The AltraPedestrian Project, Installment zero1

The AltraPedestrian Project, Installment zero1
   

by Ras

     Long ago in my backpacking career I came to the realization that big, heavy boots which incapacitate your feet are unnatural, uncomfortable, and unhealthy. I began wearing minimalist trail running shoes (Inov-8 Roclites) to backpack in long before I began running ultra distances. It was simply logical to me that at most a shoe should be a tool for your foot to use, not a device to alter or inhibit the natural foot and lower leg functions of flexing, splaying, gripping, and (dare I say it?) pronating.

     But I like shoes and am very interested in them as an ancient human technology. Ötzi, the 5300 year old paleolithic man discovered frozen on a glacier in the Alps in 1991, wore rudimentary (i.e. minimalist) shoes. And the modern equivalents are fascinating, if cumbersome. I often walk around the start of races scoping out people's shoes, occasionally meeting a look that seems to say, "My eyes are up here."

     Last year, preparing for the Pigtails Challenge 200 Mile Endurance Run (see my Race Report Here and Nutrition & Fueling Report Here) I knew that I needed a shoe with some midsole. Again, a tool for my feet to use. When retrieving a piping hot casserole from the oven one uses an oven mitt; there's no possibility of going 'minimal', one needs a tool to do something with one's hand that would otherwise cause harm or damage.

     I began the race with only 18 training miles on my new Altra Lone Peaks, and finished with no blisters and no hotspots, and that was just the beginning. I went on to wear the same pair of Altras for the Echo Valley 50 Miler, 3 days of a four day recon run of the Wonderland (68 miles), the White River 50 Miler, the Angel's Staircase 60k, the Cascade Crest 100 miler, the Double Wonderland (186 miles), the Baker Lake 50k, the Deception Pass 50k, and the 2013 Fort Ebbey Kettles Trail Marathon, as well as a running of the Looit Trail around the base of Mt St Helens and all of my training mileage. 

     I lost track of the cumulative mileage on that pair of shoes at 1600 miles, and that is a conservative accounting. Altra Zero Drop Footwear has blessed me with an Ambadassadorship for 2013 and sent me a brand new pair of Lone Peaks. So in a spirit of research and exploration I am going to publish a precise running total each month on this blog of the miles run in my new pair of Altra Lone Peaks, as well as photos showing wear and tear. Hence the title, The AltraPedestrian Project.

     Witness, in these two photos, the passing of the baton, the changing of the guard, the handing on of the mantle. My new pair of Lone Peaks is all shiny and clean and new on the top, with my preferred alternate lacing pattern already in place. They have 10 miles on them as of this photo, and I am just heading off to the Badger Mountain Challenge to put the first 100 on them.  

      By comparison, my original pair of Lone Peaks, at bottom in both photos, looks broken in and worn out, but nowhere near as destroyed as one would expect with nearly 2000 miles on them. I made no repairs on them and in the photos at top you can see a few holes in the upper and the metatarsal flex point. It will be fun (and hopefully both challenging and exhausting) to watch the miles add up over this season and document the life of the new pair.

     I mean, realistically, what's more fun for an ultra runner than beating up a pair of shoes?

Running Local: It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Running Local: It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

By Kathy Vaughan

     Hitting the ground hard, I was now suddenly both awake and surprised. I had tripped on the frozen, rutted mud only 2 minutes into my 31 mile self-supported training run. I had no choice but to shake it off, my right knee and elbow now skinned. I was due to meet my friend and running partner Shona Hilton and there was no time for delays. She would join me for some middle miles on this day of running. She lives just 5 miles away at the other end of the dirt road I live on with my husband Ras. This road is called Dry Gulch and it goes through quite an array of conditions throughout the year. The area is the Okanogan Highlands of North Central Washington at 3,500 feet in elevation.

     Right now, we are experiencing spring break-up. Snow has been covering the ground for months and now the temperatures are warming. Dry Gulch is great for driving when its compact snow and ice, manicured regularly and sanded by the snow plow driver. It then goes through a muddy stage when the snow melts, where even the best 4-wheel drive has to be fought with to keep on the road. After the mud dries, it leaves deep ruts, freezing at night in the early spring. During the day it becomes dust, referred to by locals as “moon dust”. Next comes the crazy “washboard” a wavy, rutted road surface which causes you to fishtail if you get up to even 30 mph.. The road is then horrible for running. A passing car kicks up more dust than is safe to breathe. The grader works to repair the washboard throughout the spring and summer, but dust is always there.

     On this day, the conditions were actually great for Dry Gulch. Frozen in the morning, the mud would be soft by mid day. Enough of the road had dried out that I could choose whether or not to run in the mud. My plan was also to get off of Dry Gulch for part of the run. I would enjoy some time on the forest service road that neighbors the 40 acre piece of property where Ras and I live in a rustic lodge we caretake. There is wonderful running, biking and cross-country skiing on this road, which doubles as a section of the Pacific Northwest Scenic Trail. Locals head up the road in the wintertime on snowmobiles. This makes a great pack for running or skiing. I was looking forward to running on it after some dirt road miles, knowing it would feel softer on my feet and be awesome to get away from any possibility of a passing car. Unfortunately, my favorite trails were still too snowy for running.

     Earlier in the week I had been looking at my Bryon Powell Training Plan for a 100 Mile Race. I noticed that at the end of Week 14 ,which I was currently in, I would need to run a 50k distance. Not being signed up for an official 50k race, it would be up to me to put together the route and run it on my own. Ras would be busy working his job as a carpenter, so he would not be able to join me. Pigtails Challenge 100 Miler around Lake Youngs in the Renton area, my first 100 mile race, was happening Memorial Day Weekend no matter what. I was determined to stick to my plan. It was actually fun to brainstorm all of the possible routes I could run to reach that mileage goal. I knew my biggest challenge would be to stay motivated for all of those miles on my own. Mixing up the terrain would be key to keeping it fun.

     The morning was cold and quiet as I ran. I soon saw Shona up ahead, moving towards me as we had planned and that made me smile. She called out “Good Morning” in her cute, Scottish accent. We kept on running to the end of Dry Gulch and then turned alongside a little creek, now visibly flowing after being covered in a layer of ice all winter. In the summer, cows range freely in here, mucking up the creek. It begins to smell like cow pies and the creek water is greenish brown. Right now, the water was looking clean and fresh, running through the snowy banks along its sides. This area would change drastically in only a few months. 

      Shona and I could see Bonaparte Mountain off in the distance and we chatted about the Bonaparte Ultra Ras and I are putting together for the weekend of July 6^th. What distance will we run? We should do hill repeats to train for the big climb to the lookout. We can run it faster this year with another season in us. Isn't it cool that Van Phan and Deby Kumasaka want to come run it? (Huge inspirations to Shona & I, Deby ran seven 100 milers last year and Van won the Washington Grand Slam & the women's division of the Pigtails Challenge 200 miler) They'll love it! . . . .  Ultra runners often spend at least some of their time running talking about other ultra runs they want to do and other ultra runners. Its pretty normal.

     We were on a 3.2 mile out n'back section. Then Shona would run back towards my car/aid station with me on Dry Gulch, to her turn around point. We could see the hardy neighbor ladies up ahead, regular walkers no matter what the weather, both in their early 70's. It took a while to gain on them and I was impressed with their pace. Nothing goes unnoticed in a country neighborhood and sure enough one of the ladies had seen me run by solo earlier and wondered why I now had a partner. One of their dogs was pretty unfriendly towards me, so Shona and I said goodbye and went our separate ways.

M.O.N.T. member and training partner Shona Hilton

     In less than a mile, I was back to my car. I drank half of a refreshing Red Bull, one of my indulgences during endurance efforts, and then decided to get my dog Jesse from the house. He would be fun to have along for some miles, but he was getting too old to join me for all 31. He was very happy indeed and we took off to run the other end of Dry Gulch road, a 4 mile out n'back section. We passed by Eden Valley Guest Ranch in its idyllic setting and another creek, flowing swiftly with snow melt. When I got done with that 4 miles, it was time to hit the snowy forest service road. Jesse loves this kind of running, so it would be fun to keep him with me. I'd completed a little over 15 miles at this point in my run.

     I spent 2 ½ hours in the forest, running on the snowmobile pack. Sometimes the snow was too soft and one or the other foot would sink down up to my knee, “postholing”. This would sometimes catch me off guard and I would fall. I actually enjoyed this though and settled into the idea that my traveling was now quite a bit different than it had been before. The sun was shining. I felt warm and comfortable. I could see young, bright green pines coming up in the old burn area where I was now running. Off in the distance, the rugged and rocky face of Haley Mountain was towering over the scene. I wondered about an access trail to the summit. I was moving towards its base and would then turn, running a 5 ½ mile lollipop trail through forest service land. Some of this trail is a part of the Highlands Halloween Hundred Trail Adventure Run (H3) that Ras and I hold Halloween weekend in October. I took a short break in here, nibbling on a nut mix.

     The snow continued to soften as I ran. By the time I got out to Dry Gulch again, I was postholing on almost every step. I welcomed the road. I was happy with how my Altra Lone Peak trail running shoes were performing in these mixed conditions, transitioning easily from helping me keep good traction in the snow & mud, to giving me the support I needed on the hard pack dirt. I ran ¼ mile or so to get back to my car again. Each time I got there, it was easy to change out water bottles or clothing layers, have something to eat, and resupply my Nathan running vest with Cliff Blocks, nuts and new Perpetuem bottles (a liquid, vegan nutrition drink I can easily sip while running, made by Hammer Nutrition). 

     I felt just right all day in a hat and gloves. I dried my sweaty gloves out in the car between visits. A merino wool sweater with a thermal running hoodie was necessary, even though the sun kept poking through. There was enough of a breeze to keep it a little cool all day. Now it was time to run Jesse back up to the house. The driveway was muddy and snowy. Intermittent puddles made for creative footing. This was the most technical section of the run! Our driveway is ¼ of a mile long, so this would add a half mile onto my route. Jesse was ready to be done and he went inside to lap up some water and lay down on his cozy bed. I was off for more running.

     Now I would repeat the 4 mile section of Dry Gulch. I felt good and relaxed, the benefits of so many hours of running through nature. With the spring melt, birds were returning to the highlands and I had seen my first robins and mountain bluebirds of the season. A bald eagle was perched high in an aspen, watching for the afterbirth the cows had been leaving behind. The sweet melodies of meadowlarks were nice to hear throughout the dirt road running. The mountain chickadees were singing their tunes also, preferring the forest with its large fir & tamarack trees.

     I needed some more mileage after my 4 mile out n'back, so I went back up the snowy road into the forest service land. I felt grateful to be able to mix up the terrain I was running on and enjoy the quiet peacefulness that I felt as soon as I entered the forest. I ran up the road for ½ hour and then turned around. Back at the driveway, all that was left of my adventure was to check the mailbox ¼ mile away, run up the messy driveway and back down the final ¼ mile to the car.

     The calm of late afternoon was surrounding me now. I felt a stillness in me like this time of day has, when activity comes to a close and dusk has not quite settled. The remaining daylight brought with it a sense of everything being just right. I had finished my self-supported ultra training run. It had been really fun and not as challenging as I thought it would be. During this same season, 2 years ago, I was just beginning trail running. I would steadfastly refuse to run the driveway at the beginning and end of runs for some reason, no matter how much Ras gently prodded. Now as Ras pulled up, finishing his work day, he was just in time to see me come running down the muddy driveway, a coincidence we could not have planned. 

     Done running for the day, I could now go in by the woodstove, warm up and cook a delicious meal of tofu scramble. Its really awesome being able to put together my own ultra distance run right out my front door. Turns out, staying happy and engaged in a run in my own neighborhood is not a problem after all.

My Ultrarunning Gear/Favorite Stuff List:

1. Nathan running vest (I have 2 sizes, depending on the distance & support available)
2. Nathan hand bottle with a spare bottle (or 2) filled & packed in my vest; if I will be filtering water, I bring a Sawyer water filter
3. Nathan 10 ounce flasks with Hammer Perpetuem, each flask holding a 2 hr. supply
4. Justin's nut butter pouches; baggies of nuts or seeds; peanut butter sandwich on sprouted grain bread; homemade peanut butter & dark chocolate energy ball; avacado
5. Clif Blocks (although I'm currently switching to Gu Chomps for the amino acid benefit)
6. Injinji toe socks (completely prevents blisters for me)
7. Altra Lone Peaks trail running shoes (zero drop design has been great for ankle stability & healing)
8. Smart Wool quarter zip, mid-weight merino wool sweater (perfect for layering, year round)
9. Brooks Thermal Running Hoodie (awesome warm outer layer with pocket for mp3 player)
10. KT brand kinesiotape (taping on both ankles has been giving me great support & confidence after having been prone to ankle rolls)
11. Black Diamond Z Poles (for runs with lots of climbing)
12. mp3 player loaded with Raggae Dancehall mixed tapes

The Future Of Ultrarunning

The Future Of Ultrarunning
   
Hypothesis: The Parallel Paths Of Trailrunning, Fastpacking, and Thruhiking Eventually Intersect

Wherein I address the question, Is the introduction of bigger prize purses at trail races a positive or negative thing overall?




by Ras

     As I have been oft heard to quip, I am a backpacker who became a back-of-the-packer, although even that pedigree is dubious. But trail culture is definitely my foundation. The practices and accoutrements of road and track running are foreign to me, sometimes downright offensive. Give me a trailhead over a starting corral any day. (I live in cattle country, so I'm uncomfortable being corralled. Neuterdom and the slaughterhouse are two common destinations for which a corral is a layover point.) I pack it in and pack it out. Images of bulldozers pushing up mounds of plastic cups horrify me. 'Leaving it all on the course' is an alien concept to me. My worldview presupposes the need or desire to cover the same amount of mileage again this afternoon, and tomorrow.

     When you finish running or fastpacking or thruhiking a long trail, there is no one to cheer, no beverages and barbecue, and no lane bordered with colored flags leading to an inflatable finish arch, a novelty sized clock display, and a smiling race director. The tourists look at you sideways, wondering if you're safe to approach, and only you know what you have just accomplished. And no one hands you a check.

     Prize purses are a product of road and track running culture, as are many other common practices at trail races. I don't have a moral or ethical objection to using financial enticements to elicit elite performances, a carat on a stick if you will, but I take issue with the extremely narrow scope of achievement which is celebrated in road and track culture.  In a paradigm where speed is the only ideal, that end shapes its own means and defines the character of it's races.

     Distances have to be standardized. Measurements must be precise. Yes, 50k is an unnaturally round number (although 31 miles has a seemingly organic awkwardness to it), but standardized distances make it possible to compare times across the country, around the world, and on a variety of not dissimilar courses. (Try juxtaposing the results of the Boston Marathon, the Comrades Marathon, and the Barkley Marathons and you'll quickly see.) But whether it's a traditional 26.2 miles, a 5k, or a 100 miler, the measurement defines the marathon and the distance decides the course.

     Is this a positive or negative thing overall? Neither. It's just what it is. It's a factor, a shaping force in the evolution of trail running.

     Prize money can draw elite runners, and I'm the first to admit the excitement of witnessing the fastest of the fast face off. I love the long term strategy of a physical and mental contest that stretches out over hours and hours. And while races such as the Chucknut 50k and Speedgoat 50k have done an excellent job of using monetary prizes to bring top competition their way, not a few of the best showdowns in recent years have been at Western States, where no prize money is on offer.

     The reality is that the majority of trail runners, the bulk of the pack, the 99%, will never touch a podium, let alone cash a prize check. In essence, elite runners are playing a different game than most of us are. They are competing in a different sport: Competitive Running.

     Here begins the prognostication. I foresee a future wherein the trail running scene, through an accelerated form of natural selection, becomes apportioned into specialized niches. I believe we are already seeing this. 

     Competitive Running will continue toward homogeneity. As sponsors invest more and more money into athletes and races, they will expect those athletes and races to produce more and more money. This will be accomplished not by bringing the average person onto the trail, but by bringing trail running into the average person's living room via television and internet. 

     Multiple loop courses will become de rigueur because they facilitate broadcasting. The smaller the loop, and the more laps required to make the distance, the less race and media infrastructure will be needed to create a network quality sports show. A fleet of cameramen is far more affordable than a fleet of helicopters, which would be needed to film a point to point 100 miler. Profits will increase, and with them will come all the baggage and benefits of any professional sport.

     Conversely, Adventure Running, running for challenge, achievement, and experience, will follow its bliss away from the trappings and limitations of Competitive Running.  

     I foresee the advent of the Age of the Non-Standard Distance, organic distances based on geographic features. Classic trails, mountains, and rivers will define race courses. Upon completion of the 93 mile Wonderland Trail around the base of Mount Rainier, in Washington State, one doesn't think, "Just seven more miles and it would have been perfect." Running around The Mountain is enough, and if 93 is the number, then 93 is just fine. In trail culture each trail stands on it's own as a test piece. How does the Tahoe Rim Trail compare to the Rim to Rim to Rim? It doesn't. It doesn't have to. The trail, the environs, and the geographic features define the course. The measurement is an afterthought.

     New paradigms of achievement will arise. Speed will still be valued, but not at the expense of everything else, more in terms of efficiency. Style, in the alpine sense of technique or methodology, will be more highly revered. Sustainability in every sense will become a paramount ethic; not only in terms of making use of the natural world in a way that preserves it, but also in a way that preserves the athlete and promotes their well being and continued striving. Unsupported, self supported, and multi-day events will proliferate, allowing fastpackers and hikers to participate in some of the same events as ultrarunners and trail runners. Fastest Known Times, Only Known Times, Thruhikes, and Peak Bagging will capture the imagination and ambitions of greater numbers of runners. 
     
     But this is a trajectory that was plotted well before substantial prize money came into play. Large prize purses are a factor, a breeze, an influence, but not an evolutionary force in and of themselves. The real force driving this evolution is the human drive to push, to test, to challenge, and to find that elusive new thing under the sun.

Highlands Challenge #2: Diamonds In The Snow

By Kathy Vaughan


     The promise of sunshine and warmer temperatures helped my friend Lisa and I choose this day for our second Highlands Challenge of the season. We would ski all of the trails in the Highlands Sno Park in the Okanogan Highlands in one go, a total of 30 miles of skiing. This would be our 3^rd ultra-distance ski.

     But on this early morning, the sky was gray and the temperature remained cold when Lisa and I met at the trailhead at 7:30. Lisa is a great cross-country skiing partner. We have a lot in common, like following a vegan diet and enjoying what grows from the earth. She makes wonderful soaps and pine needle baskets. We first met at a local winter ice fishing festival several years ago. I was selling little scrap fabric & wool dolls that I make while she was vending her wares. 

     During the summers, she works on trails. She heads out into the Pasayten Wilderness, carrying everything she needs on her back plus a huge cross-cut saw and clears the trees that have come down across the trails over the winter. She goes out for 9 day stretches at a time, no matter what the weather. Early season can mean traveling through lots of snow and making her way across waist high, early season creeks, swift with snow melt. My 19 year old daughter Angela went out on her first ever “hitch” with Lisa last summer and no matter what their circumstance (traversing a snowy slope under a cornice of snow, coming across a wolverine, unhappy to see them) she said Lisa always held her cool. That has proven to be true. She always has a smile on her face.

My excellent ski partner Lisa.

     We decided to start our ski in the lower meadow as icy conditions might still be hanging on higher up from the overnight cold. My large capacity Nathan vest was loaded with 2 water bottles; a bean burrito; soy jerkeys; 2 Hammer Perpetuem flasks; chocolate peanut butter balls to share, which I had made special for the trip; toe warmers; a space blanket; a small first aid kit; a ziplock with tums, ibuprofen and ginger chews; and a down puffy jacket. We would pass by our cars in the afternoon and at that time I would pick up my headlamp and sternum light, change into dry socks, have a sip of hot coffee from my thermos, pick up some new trail food, and refill my water bottles. I had a dry merino wool sweater and a thermal running jacket to change into if I needed. I could also grab a heavier pair of gloves for later in the day skiing. I knew Lisa had made similar preparations, which made me feel comfortable.

     As it turned out, it was very icy and stayed that way for the time it took us to ski the area of the park I call the Antoine side. This section sits at the base of Bonaparte Mountain and is in sight as you climb up to 4,600 feet, the highest point in the park. The Antoine Loop itself is 8.6k and then all kinds of trails meander and connect the outer loop. This made for some repeats of certain sections of trail. Overall, we felt very organized in our route compared to completely winging it our first time we took on this challenge.

     Skiing in icy conditions is sketchy. We had both chosen to use our lighter weight nordic skis rather than our shaped, Fischer back-country skis. The ones we left behind would have given us more control on the downhill and more surface for climbing. As it was, our narrow skis were skittery and loud as we wedged until our quads burned on the downhill and used every technique we knew for the climbing-herringbone, scooching, simply lifting our skis in a type of walking movement and sometimes even sidestepping up crazy steep hills. My ankles and arches were getting tired from all of the angles I kept having to use with my feet. It was challenging and yet still fun to be out in the snow and fresh air. The idea of waiting for a better day was not, in our minds, a possibility. We would keep on moving forward. The date being March 4^th made it perfect.

     After completing the Antoine side, we skied down a narrow, windy and steep trail with barb wire fencing on either side. This trail is called “Goshawk” and in good conditions is one of my favorites. In the ice, it was exciting! We soon passed a barrel of tar, peeled poles soaking in it that would later be used as fence posts. This was an interesting trail side scene. You never know what you might see in this remote, yet mostly well-groomed, nordic park. We later skied by an old piece of logging equipment with a wooden cab.

     We bottomed-out in a meadow, the sun now shining. The tracks the groomer had set made for fast skiing on this softening trail. We were headed for “Ranger's Run”, a steep Black trail (Most Difficult) in the park's rating system. At the top of the short climb, was a sweet little meadow with distant views of the North Cascades. It was time to stop for a break and I knew just the tree. We stopped at the base of a huge pine. I had stopped here once before on a solo ski, noticing that I could sit on the lowest branch and lean back against the tree while I ate lunch.

Lisa studying the map for the Whitetail side.

     This time of winter, the snow begins to melt out from underneath trees and large rocks. These are nice places to rest for a minute, or make any adjustments. I love these spots. After months of being surrounded by a deep blanket of snow, it evokes all the feelings that come with early spring to see the earth, dried grasses and bare rock now showing.

     After leaving the tree, we had only the drop from the meadow on icy trail under trees (which usually means lots of debris & small ice chunks) and a short hill to climb to reach our cars. Careful skiing got us down just fine.

     We'd been on the trail 6 hours and 20 minutes by the time we got to the small parking area. It was nice to put on dry socks and enjoy some hot coffee. I was glad to be off of the icy Antoine side and had noticed earlier in the morning that Jack, the groomer, had been out. I was ready to see where he had been, knowing that anything he groomed would be in better shape and make for funner, faster skiing. I grabbed a couple more chocolate peanut butter balls, a small ziplock of wasabi almonds and changed out my Perpetuem bottles. Lisa had been sharing her chewy dried bananas with me. I knew it would be important to keep nibbling on food to have the energy for skiing.

     This side of the park I call the Whitetail side. We started out again on the other side of that same lower meadow where hours earlier we had begun our day. The tracks were fast and we made good time on our approach to a trail called “Hej Bue”. Not being clear on how to pronounce it, my goofy husband Ras likes to call it “heggie booie”. This would take us to a slightly higher meadow “Sunshine Meadow” and then a technical, slow climb up “Twista Vista”, which most skiers like to come down rather than climb. On this icy day, we chose to climb it.

     Of course when we got to the start of Twista, we could clearly see where Jack had been with the groomer and coming down it would have been a blast. Oh well. We began to climb, wrenching our ankles as we herringboned and maneuvered up these banked switchbacks. At least the snow was churned up enough from the groomer for us to have good conditions for climbing. I thanked Jack many times both out loud and in my head. After many hours on the trail either running or skiing, I often just talk out loud, sometimes shout.

     At the top, we were gifted with an awesome downhill. It was well earned and greatly appreciated. It felt good to fly freely and smell the damp trees in the creek bottom as the descent ended. Now one short, fun and well-groomed out n'back and then the 3.6k climb to the turn around point. At the turn around, it would be all downhill to our cars.

Kathy on the final climb.

     The climb was long and tedious, but towards the top we could glide along with less effort as the intensity of the slope lessened. Before we knew it we had reached the top of our final climb in our 30 mile day. I was happy and let out one of those carefree shouts of joy, ski poles thrust into the air. No one else had climbed up to here today and it was a blast to take off down the hill on the fresh corduroy. I was filled with glee as I skied, my mind relaxed, feeling at one with my surroundings. It was just turning to dusk and a few stars were starting to show. The wind had died down and all was quiet. Lisa and I skied down the road to our cars from the upper lot after completing the Whitetail side and our 2^nd Highlands Challenge of the season. Slowly and carefully we made our way along the shoulder of the plowed forest service road and lost the last of the light as we finished. We had skied for 10 hours and 10 minutes.

     I always have some comforts ready to grab easily when I finish a day on the trail. This time I had a blanket to sit on & one to wrap around me, the rest of my thermos of coffee, cozy wool- lined boots to slide my worn feet into and new memories dancing through my head. 

      Last week I had been on a ski trip in the Rendezvous Mountain area near Mazama, in the foothills of the North Cascades. Lisa had been along and another gal Rise', who wrote a cool little bluesy tune on her guitar called “Diamonds in the Snow” for all of us. She sang it throughout our stay in the cabin. Lisa and I had remembered it earlier in the day as we skied. The snow sparkles likes diamonds in the sunlight of day, but now, sitting in the dark, all that sparkled were the stars outside and a sense of peace inside.

2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon Race Report: The Perils Of Crosstraining

2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon Race Report:

   

The Perils Of Crosstraining

or

Blood On The Living Room Floor

by Ras

     My wife is the coolest in the world. In the winter she lets me ride my trials bike in the house. A lot of trials riding is done at very low speeds or from a stand still, so I can practice basic moves in a small area and get in some good cross training that works my core as well as all of my stabilizer muscles, improves balance, develops explosiveness, and heightens my reflexes. That's how I ended up bleeding on the floor of the living room.

     Two days before the Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon I built a small wooden box, about 18” high, 3' wide and 4' long to practice trials moves on. I made it decent looking so that it could be inside and could be covered with a cloth or quilt to serve as a seat or ottoman. I thought it would be pretty challenging and take a lot of practice to get up on, but was able to within my first few tries the very first time I set it up. Then I was able to get up on the box, get up on my rear tire and balance, then pedal kick off, landing smoothly and perfectly. I was stoked, so stoked I tried it again.

     Kathy had just sat down on the sofa a few feet away and was beginning to eat dinner. (Yes, I was still riding my bike after I'd been called for dinner. I realize this is a bit immature, and I have no defense of my behavior. The last time my daughter was home from college she said I was like a teenager, because I had been running, snowskating, and riding my bike all in the same day, so my immaturity may be more pervasive than I had hitherto realized.) I rode up to the box, got my front tire on, balanced, jumped up and forward to bring my rear tire on, stood the bike up on the rear wheel on the edge of the box, and went to pedal kick off. That's when things went sideways.

     I landed with my weight too far back, and my rear tire washed out. I fell backwards, hitting the back of my head on the edge of the box at the same time that the handlebars hit me in the forehead. (InB4 shoulda worn a helmet.) The next thing I knew I was laying on my side on the floor, blood was dripping from my head in three places, and Kathy was screaming. I just laid there for a moment trying to figure out what had just happened. I was hurt, although I didn't think I was injured, but Kathy's intermittent screams and panicky offers of help were overwhelming, and on top of it all I couldn't stop laughing. The ridiculousness of it was too much, and it kept setting me off laughing. I needed a moment to lay there and bleed and laugh and take mental stock, so I asked Kathy to get me a cold, wet cloth.

     I hoisted myself up to a seated position on the wooden box I'd been so happy with just a moment before. Kathy handed me the cloth and I pressed it to the back of my head. She asked what else she could do, and I said, “I just need a minute. Why don't you clean up the blood.” For some reason, hearing myself say that made me laugh even more.

     I was further amused by Kathy alternately grumbling to herself under her breath and hurling concerned interrogatives at me; “I don't even know what you were doing. Why weren't you wearing a helmet?! Now you're gonna hafta crew me at Fort Ebey. You have a contusion! You can't run like this. What are the symptoms of a concussion?” And the more this dear, sweet woman expressed her consternation, concern, and dismay, the more I laughed. I was especially entertained by the idea of asking the symptoms of a concussion from the very person you suspect of being concussed. Even now, replaying the incident in my mind it brings me to laughter. My favorite part was about an hour later after Kathy had inspected the cut on the back of my head and the two on my forehead. She lead me over to the couch, brought me a bowl of pasta and a beverage, then stood back, crossed her arms, glared at me with a unique blend of frustration and concern, and said, “Now you're kinda fucked up.”

     And I was. I didn't have a headache or nausea and my pupils were evenly dilated, but my neck and shoulder muscles on the right side were painful, tight, and locking up. I may not have had a concussion, but I probably did have a minor case of whiplash. Whiplash shmiplash, it was only twenty six miles. I'd be fine.

     Two days later, before the start of the Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon, I was feeling well. The bruising on my forehead was so slight that my mother didn't even notice it when we visited her the night before. My neck had loosened up and everything was comfortable, and I was ready to run some trail.

     I had a baggy of almond butter, a baggie of chocolate hazelnut butter, a baggy of coconut butter, a baggie of wasabi almonds, a bottle of water, and a small flask tucked into the back of my shorts for mixing up Hornet Juice (which at some point was not riding correctly, and ended up giving me a tramp stamp abrasion that was both painful and funny). I wasn't using a drop bag and just carried all of my calories from the beginning, although about half of what I had brought would make two full circumambulations of the course and end up right back in my ultra bin. When all was said and done, I ran the race on very few calories, a thousand at most, felt great doing it, and recovered quickly and well. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

     I left my big Phat Pharm gangsta puffy in the car and went to find Kathy, who had headed to the start area a few minutes earlier. As the start of the race drew near Kathy looked me up and down, then asked if I was going to wear my sweat pants during the race. I looked down and realized I had forgotten to remove the cheap cotton sweatpants I had been wearing while readying my gear at the car.

     These are my very favorite pants to hang out in at home and for apres run, but they are not appropriate running gear. I had bought them a number of years ago on the way to a grappling tournament in Seattle. I purchased them along with a hoodie at a Big 5, and wore them both in the car with the heater on full blast in order cut my last few pounds before the weigh ins. The very first time I washed them they shrank severely, and have since been known as my man-pris. Much as I like them, I had no intention of running a trail marathon in them. I darted back to the car, pulled the sweatpants off over my shoes (which is a wonderful challenge to one's sense of athleticism and maturity), tossed them into the car, and made it back to the race start in order to talk with friends before the race.

     Kathy and I were running separately, each pursuing our own race goals. When the start was sounded I circled around the back of the mass of runners and up the left side of the marked course, settling into the lemming line just as the wide starting lane turned into single track.

     Fort Ebey Kettles is a great course. The trail is constantly winding, climbing, turning, descending, wending, and weaving it's way through the woods and along the bluffs of Fort Ebey State Park. With over 5000 feet of climbing it is not a particularly fast course, but the trail is non-technical and very runnable and just plain fun. Aide stations are there to refresh and revive you every 4 ½ miles, so a single Amphipod bottle was more than adequate. And the course was amazingly well marked, especially considering that there were over 100 trail junctions along its length.

     A number of times throughout the race I had runners behind me comment on the footprint design I was sporting on the soles of my Altra Lone Peaks. I took this as a good sign regarding my form, since I was lifting my feet high enough for the bottoms of my shoes to be seen. I also soon realized that most of the runners around me where running the half marathon, a single lap of the loop course. This didn't bode well for my pacing, and I began to wonder if my joke to Eric Barnes about “going out too fast and then blowing up” might perhaps be more prescient than mere merriment.

     I finished the first lap in 2:20, refilled my water bottle at the aide station, and headed out for my second lap. I slowed a bit on the second lap. I hiked a lot more of the hills. But only two runners passed me during that second loop, so while I had slowed I was still moving fairly well. No one was running near me, so I turned on an audiobook on my mp3 player and let my mind chew on a good murder mystery as I wound my way through the woods of Whidbey Island.

     I try to keep things as positive as I can, and my splits reflected that; extremely positive. I finished the race in 5:29:53, making my 5:30:00 goal by a fat 7 seconds (coincidentally, the name of one of my favorite 80's hardcore punk bands). I finished twelfth overall, 10^th men's, and only 1:05:43 off of the men's course record. And as usual, I came in First Rasta with the Rastafarian Course Record. Give Thanks for Life.

Read Kathy's 2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Race Report HERE

Changing Perspectives - From Mountains to Sea: 2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon

Changing Perspectives - From Mountains to Sea: 2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon

By Kathy Vaughan

     After having completed 7 ultras, I decided to run an actual trail marathon. I was persuaded by the Ft. Ebey Kettles Marathon put on by Northwest Trail Runs and held on February 17^th. My mother-in-law lives only a couple of miles from this beautiful state park on Whidbey Island near Coupeville. Post race meal & accommodations could be provided by my folks in the nearby town of Anacortes. I could have lunch in Seattle the next day with my daughter Angela, who is a sophomore at the University of Washington. It would be a perfect opportunity to visit with family and have a great snow-free day of running on the west side of the mountains in winter.

     It turned out to be a near perfect day. The weather was windy and cool in the morning when my husband Ras and I arrived at Ft. Ebey State Park to check in and get our bib numbers. We knew parking would be limited and decided to arrive plenty early. We would finish getting ready from our car and likely visit with other runners we knew. There is always someone new to meet also, as trail runners are a friendly bunch. This is part of the fun of race day.

     I have usually run my ultras with Ras, but today I would be running on my own. I had mixed feelings about this, but overall was totally excited about the new challenge. I had been spending some long solo days cross-country skiing in our nearby groomed sno-park and felt prepared to go for it.

The course is 26.25 miles long on rolling terrain with a total elevation gain in the 2 half- marathon distance loops of 5,200 feet. I thought this would feel like a lot of climbing. In my training, I had put in about 12 snow shoe climbs on the Sitzmark Ski Hill where I had spent the early part of my winter working as a lift operator. During my half- hour lunch break, I would strap on my snow shoes and climb the nearly 700 feet to the top of the small ski slope. It was great training and a fun way to spend a lunch break at work. The 360 degree view from the top of all of the surrounding mountains –Bonaparte, Mt. Baldy and Big White, off in the distance in Canada, and all of the Okanogan Highlands with its plowed, winding country roads, made the climb worth it each time.

     Cross-country skiing had also been a big part of my training for this race. I had tallied up 183 ski miles since running Rainshadow Running's Deception Pass 50k on Whidbey Island 9 weeks prior. I had enjoyed some amazing days skiing through the Bonaparte Mountain area near my home and the Rendezvous Mountain area in Mazama, the foothills of the North Cascades. On one solo outing, I skied past a bloody carcass, being feasted upon by a mixed group of hungry birds—bald eagles, turkey vultures, ravens and magpies. I didn't pause to see what larger critter might be lurking about. I did know that nothing this intense would happen as I ran a supported race solo in a state park on Whidbey Island!

     One of my best winter adventures leading up to Ft. Ebey was the Highlands Challenge I did with my friend Lisa. She had the great idea of skiing all of the trails in the Highlands Sno-Park, only 8 miles from where Ras and I live. I know the park really well and was completely game for the challenge.

     We started at 9 am and had a wonderful day skiing 28 miles of trail in 8 hours. We skied through meadows, climbing up high, then flying downhill, exploring every trail through the park. The trails were groomed and the snow conditions perfect. Although the wind blew all day, we hardly noticed because we were able to keep moving so well along the nicely prepared trails. We used our cars as aid stations sometime around 4 that afternoon and finished by headlamp, skiing downhill the last 1.5 miles in an intense snow-plow, in icy conditions that had come after dark. We didn't have enough light in these conditions for the last 1k, but we still reached our number one goal of an epic day.

     I was feeling strong on race day and ready to meet my goals. Always, my first goal is to finish. Next, I wanted to finish in 7 hours, finishing the first loop in 3.5 hours or less. If that didn't happen, 7.5 hours was my next goal time. And as usual, I did not want to finish last (commonly known as DFL in the ultra running scene). In addition to these goals, I wanted to remain peaceful and calm in my mind, being kind to others and to run strong, feeling positive throughout the race.

     The race started right on the beach. All 4 race distances started together, so it was a big group of runners that climbed up the short slope to reach the single track that would take us into the forest. It was a pleasant start. I felt so relaxed and ready for the run. I had positioned myself towards the back of the runners and thus ended up at a dead stop as we funneled onto the single track. I kept patient and soon was running at a perfect pace, feeling no pressure from behind and grateful for the smooth trail. The pack I was in was quiet and focused. I appreciated this sense of calm over the raucous girls and loud trail talk that had put me on edge during the start of my last 50k in December.

     Ft. Ebey State Park is situated in the narrowest part of Whidbey Island. This area is pocketed with forested depressions in the earth called kettles. This made for great curvy dips into these kettles and then short climbs back out again. In between kettles, the narrow, twisty trail was lined with thickets of small douglas fir, cedar, wild rhododendrons, blue spruce, hemlock and other evergreen bushes that don't grow in North Central Washington where I call home.

     The contrast in environments from where I had traveled 7 hours just the day before made this trail welcome and interesting. I had been in snowy surroundings since the end of November. My running had all been on snow plowed roads in the 3500 foot elevation range. The temperatures had been as cold as 5 below, but were normally in the mid 20's. I had made some excursions onto the neighboring forest service road also, running on snowmobile pack. This soft, wooded trail felt awesome. The green all around and the damp, ocean air was so invigorating. Singing birds and chattering chipmunks sounded new to my ears. Mountain chickadees had only just returned to my yard back home. The closest I'd come to seeing any wildlife, was finding tracks of snowshoe hares, white tail deer, coyotes and voles on the snowy trails where I cross country ski.

     So everything fell into place for me on race day. I hit the first aid station just minutes before I thought I would and that pattern continued on throughout the run. I felt awesome. Its funny how different ones' perspectives can be though. The guy working the last aid station looked down at his watch, jotted my number on his clipboard and said “You're doing another loop, huh? So you're the one we'll be watching for. How many of these have you done?” It was fun to respond to him that it was my first marathon; I'd only run ultra- marathons before, six 50k's and one 50 miler (not to mention many unsupported running adventures, some of them with back-to-back days featuring more than 26 miles).   And besides, there was at least one other runner behind me from the marathon distance.  I knew I'd also passed a decent number of half-marathoners. I wasn't the final runner coming through on this first loop. The marathon was the longest distance being run at this race. There was also a 10k, a 20 miler, and a ½ marathon.

     My favorite section of trail was right on the water front. The course had us twisting through trees and kettles and then suddenly coming out along a bluff trail. This section had ancient, sturdy, yet withered trees along it. After passing these, the trail took us onto a grassy bluff where we could see the start/ finish and ½ way aid station point, but kept us looping down to the water instead. On my first time through, paragliders were hanging out here, part of a -scene that happens here regularly, it seemed. One paraglider was taking off alongside the steep bluff trail I was climbing. He kept having to climb higher to try to catch air and his sail was right over my head. It was crazy! Finally he took off and I watched us he floated out over the cold Puget Sound far below.

     I couldn't wait to run through this area again and it kept me motivated to keep moving well. I don't know what it feels like to be fast in these races or to even be in the middle of the pack. On this day, though, I did finally feel what its like to just keep on running well for the full race distance. I was steady all day,4 minutes off an even split. When I hit the final aid station the second time through, a younger, more encouraging guy was there so I had to let go of my plan to flip the other guy some attitude that I was not in the DFL position after all! Only a couple more miles and I would be along the water again. I ran beside those mystical old trees a second time and came out to the opening to see Ras snuggled under blankets in his big puffy jacket at a picnic table, a cold Red Bull right there, my warm puffy jacket in sight also.

     Something happened then. I smiled so big I thought I would burst. I almost cried with joy. I took off towards the water, looping down along the ocean shore and up the steep bluff trail, the paragliders long gone now. I'd passed the last one hiking up the trail with his gear loaded into a humongous backpack. The sun was lower in the sky. My breathing became audible. I began to pump my arms, in what could have looked ridiculous, for more power along this smooth, well-worn trail. I was alone and working hard, adrenaline was surging through me as I felt the finish and the renewed energy from seeing Ras. Living in a high mountain desert area, I'm not often around the energy of the vast Pacific and I could definitely feel it now.

     I knew I was reaching my goals. I was coming in under 7 hours; the time was 6:38 when I saw Ras. I had been in great spirits, never bonking mentally. I had climbed well all day and I was not going to come in last. I only had one brief moment of panic when after this magical moment along the water, the trail passed through another kettle before coming back around to that start/finish zone. I couldn't remember doing this on the first loop for some reason. I thought I'd missed a course marker. But I soon saw some familiar sights and knew I was still on the right track. I pushed it through to the finish with a time of 6:50:09, less than a minute behind the two runners in front of me and 20 minutes in front of the final two.

     This course was marked perfectly and there were lots of good munchies at the aid stations. I have it on my list of runs for next year already and I do recommend it. Those of us who run trails in Washington state are blessed. From the steep, dry climbs in the Yakima River Canyon; the rugged alpine zones and wildflower meadows of The Wonderland Trail around Mt. Rainier; the lush old growth forests along Baker Lake; exciting rocky gullies, boulder fields and the volcanic blast zone on The Loowit Trail around Mt. St. Helens; to the solitude and distinctive seasons of the Okanogan Highlands, I love exploring and running trail. Whether running a supported race or going on an unsupported adventure run, there is always a moment where I am blown away by where I am and what I'm doing. Ft. Ebey Kettles was no exception.