Race Report: North Face Endurance Challenge, Madison, WI Sept 15, 2012

Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water, [do hills]

After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water, [do hills]

-Buddha's CrossFit coach

Monk Power-- Preparation
The North Face Endurance Challenge was mine and my wife's first 50 mile run, and it turned out to be my favorite race of all time! Perfectly managed. Perfectly unmanaged. Never mismanaged.

On one level, I get that all this racing and training is an utter vanity. The results, the accomplishments, the gear, the jealousy, the expectations-- they're all vanity of Biblical/Koranic proportions. So, 10 pm, four days before the race, stricken with some kind of 24 hour Buddhist virus, I suddenly decided my hair, too, is vanity, and that's it's gravely important to shave my head in order to transcend it all. Detatchment, grasshopper. Ommmm! 

The mediation started out with zen-like clarity-- See the trail. BE the trail. Find your freedom. Release the hair. 30 minutes into it, my wife, Susie, stumbled upon me helplessly fudging with the clippers in the kitchen. Here. Let me help you, babe. Then Susie commandeered my little monk plans and proceeds to tells me,  Hon, sometimes you just gotta let the mo' flow. Yunno? Then the purity of my feng shui scalp quickly veered from the monk to the punk-direction.

Sometimes you just gotta let the mo' flow. Yunno?

Mohawk it is, then! After all, monasticism, too, is a vanity with it's own egotistical pitfalls, (which I know a little too much about).

Ultimately, the race turned out so well, I think, because... 
1) I was able to approach it stripped down of all the baggage that normally shackles my mind (appropriate training drills, performance goals, ego's attachment to outcomes, fruit-eating logistics, etc) As a trail run, it just felt so pure-- devoid of all the pavement, triathlon gadgetry, the hulking-type-A personalities, the glitz and glam of million dollar bike corrals, etc; 
2) it was a stunningly beautiful day among breathtaking scenery on the famous Ice Age Trail; 
but most of all, it was awesome because of  
3) FAMILY! In their clumsy, loud, and sacrificial way, they turned it into a giant lovefest. 

How it went down
In typical monk fashion, I never run with ear phones. I prefer the minimalism of going noiseless and shirtless. However, at this particular 4 am race day juncture, I decided to de-frock the monk and detach from past precedent-- going WITH a shirt and WITH earphones. It would be cold, dark, and solitary, after all. I set my Pandora station to "Elton John- Tiny Dancer" which guarantees lots of classic rock songs that I can sing to. This is important because by singing along I am guaranteed to keep my competition subdued and my heart rate at the appropriate zone- NOT panting- ~80% of max heart rate. 

Headlamps are mandatory and essential till sunrise.

My karaoke-based heart rate plan backfired like a mother, though. First of all, with a 5 AM start time, my heart was still asleep and not quite ready to do 80% to Tom Petty's "Runnin' Down a Dream", so the first 6 miles were a rude awakening. Secondly, by mile 18, the dang Pandora station played "Let It Be" four times and "Imagine" twice. John Lennon was slowly tranquilizing me to my demise. I found out the hard way that there is such a thing as "too hippy". My iphone's arm band made the screen so impossible to see and touch that I wasn't able to skip to a new song or change stations. I stopped and stumbled with it several times unsuccessfully. Let that be a lesson to never try anything new on race day.

By mile 12 or so, the sun was rising, the frost melting, and I emerged from the woods and into the rolling meadow section. This is where I had an emotional mountaintop moment as the Skynyrd song, "Simple Man" played. It always reminds me of my dad. He's the greatest and simplest man I know, true to the song (minus any redneck or racism). His love has always been mohawky-- not the smoothest thing in social situations with me, but sloppy, raw, spunky, balls-to-the-wall, generous, heroic human love. It reminded me of the legacy I want to leave planet Earth.

Hotel California came on soon after and I was feeling dang good about a "dark desert highway...cool wind in my hair." I pulled my arm warmers off, feeling warmed up, and I latched on to the heels of a local who claims he runs 70 miles per week on the Ice Age Trail. What a lucky dude! I was feeling in a groove, reminding myself to reserve some gas in the tank-- the race would begin at mile 40.

The meadows were so beautiful. It was like running back in time.

When we finished that 5 mile stretch through the meadows, the local dude claimed that we ran it 10 minutes faster than we should have. I'm not sure what his plan was, but I was running my own race confidently, with my heart rate steadfastly locked at 80%.

Prior to mile 40, I had two benchmarks in my mind-- 1) the marathon mark, because I mean, C'MON, it's a marathon; and 2) the 28 mile mark, which is where I could pick up my pacer-- my brother-in-law, Mike. I'd been looking forward to running with him for about a year since we first started talking about the possibility of this race and Mike first started taking up running. Mike is the most interesting and creative man on the planet. I knew I'd want his company and Jedi warrior skills, but I underestimated how essential his bag of tricks would be. 

Mike is also a Reiki master and if there is anything you need at mile 30 in a race it's Reiki and voodoo. Reiki is an acknowledgment of the fact that permeating all of reality is energy and vibration that affect and can be affected. Think of The Force. The practitioner intends to promote healing by way of attuning and facilitating energy flow. I don't know enough about it, but I asked for it and I believe it helped. It usually requires the laying on of hands, but rather than break our stride for touchy-feely hanky-panky, Mike laid his hands on my voodoo doll while we ran. I asked him to work on my quads, which were starting to feel fatigued and on the verge of cramping.

My doppleganger voodoo Reiki doll. See how inflamed my quads got?

When I picked Mike up, our original Plan was that he'd only be with me for 7 miles, to the next aid station. The plan was for him to escort me to Lee Ann at mile 35. Then he'd retrace his steps and crew for Susie too. Lee Ann is a veteran Ultra runner and dear friend and the sister I never had. I crewed for her at the Burning River 100 last year and that's where she planted that little ultramarathoning seed in my head. I was hoping she'd pace me into the promised land, maybe helping me break the 8 hr mark. Anyway, when I picked Mike up at mile 28 aid station, Lee Ann was there and alerted me that she changed The Plan. She wouldn't be running at all with me because Susie was in need of veteran crewing ASAP. She was in a dark place on the verge of not making her cutoff times at the checkpoints. So, I consented.

Even though I was running with Mike through the beautiful pine forests of Ewok-repute, I was distracted by my concern for Susie. I was also worried that I wouldn't have any company for the closing miles of the race because I wasn't sure how much gas Mike had left in his tank. The 22 miles to the finish would be longer than he had ever run before. 

The pine forests of Kettle Moraine State Park looked like Endor from Star Wars.

There weren't a whole lot of women on the course, so when Mike and crossed paths with Susie in the forests of Endor, she might as well have been Princess Leia herself. I was very happy to see her, but she hadn't yet picked up Lee Ann at mile 28, so we kept the chit chat short, high-fived, booty slapped, and I told her what a bad bitch she was. Because she IS. 

I need to note that when I picked up Mike at mile 28 I took a little equipment break to change my Pandora station to tap into the direct satellite link to the testicular spark plug of the universe-- my Enrique Iglesias and Shakira station. The stretch of trail to the next aid station at mile 35 was certainly the hilliest section of the course. This is where Enrique lit a fire up under my cockels. True to my plan, I took the uphills in such a way that kept my heart rate at 80%, which usually meant walking or very slow running. BUT on the descents, I threw caution to the wind and attacked them hard. I knew this was risky, but I was feeling realllly good. It almost took more effort and caused more pain to run cautiously than to basically treat them like a controlled fall, powered by gravity. I had a feeling the strategy might come back and bite me later in the race, but I don't think it did.

Mike was in much better form than me on the uphills, where he had to slow down for me, but the descents were starting to take a toll on him. I think his motor had the power, but his chassis wasn't quite ready to take the pounding. Somewhere around mile 36, we separated. I wouldn't see him again until the finish. I blame/thank Enrique and Pitbull. 

Running downhill, I let my body do the talking, making lots of horse sounds.

This was the toughest section of the race for me. Mile 43 was my low point. The day had heated up to about 80 F. I was out from the shade of the forest, and the aid stations were just far enough away from each other (5-7 miles) that I ran out of water twice and got dehydrated. Not only that, but my salt tabs fell out of my pouch somewhere and the aid stations had no salt, and the race placed my drop bag at the wrong aid station and we couldn't find it. Together, I blame the cramping that ensued on those mishaps. I would be in a total groove, passing people right and left, and then I would clip my toe on a root and as I caught myself from falling, my legs contorted with cramps all the way down my hamstrings and quads. I'd take a little stretch break, see some people make up some ground on me, and then I'd build the pace back up steadily. Then the cycle would repeat-- speed-up, trip, cramp, stop, stretch, build it back up.

When I hit mile 40, I was ready to start racing as a race. Before that, I had to treat it like normal training run. I was prepared to allow my heart rate to drift to 85-89% and I allowed myself to fully feel torturous pains. I find I can sometimes treat this feeling like a familiar friend. It's almost like being out of my comfort zone is in fact my preferred comfort zone. Some torturous pains are constructive while others become destructive. I was trying to run that fine line between them.

I took extra water at the two remaining aid stations at mile 40 and 45 to see if I could recover some of my hydration. I started to pass people like crazy between 40-45. They were all slowing down while I continued to get faster and faster, churning out some of my fastest miles of the day. In fact, it became pretty clear that I was going to run the second half of the race faster than the first half.

The folks I passed lifted my spirits further with their, "Good job, dude" and "Way to go mohawk." I tried to reciprocate their kindness. However, my cramps had other plans for me and would bring me back from cloud 9 to reality. A man can't run, or walk, or encourage others, if he can't get rid of his own cramps. So, from mile 45 to the finish, the only way I could keep the cramps away was to keep my heart rate at 75%, not the direction I was hoping to take it.

Coming out of the forest was a huge relief. The park road was lined with fans and I could hear the music blaring from the finish chute. On the one hand, the feel of the flat, predictable blacktop was a depressing contrast from the lush beauty of the forest, but it was also kind of familiar and homey, and more importantly, it meant that I had done what I had set out to do- RUN 50 MILES! Emotionally raw, I crossed the finish line and dove into the arms of Mike and the rest of the family and started tearing up. They were such great fans, I didn't know how to thank them.

I finished in 8:26, doing the second half of the race ~20 minutes faster than the first half. I've never negative split in my life. After a quick recovery in the on-site ice bath (which I'm pretty sure was mostly icy urine), I got back in the car with pointman Earl and Susan, on the hunt for some more Susie-sightings. 

2 Live Crew. Mike Davison was a champ as dad and photog and pacer. He chats it up with Ben, while Earl is busy playing crew chief with Susan. They were a welcome sight for this tired dude.

Lee Ann and Earl going over The Plan.

Earl created the ultimate map that showed the race course, roads, aid stations, glacier history, migrant bird flight patterns, THE WORKS! We knew exactly where to be, and when, in order to see Susie and cheer her and Lee Ann. 

Having your body-and-soul mate to train and compete with is the coolest part of the adventure.

It's also a special feeling seeing your fan club in matching T-shirts with your name on them while they massage your feet and when your feet feel like this:

Sorry, nail, you're a goner.

Susan is a saint.

The BEST CREW in the world on the hunt for some carbo-loading the day before. 

Food and Poo
All right. You knew I had to address it, but to be kind, I saved it till the end. Poo was a non-issue. I've mastered it. Woke up at 3 am race day, drank a liter of water. Then the system did its duty just like clockwork.

Food for the weekend and the race had a few hiccups. I brought a cooler of frozen bananamammajamma (banana puree) for the weekend which was essentially my meal plan for the whole weekend and it worked great. We also went out for dinner two nights in a row to a bar which actually had an amazing wild rice salad. I

n typical Dwyer-fashion, I also brought several pounds of pitted dates that I had soaking in water. True to minimalist form, I forgot my blender. After three days of soaking, the dates basically separated into mushy fiber balls and high octane syrup. I drank the syrup, but the dates were nasty at that point. Thus, my race day drop bag date-o-rade plan was a bust. I survived the entire race with an unscripted nutrition plan-- I ran on what the race provided-- ~300 calories per hour of Gu gels, Gu Brew, Nuun, SaltStix (I brought), and water. I snuck a few advil in there, too, but that was a once in a lifetime thing.

Fiber balls in high octane date syrup

Post race grime

Post race kiss with legendary Ultramarathon Man Dean Karnazes

The icing on the cake was eating breakfast the next morning at the hotel, when along walks the legendary Dean Karnazes looking for bananas and sees a huge pile of them on my plate. He's a kindred spirit. "There are my bananas!" 
"Hey Mr. Karnazes, thanks for putting on such an epic event. And thanks for really helping lift my wife's spirits when you high-fived her on the trail. We just love you." 

Susie had the composure to sweet talk him into posing for a picture. 
"Dean, can I kiss you?" 
"I'm from San Francisco-- of course, man."

Blood.Brothers.Suckers

My brother, Matty, came over my house to hang a couple of weeks ago and felt the wrath of the mosquito brothel in my backyard. He figured out that the mosquitoes are laying their eggs in my open rain barrel. We can't even go outside or the mosquitos will mutilate our faces in a ruthless bloodbath.

Sorry, Oakley-- my bad. 

So the next day he (Matty, not the Lama) came over with a jar of mosquito-larva-eating fish that he uses in his pond. They are called Gambusia, I believe. Or just call them mosquito fish.

THREE WEEKS LATER
After the fish had their feeding frenzy, I'm happy to report the mosquito life cycle has been broken! I finally hung out in the hammock today in our back yard with no mosquito bites. The hammock is once again one of my three happy places I go to mentally, and now physically. I kind of expected the fish to be so huge after feeding on the mosquito larva that they'd look like tilapia. No such luck.