much before, that I asked to be un-raptured.

End of the Report

Post Script with Feelings and Thoughts (read at your own risk-and don't judge)

This was a weird race for me. Don't get me wrong, I am content with how it went. Here's the thing- I didn't try my hardest. At times, I was racing, but in general I didn't care enough to really lay it all out there. I let people pass me without a thought of trying to hold them off. I think of myself as a pretty competitive person, but I certainly wasn't on that day. The lack of soreness in my legs goes to show that I didn't put myself through enough pain to achieve the best result possible.

I like to think I have a good grip on reality when it comes to this stuff. I'll admit, I'm not a bad ultra-runner. I'm faster than most. BUT, I'm not really that great. Another runner ran this race over 2 hours faster than me. That's a lot of time. I struggle with the idea that I should get all worked up with trying to beat a person out for 9^th place. It would be different if it were 1^st or 3^rd place. Winning races would be great, but it's not likely going to happen. I get it.

So, I find myself wondering why I do races at all if I'm not trying to win them, and could care less if I finish 4^th or 30^th. I guess the answer is I like the idea of getting together with friends who like the same insane hobby that I do, and running in incredibly scenic locations. I don't need to enter races to do this though, so you may see a trend of less racing from me. I promise I'll keep the adventure level high, maybe just more unstructured stuff where I don't have to worry about the repercussions for getting lost.

Did I mention how beautiful CO is right now? Snow on the peaks, green everywhere else.

Kalamazoo Marathon Pace Report

I moved to Kalamazoo right out of college. In my two years there, I met quite a few good friends. Turns out, Kalamazoo decided to host its first Marathon on May 8th this year. What a perfect excuse to go back and visit some old friends while feeding my running addiction. I made plans to attend the event several months ago. A last minute work trip to Sweden required me to fly into town directly from Europe, and run the Marathon a day and a half later. Because I’d already had a busy race schedule in May. I decided it would be a smart move to take it easy and pace my good friend Ed in his first marathon.

Upon arrival, Ed started to insist that I participate in the "Pump & Run" competition. No, it’s not a sex act. It is a weightlifting-running combination competition. They put 80% of your weight (130 lbs for me) on a barbell, and every bench press repetition gets you two minutes off of your marathon time. You lift at the Expo the day before. The lifting area is manned by a bunch of Army Reserves. They grunt and yell encouraging words like "Lock it Up!" I was intimidated, but being a good sport, I went along with it for Ed's amusement. I was predicting one rep, but somehow managed six reps. The lowest total of all competitors!!!! The last rep was a struggle, I tell you. I was worried I was going to pop a blood vessel in my eye. This is the most weight I have ever bench pressed.

Look at the fear in my eyes.

"Lock it up!"

Kalamazoo is not a huge city. I found it absolutely amazing how many townsfolk were running in the marathon. Everywhere I went on Saturday, it was all the town was talking about. I have a feeling this race is here to stay. I personally had more than five friends running the race. Ed, the awesome friend he is, invited all of my old friends over for dinner on Saturday night for pasta, drinking, and catching-up. Sidewalk chalking was also on the menu, as the marathon actually ran right in front of Ed's house the next morning. It was a great catch-up with some old friends, however, I had to bite my tongue a bit when I was informed that two of my friends were going to attempt to run their 1stmarathon in Vibram 5-fingers. To each his own, I guess.

I miss these people

I woke up at 5:30 in the morning, surprisingly energized. I was expecting a gnarly case of jet-lag, but somehow felt great. Ed's A-Goal was to run 3:15 (a Boston Qualifier). His B-Goal was to finish. Good goals. Pre-race was uneventful. We said hello to a bunch of friends, and before we knew it, we were off. The starting area was crammed as both the half and full marathons started at the same time. We found ourselves standing around for a good couple of minutes before crossing the starting line, and had to deal with quite a crowd for the first several miles.

Bib-check, Beer $-Check, Energy chews-Check, Highland Scotch-Check

Chilling Pre-race. I'm the only one who slept well the night before.

As we ran through downtown at around mile 5, I had my crowning moment of the day. Depending on the race, pacers can have various responsibilities. One universal pacer responsibility is to keep your runner going in the right direction. This sounds like an easy task for a road marathon in a city that has crowds and signs everywhere. I pounced on the only opportunity to get lost during the race. As we were running through downtown, I was busy taking pictures and led Ed and my friend Matt onto the 1/2 marathon route, as the full route went off in the other direction. Luckily, Ed had some wits about him. He stopped, yelled at me, and ridiculed me for the next couple miles. Besides that little bump, the race was going quite well.

Behind the back action shot... as I ignored the turnoff for the marathon.

The 10 mile marker was likely a good 1/4 mile late, causing me to get confused, as I picked up the pace trying to gain back the two minutes that we somehow had lost. Luckily, Mile 11 was right on target. We came through the halfway point about a minute up on our goal time (1:36, I believe). This was a PR for Ed. I assured him all the cool kids are setting half marathon PR's while running a marathon (ref. Boston Marathon 2011).

Setting a 1/2 marathon PR. Always a good strategy.

Everything was smooth sailing until about mile 17. Here Ed started developing a side stitch. It went away around mile 19, but by that time a side stitch was the least of Ed's worries. I won't go into a lot of detail here, because Ed still had a great race and should be proud of his effort. I'll just say that he had a rough first introduction to "The Wall". There was some cramp stretching, some

walking, some cursing, some moaning. But there was also plenty of smiling, laughing, cursing, and joking. It became apparent around mile 20 that Ed's A-goal likely wasn't going to happen. I yelled at him at this point, as it meant that we likely wouldn't be able to hang out in Boston next spring.

Oh, the wall. Been here before. Note: this is no a dramatization. He really ran like that for over a mile.

The closest we came to trail running

I am not coordinated enough to be attempting this. Almost done.

It was a photo finish, but from the overpriced race photos, it looks like I got out leaned at the line. We finished just over 3:30. Pretty impressive for a first marathon from a late 30's

guy wearing compression socks.

I let Ed lay around in the grass moaning for about 45 minutes before insisting we go drink. Before heading to the beer garden, we enjoyed some post race Scotch. It was rough, but I'm contemplating making it a tradition. It seems so sophisticated. The beers were a bit weird, as they were from a local microbrewery who may want to work on their QC.

Post race beers!

After some relaxing, Ed and I decided to go track down our friend Danica and her mother who were running the marathon together. We found them about a mile from the finish. The Police Car of Doom was no more than 100 yards behind them. If it caught up to them, they'd be forced to get in and wouldn't be allowed to finish the race. Ed and I jumped in and kept them company and encouraged them to the finish. I don't care what anybody says, running a 6 1/2

hour marathon is just as hard as running a 3 hr marathon. They showed a lot of heart seeing it through to the end.

2 Generations of Hernandi finishing.

Check out the 5-fingers on the younger Hernandez. She proved me wrong.

Following a little more scotch, and a nice shower, I was headed back to Chicago for my flight home. The sorest part of my body was my arms. Before I left, Ed was already talking about the next marathon. I have no doubt he'll get that 3:15 goal. Maybe we'll see each other in Boston next spring after all.

Getting Lost in the (Swedish) Woods

I had the exciting opportunity to visit Sweden a few weeks back for some work

training. I had one extra day to do as I pleased. The logical choice was a nice, long trail run in the Swedish backcountry. A friend and colleague of mine, Mattias, met me for a few beers the night I got in and we reviewed a nice, well marked trail that more or less traverses the western coast of Sweden from north to south. The Swedish name for the trail is the Bohusleden Trail. I believe a rough translation is "running around in circles" Trail. The website for this trail has perhaps the best user interface I have ever experienced in a park website. I went to Sweden armed with a series of topos, with the trail well illustrated, and locations of interest marked. Plus, Mattias promised me it was one of the most well marked trails on the planet. All I had to do was follow the orange marking.

Actual photo from my run. You can see 5 trail markings in this photo alone. It's nearly impossible to get off trail.

The plan was to hop on a bus in the morning and take it 35Km (yeah, I'm gonna be annoying and report everything in km for this post) north to an old fortress that used to sit on the Swedish-Norway border a long time ago. From there I'd run back to the hotel. If any of my trail running partners are reading this right now, they are likely cringing. It would be an understatement to say that I am somewhat directionally challenged. I know this, and wouldn't have taken on such

an endeavor if I weren't so well prepared.

I got to the fortress around 9:30 in the morning, 1.5 hours before it opened. I decided to run a few km north along the trail, and then head back to the fortress for a tour. The trail was quite breathtaking. It ran up and down forested rolling hills, passing through several homesteads and such. Early season wildflowers were in bloom. I felt like I was running through some enchanted forest. I was so enchanted, in fact, that I totally lost track of time and ended up going about 8-9

km north before remembering to turn around.

The Bohus Fortress. Parts of it are over 700 years old.

I kept expecting to run upon a cake house with a cannibal witch inside.

There were miles and miles of these stone walls. I can only imagine that they were built by hand hundreds of years ago.

I made it back to the castle around noon. I did the tourist thing for about 45

minutes. I was a bit bummed that all of the dungeons were barred shut, but

overall the fortress was pretty sweet. Shortly after the fortress tour, I made my

first really boneheaded decision. Up until this point, I never went more than 50

yards with out seeing a trail marker. For some reason, I justified running about 1-

2 km without seeing a marker. I was obviously going in the wrong direction. Once

I finally gave into logic, I backtracked and eventually found the correct trail. It

was now about 1:30pm, and I had covered maybe 1km out of the 35km I needed

to cover to get back to my hotel.

Obligatory weird architecture shot for Popes.

I ran up a hill, through a small town with some cool buildings before once again

finding myself on some pretty sweet single track. About 5km from the fortress I

came upon one of the most confusing signs I had ever seen in my life.

I really hate this sign. A lot.

The Swedish language likes to jam entire sentences into a single word. Looking

at my map, I could see that I needed to run through a place called "Vattlefjall".

The problem was that the majority of this word was included in the descriptions

for both directions. To complicate things, both trails were marked in orange. I

justified that "Vattlefjallsleden" was the wise choice, and off I went. I followed

this trail though some fantastic single track, which likely contained over 1km of

boarded trails over marshy areas. Those Swedes take care of their trails.

I got a bit bored in this section of the trail.

About an hour later I came upon another sign. This sign pointed in two

directions. Both directions were labeled "Bohusleden". Well, F@ck. Now what

to do? I stopped briefly, decided to trust my instinct, and headed off in the

absolutely wrong direction. About 45 minutes later I ran by the exact same sign

shown above. And by "ran by," I mean, I actually went a good minute or two

down the trail before it dawned on me that I had just ran a huge circle and was

heading back towards the damn fortress.

I took the picture you see above as I ran by the sign for the third time. If you

look closely, you can see a red and white flag hanging from the sign. That is an

international orienteering waypoint flag - oh the mocking irony.

"You're going the wrong way Jackwagon"

I would revisit this section of trail a few hours after taking this photo.

By this time it was a good six hours into my run and I had covered maybe 5km

of the 35 km I needed to get back to my hotel room. I decided to follow the

correct trail south and see how many more stupid decisions I could make. I

was somehow still having a great time. The scenery likely had a lot to do with

it. If there is a place to run around in circles like an idiot, this was it. I ended up

running maybe another 10km until I came to a small village outside of Angered.

I stopped at a local shop and picked up a $3 Coke and some weird cookies. There

was a major bus-stop by the shop, and I recognized the stop for my hotel on

one of the route descriptions. It was about 5pm at this time, and I decided the

prudent thing to do was to bail and ride the bus back to the hotel. In all, I think I

covered about 55km (34M) in about 8 hours, but was still a good 20km from my

hotel. I am proud to say it is one of my more accomplished getting-lost efforts to

date, and I've had a lot.

Views like this helped me keep my sanity

I passed a few of these shelters along the way. They are open to the public on a first come basis. I was convinced I may be staying in one of these at a certain point in my adventure.

Civilization!

Yeah, I should grow up... sounds painful though.

This post is long enough already, but in case you're not bored yet, below are some touristy photos from my trip.

A Mussolini Urinal. Yeah, you're supposed to piss on him.

My Swedish Friends

The bar of the night. I'm not fluent in Spanish, but I did work construction for a summer. This is one of the phrases I did learn.

No European story is complete without a disco tech photo.

Boston Marathon 2011 Race Report

" Run the Mountens fast

Go Uncle Ryin!!!!

Go Go Go Go !!

Go Fast!

Finish Fast!!

Go for the Prises!!

Win the race!"

That was the poem written by my 6 year old niece on a sign to cheer me on during the race last weekend. I have taken the liberty to write a rendition that is more fitting:

"Run the streets like an Idiot

Suffer Uncle Ryan!!!!

Cramp, Cramp, Cramp, Cramp!!

Start fast!

Finish slow!!

Learn your lesson!!

Barely finish the race!"

The Boston Marathon this year was more about a vacation than a race. I didn't have any concrete goals or expectations. I was more looking to get away for a while an see some family and friends. In that regard the trip was a huge success.

I took the Red-eye out of Denver on Friday night and met up with my father at Logan Airport at the early (late?) hour of 5am. We then proceeded to drive north to New Hampshire to visit my step sister Molly and her wonderful family (husband Adam, and daughter Hope) . I've never been to NH before, and was quite suprised by it's beauty, and ruggedness. There are trees everywhere. I've venture to say there's nearly a tree every couple feet. It would be some rough trekking through those forrests, I'd imagine. Perhaps I'll go back and find out for myself one of these days.

Trees and trees. NH.

Upon arrival, breakfast was eaten and then I put on my running shoes for my last shakedown run before the marathon. Adam showed me around the neighborhood as we meandered through muddy trails for maybe 6 miles. We drove up to Hanover for lunch, followed by napping, an intense Lego house building session and some dinner. My sweet niece was kind enough to give up her bed for the night, so I got a great night of sleep as a hula princess.

Hope, Molly & I in Hanover

Building a Lego Mansion

The next morning my dad and I drove back to Boston, did the whole packet pick-up thing, and then race over to Fenway Park to watch the Sox beat the blue Jays on a perfect afternoon. Guessing by the size of the seats in that park, Americans used to be much smaller 100 years ago. After the game we had just enough time to check in to the hotel, and head off to dinner with a group of runners from Denver (and Portland I think). The size of the doorman at the Restaurant should have warned us, but the portion size of our dinners was ridiculous. Nobody even came close to eating half of their plate. We stopped of at Mikes for some Canoli's and then headed home to watch playoff basketball and get some sleep before the big day. It was nice watching Melo shove a guy late in the 4th quarter to cost the Knicks the game, and not have to get angry for once. I played it smart and turn off the Nuggs after the first quarter and went to bed, think a win was in the bag. Stupid.

The Finish Line on Sunday.

Hey, it was Fenway Park. I wasn't going there without getting a beer...and a hotdog.

My Dad snores. Alot. Very loudly.

Luckily I had earplugs. It didn't mater much 'cause I didn't sleep well anyway. There was a groggy wake up, meet up, walk to Boston Commons and a bus ride. After a short stay at athlete's village, Phil, Rafa (friends from CO) and I made our way to the starting line. We tried to catch the start of the women's elite race, but the combination of tiny women and crowds made that difficult. As we were waiting for the start the Elite Men made their way to the front of the wave, and it was cool to be sharing the same general space as some of those guys for a little while. The Kenyan's all looked tiny and overwhelmed by the crowd. Ryan Hall's pre-race resembled Ray Lewis' Pre-game. Yelling, fist pumps, chest bumps. Dude was stoked. Obviously, he was ready to race, as he set a new American record.

My friend Rafa is the "sage" of Boston. I think he's ran 10 times now, and at an age of 45, he's still running fast. I think all of his runs have been faster than I've ever ran a marathon. He was hoping to run below 2:50, which was my goal as well. I thought it would be a good idea to go out with him and see how things progressed. At the gun, we took it out right on pace, logging a 6:32 mile. The 2nd mile came in a bit faster, 6:10. We told ourselves we should ease up a bit, as 6:10 miles now would make for a long day. We didn't slow up. At about mile 4, in all of my wisdom, I decided it would be a good idea to drop Rafa and run my own race. I was admittedly feeling great, but what a stupid idea...

I started rattling off 6:0x miles for quite a while. I was feeling great. I stopped briefly at Wellesley for a kiss on the cheek. Not wanting to repeat the indecision and miss out like last year, I settled on a relatively cute girl with a sign which read "KISS ME I"M A TRAILGURL". There were probably cuter girls with better appreciation for the English language, but I think I made a decent decision.

I crossed the 1/2 way point in 1:21, a PR for a 1/2 marathon by several seconds. I don't want to tell anybody their business, and I'm not an expert at running strategy, but UNLESS YOU ARE INTERESTED IN EXTREME SUFFERING AND PAIN, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SET A 1/2 MARATHON PR WHILE RUNNING A FULL MARATHON. At this point I was still running in 'superman' bliss and did not realize the hole I was digging for myself. I kept on racking up 6:0x miles all the way through mile 18 or 19.

I knew I was in trouble around mile 17 or 18, but somehow kept the pace going until about mile 20. And then I was a hot mess. My legs were a mess. My feet were a mess. I was miserable. I had set out to really push things in this race, so I was actually quite content with my situation. I had brought this on myself, and was now facing 6 miles of running with nothing left in the legs. I considered it an exercise in understanding and trying to embrace suffering. A skill which I feel is important in my longterm running outlook. Learn to enjoy suffering. That's easier said than done.

While I was busy trashing my legs, my Niece was busy conjuring up a motivational sign.

I had difficulty logging anything faster than 7 minute miles the rest of the way into Boston. My legs were hurting and cramping & I was pretty sure there were a variety of blisters on my feet. Being an ultrarunner, I decided that Endurolytes would fix everything. I popped about 3 or 4 of them at once. Nothing, shucks. Rafa came flying by at mile 24.5. He's a great guy and offered words of encouragement, but as I watched him run out of sight I was cursing my stupidity. One of these days maybe I'll learn my lesson.

At mile 25 I got a nice rise in enthusiasm as I spotted my Dad, Molly, Adam and Hope. They cheered loudly. I waved. Mustered up a smile.

Passing the Family at Mile 25. My legs cramp just looking at this photo.

The high lasted only a couple of minutes. Soon I was getting passed by a female runner who had, well, who had shat herself. That was a blow to the ego. At least she wasn't wearing Vibrams.

As I turned on to Boyston St., I looked at the running watch as it clicked past my goal time of 2:50. 45 seconds later I was done.

Cramping and limping, I found Rafa and we exchanged war stories. I stumbled down some stairs and got a quick massage, and headed to the Back Bay Hotel to meet up with my friends and see how everybody else made out. I was stoked to find out that my friend Phil had ran a 2:56ish time, well below the 3 hour mark that had eluded him. I knew he was in great shape, and am happy he didn't settle for a 2:59 and went for it. I grabbed a quick recovery beer and sauntered back my hotel to meet family, shower, and head out for lunch.

Phil & I enjoying a quick Recovery Beer after the race.

Post race noodles.

Hope and me after the race with my 'nonstoppable' sign. If only it were true.

The afternoon was spend suffering with aches and stomach problems. I managed to leave my pit party and walk down to an actual party later in the evening to grab several more beers and celebrate with some friends. I stumbled back home around midnight, put in the earplugs and attempted to sleep.

The "Denver" guys. We definitely won the drinking portion of the Boston Marathon.

Tuesday was spent sleeping in, accessing the damage to my feet (extensive-I'll save you all the pictures), and stopping by "Cheers" for a burger and beer before heading off to the airport and flying back home. The plane was at least1/2 full or runners. Crazy.

"Cheers". Smiles were at a premium on Tuesday.

Overall, this was a great trip. My 'newer' step family is awesome. I will have to work on getting them to move to CO. It was nice spending time with my Father, despite his snoring.

I didn't meet my 'goal' time of 2:50, but to be honest, I don't really care. It's somehow still a new PR, so I'm not allowed to complain.

I am a bit annoyed at myself for the damage I did to my legs and feet. I've only logged about 10 miles since, and have likely put my feet in a condition that will require coddling and attention the rest of the summer. This was supposed to be just a 'blip' in the training schedule, but may require more extensive recovery.

Next up... Scandinavian running adventure next Monday, followed closely by pacing at the Kalamazoo Marathon 6 days later.