Last Call 50

As midnight approached on Saturday, July 11th, Alex and I pulled into the mountain town of Fairplay, CO for the 2020 edition of the Last Call 50 Mile Endurance Run. Less than 2 hours away from metro Denver,  Fairplay sits at about 9500 feet above sea level. The surrounding peaks are the perfect playground for trail runners, and this race would highlight that fact beautifully.

With COVID-19 still wreaking havoc on the US, there was part of me that worried that Last Call 50 wouldn't even happen at all. But race director (and friend) John LaCroix made sure that there was a detailed protocol in place that would keep runners and volunteers safe and healthy. Part of that was implementing a wave start, with groups of about 20 people each starting the race at 11:40pm, 11:50pm, and then midnight. I was in the 11:50pm grouping.

As we lined up to depart from the South Park School track, I told myself one last time, "You've got this." So many questions had been swirling around in my head leading up to the race. It had been over a year since my last ultra, and I'd been battling some ankle and foot injuries during that time that have never quite fully disappeared. I'd found a terrific coach in elite ultrarunner Matt Daniels, who had helped quiet a lot of my doubts and get me into arguably the best shape of my life, but there was still that little voice in the back of my head that kept whispering, "Are you sure?" 

And then, as if he knew I needed a moment of levity, John called out, "Where's Joe?" 

 "Uh, I'm here," I peeped out from the back of the starting line.

"Everyone, Joe is your spirit animal out there today. Don't let 'em quit, Joe."

Unsure what to say to that, I chuckled, "Hey, what did I do!?"

The race began, and we set off into a pitch black night and an open sky full of stars. I stole so many glances at that huge twinkling sky in the first few miles that I'm surprised I didn't trip and fall flat on my face! Underneath that blanket, I settled into the back of the pack of runners and put one foot in front of the other. Those first few miles of the race are a gradual climb up a dirt road, and I knew I'd be toast if I let the early race adrenaline get the best of me. The headlamps of the runners in front of me gradually faded away, and I silently gave myself a pat on the back for an easy, intelligent start to the event. 

On that first gentle ascent, I also realized that I made the right choice in sticking with running shorts and a t-shirt and leaving my longer layer stashed away in my pack. The temperatures all week had been very hot and dry, and the start of the race was no exception. At midnight it was in the 50s, which is crazy warm for the high country at night. But you never know what to expect in the mountains, and the weather up there can change in seconds, so I made sure that I had options just in case.

And speaking of not knowing what to expect, this was only my second taste of trail running at night (the first being a couple hours at Black Canyon 100k last year). I was reminded just how different...and just how HARD.... it can be! The contours of the trail just sorta wash out under a headlamp, and my clumsy ass was tripping over every rock and stumbling through every divot.

HELPFUL TIP #1- Pay close attention and make sure you don't miss the first right turn off of that main dirt road ascent. It's a sharp turn, and there were plenty of runners that blew right past it in the dark. I almost missed it myself!

The first aid station, Poor Man's, comes pretty quickly at mile 3.2. My water was still pretty full at that point, so I sorta zipped through, stopping long enough to thank the volunteers. From there, the race leaves the washboard dirt roads and dances through a densely wooded single track trail. This is where the neon pink trail markers became absolute life-savers, and I relied heavily on them just to navigate through the woods. John marks his races well, but he doesn't over-do it, so you really need to stay alert and vigilant for those important trail markers! A lesson I would learn the hard way later in the race, as fate would have it.

For instance, at the first water crossing at Beaver Creek, I missed the fact that there was a line of pink ribbons leading to a log bridge in the darkness, so I just trampled right through the creek. Wet feet have yet to really bother me during a run, so I wasn't too concerned about it at the time. My shoes and socks dried out during the gradual climb up to the Jungle Hill aid station. The trail was still pretty smooth at this point, so I was able to comfortably trot along for most of it. I took stock of my water at Jungle Hill and decided that I still had enough to get me the remaining 4 miles to Trout Creek aid, so I had a quick piece of quesadilla from the amazing volunteers there and continued on my way.

It wasn't until after filling up my soft flasks at the Trout Creek aid station at mile 11.6 that the trail became a bit rockier and harder to navigate in the darkness. That was also the point at which the night's first significant climb up Little Baldy began, so I narrowed my focus and buckled down for the effort. Looking at the elevation chart in my mind, I knew that this climb was gonna get real steep just before mile 14. And sure enough, we turned a corner and I saw headlamps twinkling way above me as the trail veered pretty much straight up! It messed with my head a little bit, my climbing muscles were burning, and I may have muttered some gentle expletives.

Descending down the other side of Little Baldy is where I made my first and most critical mistake of the day. 

I was so happy to be running downhill and so eager to see Alex at the Tarryall Aid Station that I wasn't paying close enough attention to those life-saving pink trail markers in the darkness and I blew right past a crucial turn. There had been a huge sign with an arrow and everything. It probably read, "50 Milers Go This Way. Joe, That Means You, Dumbass!" 

I got half a mile in the wrong direction before it dawned on me... Have I seen another runner in a while? It's a little too dark. The pink ribbons are still here, but this doesn't feel right. I got out my phone, where I had saved the interactive race map on the Human Potential Running Series app. Sure enough, my little dot was about half a mile away from the correct trail. There was even a little marker on the map that said "50-Milers, DON'T go this direction!" Well, guess what direction I had gone?

HELPFUL TIP #2 - Make damn sure you use all the mapping resources that Human Potential Running Series provides! John will send you GPX files, CoTrex links, etc. in the runner's manual. For the love of god, make sure you put those maps on your smartphone. This is the woods at night. Plan on getting lost at least once.

Now, if I had been smart, I would've shrugged it off, turned around, and easily paced my way back to the proper junction. But it was dark, I was lost in the woods, and I had worked myself up into a panic. So I ran much too quickly back to the trail junction where I had missed the turn. Like...10k pace. Big mistake. By the time I reached the Tarryall aid station, my legs were starting to really ache. Suddenly my head was swimming. I was angry with myself for missing a very clearly marked turn. Instead of pausing for a bit to eat some real calories and clear my head, I just kicked myself for a few minutes, refilled my bottles, grabbed a couple gels, and left. I was starting to get a little cold, and needed to find a positive head space, so I thought it best to just keep moving.

The sun finally began to come up on the climb back out of Tarryall and over Little Baldy. I thought to myself, "How many times have you heard stories about how sunrise can turn things around? It's about to get much better, just be patient." And it took some work and some positive self-assurance,  but by the time I reached Jungle Hill aid station again, I was feeling like a million bucks. 

HELPFUL TIP #3 - Sunlight is magical. Don't give up in the darkness of night. the Sun will bring you back to life!

I had some potato chips at Jungle Hill and began the climb up Crooked Creek, full of renewed optimism and energy. During that climb, as I was giving praise to other runners I encountered, they all commented about how strong I looked, which made me feel even better about reclaiming my can-do attitude. At the top of the ravine, we turned around and got to enjoy a nice rolling descent into Poor Man's aid station. I ticked off some relatively quick miles on this descent, and was able to encourage a few runners along the way, which is always a nice little boost. Things were going just perfectly, and I was feeling like an absolute machine!

The return to Poor Man's aid station was my second opportunity to check in with Alex again. By now, the afternoon sun was in full effect, and things were heating up quickly, so I changed into a tank top and applied a healthy dose of sunblock. I knew from studying the course ahead of time that the I still had a big climb up to the Silverheels Mine ahead of me, but my confidence was soaring at this point. Alex later told me that I seemed more focused going in and out of that aid station than she had ever seen me.

Boy, how quickly things can change in an ultra. 

The heat of the day became a factor and really slowed me down on the climb up to High Park aid station. The sun at 11,000+ feet is just relentless. At every creek crossing on that climb, I used my buff as a sponge and got my head and face as cold as I could before continuing on. My water bottles were drained pretty quickly, and I was starting to regret not having consumed more calories throughout the event. The trail continued straight up, until it finally broke treeline and flattened out a bit into High Park aid. I was starting to feel a bit dehydrated, so I switched from plain water to an electrolyte drink in my bottles to try to counteract the sweating that I was doing in the heat of the day. The gentle climb up from the aid station to Silverheels mine was mostly hiking for me at that point. I was 44+ miles deep into the event, and worried that my energy had just been too sapped to do any more running. But I also knew that the last 9 miles of the race were mostly downhill. So I agreed to let myself hike for now and took in the stunning views of the majestic mountains that surrounded us up there.

HELPFUL TIP #4 - After you hit the mine, most of the remaining race is downhill and mostly very runnable. If you're feeling like death at the mine (which I was), take heart! The hard part is over!

On the way back down, I topped off the bottles with more electrolyte drink (which had really helped me get my legs working again), thanked the volunteers at High Park, and began the descent to the finish. I looked at my watch. It would be a super close shave, but my halfway decent runner's math told me that my sub-14 hour goal was still within reach if I really pushed hard on the final descent back into town.

As I had hoped, my spirits were lifted by the downhill running. My legs were suddenly feeling great again, and I was determined to finish strong. The trail had just a few rocky switchbacks that slowed me down a bit just before getting back onto the dirt road, but otherwise it was smooth sailing. Time to hit the gas and leave it all out there!

My final 4 miles were the fastest of my race. At one point, John pulled up next to me on his ATV and shouted, "Damn, Joe, you're looking great!" I had to chuckle, thinking back on all the adversity I had faced during the event. Whether he meant it or was just being encouraging, hearing him say that so emphatically helped me find the rocket boosters for the final kick. He rode alongside me and we chatted for a while about life and work and stuff. I count myself lucky to call him a friend.

I made the final turn back onto the South Park School track, did the victory lap, and crossed the finish line in 13:50:04. My missed turns had added almost 3 full extra miles to my day, so the fact that I still managed to hit my time goal was a huge surprise. I can't help but wonder if I could've broken 13 hrs without the mistakes...

But at the end of the day, I wasn't out there for the time goal. I was running to silence those voices of doubt in my head. To do some good solid work on my mind. To be a spirit animal to others who needed help getting through the low points. To face the literal darkness and watch the sun rise. To face the darkness within and learn some hard fought lessons.

There really is nothing quite like it.

HELPFUL TIP #5 - No matter what, you are amazing. Every time you step out onto the trail, you're going to discover something new about yourself. That's the whole point of all of this. Embrace what comes and enjoy the ride!

Enormous thanks to Sherpa John and all the volunteers who put on a tremendous race in these crazy times and made everything so perfect and so special all weekend long. Thanks to my coach Matt Daniels for bringing me back from the dead and getting me into form with his enthusiastic guidance.  And of course, thanks to my lovely Alex for being just the most incredible partner and crew that a guy could ever wish for.

You can view my Strava file for the Last Call 50-miler here: https://www.strava.com/activities/3753371951/overview

~JVB

2017 Bear Chase Trail 50k Race Report

 *NOTE: It's been a few months since I ran the Bear Chase Trail 50k, but I realized I haven't written up a race report for it yet, so I'm gonna do my best to remember the details.

When I made the decision to register for the Bear Chase Trail 50k, I was sitting at a burger joint on a Friday afternoon with a colleague. We had just finished plowing through a pile of fries, and I was looking out the window at the late summer afternoon in Colorado. The final stretch of training had begun for the Indian Creek 50 Miler, and I needed to squeeze in a final long run before taper began.

My laptop sat open in front of me on the restaurant table, and I returned my gaze to my internet browser window, which was open on UltraSignup.com. In my free time, I enjoy hunting for future events to run, and I couldn't help but notice that there was actually a nearby trail 50k the following morning.

Yep, that's right. The following morning. As in... less than 24-hours later.

Now, normal folks might laugh at the idea of running a 31 mile event on a whim, but, as my wife likes to remind me... I'm not normal. And when I emailed the race organization and they told me that I still had time to register, I snapped my laptop shut, shoved it hastily into my backpack and drove down to packet pickup at a local running store to sign up for what would be my second ultra, the Bear Chase Trail 50k.

My training last Summer was full of more long miles and mountainous vert than I'd ever logged in my life, so I was feeling pretty invincible. I planned to treat the Bear Chase as a long training run, and I gave myself permission to run at a relaxed pace. For me, that kind of self-assured confidence is really lovely and quite rare. The began to rise in the chilly morning air, and I shivered my way down from the dirt parking area to the starting line by Bear Creek Lake.

The vibe at the starting line was classic Colorado trail race. Low-key, mellow, with lots of smiling volunteers and an air of camaraderie. Say what you will about the grandeur of a big road marathon, I'll take a small cluster of like-minded weirdos any day. I positioned myself toward the back of the pack and repeated the day's mantra in my mind: slow and steady training run.

The national anthem was sung, and the race began.

The Bear Chase 50k consists of one small loop around the lake followed by two larger loops, covering 31 miles over soft surface and single track trails. There's just over 2,100 ft of vertical gain. It's a super runnable course overall, and I could see the speedsters having a field day ahead of me as the event took off toward lap #1.

Oh...there's one thing I forgot to mention: the water crossings.

Back in 2013 when I first began learning about trail running, the part that blew my mind the most was that runners would NOT try to avoid running through streams and creeks, they'd simply run right THROUGH them! I couldn't believe it! I'd ask trail running friends if they stop to take off their shoes before crossing the water. "Nope," they'd say, "Just run right through without stopping. Your feet will dry off as you run as long as you're wearing the proper socks and shoes." It sounded like pure madness to me at the time.

Well, today was the chance for me to put their claims to the test, because the Bear Chase 50k doesn't just have one water crossing... it has SEVEN. And sure enough, less than a mile into the event, we hit water crossing number one (which, I would later discover, is the smallest of the bunch) and the runners in front of me just stormed right through the bubbling creek and kept on running!

A sense of doubt crept over me as I approached the water. I could stop, take off my shoes and socks, and wade across the creek, but wouldn't that be the ultimate wussy move? I really didn't want the other runners looking at me like I was a weenie just yet. So I opted to go with the flow and do what the other runners were doing. After all, they were probably smarter and more experienced than me. Plus, I had a couple fresh pairs of socks waiting for me in my drop bag in case the soggy feet got to be too much to handle. So I plowed right through the water and kept on running.

And you know what? It worked! The water was cold for sure, but a few miles later I noticed that things were drying out quite nicely! Score.

The rest of the first loop was mostly uneventful. There's one standout climb up the west side of Mt. Carbon (about a mile into the race) that's impossible to miss, but I did what the ultrarunning books told me to do: I stopped running and began hiking up that climb. It kept my legs fresh for the rest of the race, which I was thankful for later.

Six miles into the race, I hit the end of the first loop. I was only carrying a handheld water bottle, so I topped it off, grabbed a few gels, and headed back out for the second, longer loop. By this time my feet were dry enough that I didn't feel like changing socks. I wanted to keep plugging away.

After another hike up Mt. Carbon, we veered right at a trail junction and headed into a more wooded section of trail. I was still feeling good at this point. My heart rate monitor was telling me that I was staying mostly below 80% of my max (though, I admit, not as far below as I would've preferred), and my hydration and calorie intake were staying true to schedule. I was taking a gel every 30 mins, and would have some potato chips or a slice of bean burrito at each aid station. I kept my handheld full of water, and would pound a cup of sports drink or coke at the aid stations. I was taking one salt tablet every hour. How my stomach didn't go south in this race I have no idea, because I was certainly putting it through the wringer.

The six remaining water crossings (three consecutive streams on each big loop) were much more significant. The cool water came up past my knees, but it felt amazing on my legs! I actually dunked my whole body into the creek on the final crossing, just to cool off in the heat of the afternoon sun. Were my legs getting tired by then? Sure. But that's to be expected in an ultra. And, all things considered, they were holding up fairly well.

At the end of the second loop, I lingered long enough to change socks and restock my fuel sources before heading out for the final 12.5 mile stretch. When I passed the 27 mile mark, I realized I had quite a bit of fuel left in the tank (up to that point I had been hovering around 11:00/mi pace), so I decided to kick it into a higher gear for the remaining 4 miles and really have fun with it! Granted, I'm pretty slow, so my "higher gear" was still only about 9:30/mi, but at that point in the day it certainly had my heart racing from the effort!

At some point in those last couple miles I passed Courtney Dauwalter, who was on her way to winning the 50-mile event outright by almost 2 full hours and shattering Kaci Lickteig's previous course record by 18 minutes! Had I known who she was at the time, I probably would've stopped and fanboyed all over the place. Probably for the best...

My proudest moment of all was the final mile, because it was the fastest of the day. I had run a smart race and felt terrific as I crossed the finish line. Tired, but terrific! And as always, Alex was there to cheer me on at the end. We lingered on the grass near the finish line and I did a little bit of stretching and rolled out my leg muscles. It was a lovely feeling to be done with the day, and it gave me a boost of confidence for the Indian Creek 50 Miler three weeks later.

TL;DR - I ran the Bear Chase Trail 50k in 5:34:19 and finished 34th overall. Didn't fall, didn't barf, didn't cry. Great event on lovely trails.

~JVB

2017 Indian Creek 50-Mile Race Report

Back in April, I wrote a brief post about my desire to move up from the marathon distance and begin exploring the world of ultra running. Shortly thereafter, I planned my 2017 race season, which would culminate in an attempt at my first 50 mile event: the Indian Creek Fifties, hosted by Human Potential Running series.

Why I chose Indian Creek Fifties
There's no shortage of fifty milers in Colorado, so why did I opt for Indian Creek? It came down to a number of factors that, when combined, actually made the decision pretty easy.

• The Timing Was Right - I had a few work obligations that prevented me from racing in September, and the weather in Colorado is actually pretty damn nice in October anyway.

• The Course Was Exciting - Coming from a road marathon background, I wanted to run a true mountain ultra. IC50 is a beautiful romp through Roxborough State Park and boasts nearly 9,500 ft of lung-busting vertical gain. Every step of that race is a climb or a descent. Nothing is flat. Perfect!

• The Event Itself Was No Gimme - Race director "Sherpa" John LaCroix makes a point of saying that runners will face a ton of adversity during the event, and, from what I could tell, he wasn't exaggerating. The aid stations are spread out* (at least for my limited experience), there are stretches of trail with residual flood damage from 2013, and did I mention the vert?

The exhilaration of putting in my credit card number and clicking "Register" was a rush, but it quickly faded into a chilling thought:

"Oh crap. What have I gotten myself into???"

Ultra runners are dudes with beards who live in their trucks and cover 100+ miles per week in the mountains, and here I am...this short, stocky road runner who is lucky to run 100 miles in a month! I'm the guy who chows down on pepperoni pizza while reading ultra-stud Scott Jurek's vegan manifesto. My favorite part of Ultra Runner Podcast is when they talk about beer! 

I was a suburban wannabe, and I had just committed to a 50 mile mountain race.

"Shit. I better get training."

Training Leading Up To The Race

On top of everything else, I had created a goal in my head: I wanted to finish the race in under 12 hours, conditions permitting. Achieving that goal would require a level of consistency that I had never mastered as a runner, but I was excited to give it my best shot. I aimed to push my boundaries every time I laced up my shoes, which led to a lot more fun than I'd anticipated!

On my days off work, I would browse Trail Run Project and look for routes that sounded fun. One of those was a muddy June slog around the High Lonesome Loop Trail, which tops out above 12,000 ft in the Indian Peaks Wilderness. Another time, it was the Boulder Skyline Traverse, which, as Peter Jones later pointed out to me, I had foolishly undertaken on the hottest day of the year. In years past, I would never have even considered outings like these! But fear and ignorance turned out to be amazing training partners, and the more I suffered, the more confident I felt. My heart, my legs, and my spirit were growing, as was my weekly mileage. I only maxed out at 40 miles in my peak training week, my nutrition was garbage, and I wasn't doing any cross-training, but I felt great about the journey. I felt like an ultra runner.

The Race

My crew chief (a.k.a. my amazing wife Alex), my pacer Will, and I got a hotel room in Castle Rock the night before the event. Will is a bartender at a local brewery, and he and I had grown into friends and training buddies over the Summer. The Indian Creek Fifties allows 50 mile runners to have a pacer for the final 18 miles of the course, and Will was stoked to be along for the journey. We had a big, noodley dinner while I pored over my pacing charts and aid station details, and I slept like a brick that night. Not surprising. As Alex can attest to, I tend to sleep well in most circumstances.

The pre-dawn drive to the starting line was about 30 minutes up a twisting canyon road, but we eventually arrived to the chilly starting line and I got checked in with the race volunteers. The wind is notoriously strong in Roxborough State Park at 5am, so we huddled in the car while I double checked my gear. Among other things, I was using:

• Nathan Vapor Air Hydration Vest w/  a 2-liter bladder.
• La Sportiva Akasha trail running shoes.
• Balega Hidden Comfort moisture wicking socks.
• Garmin Forerunner 230 GPS Watch w/ heart rate monitor.

As for nutrition, my plan was as follows:

• 1 Gu packet every 30 mins.
• 1 SaltStick tablet every hour.
• Some "real food" and a cup of electrolyte drink whenever I hit an aid station.
• Drink water to thirst.

When I was certain I had everything I needed, we left the heated comfort of the car and shivered toward the starting line for a pre-race briefing from Sherpa John. He's as passionate as they come, and he shared some rousing words about overcoming adversity that the day was sure to present. Before I knew what hit me, the race had begun. I fist bumped Will and gave Alex a kiss, and began my journey into the unknown.

The race starts right off the bat with a healthy climb. I made sure to power hike the ascent rather than try to run up it, knowing that my legs would be toast if I tried. I watched other runners motor up the hill, unsure whether I should be amazed by their fitness or amused by their folly. Ultimately, I chose to mind my own damn business and run my own damn race. Smart choice.

The climb gave way to a beautiful downhill bomb-fest just as the sun first started to creep above the horizon. I opened up my legs on these early downhills to make up a little time on my slow climbing pace. The legs were feeling healthy and fresh early on, and there would ultimately be more hiking later, so I figured what the hell. Things were going according to planned...

...until I got to the first aid station and realized that I had made a terrible mistake.

I had assumed that there would be gels at the aid station. I had assumed that they were pretty standard fare. But you know what they say about what happens when you assume...

The aid station was packed with tons of food, but no gels. The realization dawned on me that, since I had only brought a handful of gels to the race (stupid), I was going to have to severely modify my fueling strategy for the day. Time to improvise. This is that adversity that Sherpa talked about. Let's do this.

My plan switched to eating a couple hundred calories at the far aid station, and then stuffing my vest pockets with enough Oreos to get me to the main starting area, where I had a few more gels waiting in my drop bag. I would still have to be conservative with them, but I could make it work. I would have to.

Adversity reared its ugly head again on the second loop, when the fatigue began to set in and the climbing began in earnest. Mile 27 marks the start of a particularly memorable stretch: 5.5 miles and 1600 ft of relentless uphill grinding. It doesn't sound all that dramatic when you take it out of context, but when you're halfway through your first 50-miler, staring up that hill can be a real bear. This, for me, was where the mental game started coming into play. The 50k runners, who had started their race later in the day, began zipping past me looking fresh and strong. The midday sun seemed hotter somehow. It was rough. 

By the time I made over the hill and back to the start/finish area to begin the final loop, I was more than ready for Will to join me on the trail and lift my spirits. Alex refilled my hydration pack, I stuffed my face with aid station snacks, and Will and I set off for the final 18 miles. I was still moving pretty well, so we were able to keep up a good trot.

I can't begin to describe how wonderful it was to use a pacer for the end of this race. There are plenty of folks who prefer to run solo, but that ain't me! At least not for this race. Having Will there just to chat with as I grinded through those last miles was so crucial. He kept me out of my own head when I was getting negative, and he whooped and hollered alongside me as I found spurts of energy and motivation. With 5 miles left, when it became clear that a sub 12-hour finish was probably out of reach, I turned to him and said, "Buddy, I don't think sub 12 is happening today. I'm sorry."

"You're doing great pal," he assured me. "Don't even worry about it."

A minute or two passed.

"You know what?" I said, "Fuck that! Let's go get it!"

"YEAH!" he shouted, "THAT'S what I'm talking about! You're an animal!" We both charged up the final 1400' climb that lead to the finish line.

That valiant uphill effort lasted.... oh, probably 20 seconds before my lungs and legs pulled my hopes right back down to Earth, reminding me that I was 46 miles into the longest run of my life and I was climbing a damn mountain.

With a quarter mile left to go and the evening sun sinking into the horizon, we passed through the parking lot and rounded the corner into the finishing area. Though the final couple miles were mostly hiked, I stubbornly broke into a jog once we crossed into sight of the volunteers and spectators of the finish line. No way was I gonna walk it in now.

Twelve hours and twelve minutes after I had set out, I crossed the finish line of my first 50-mile race.

Holy. Crap.

Sherpa John was there, and I gave him a monstrous hug and thanked him for organizing the event. He congratulated me and handed me a badass clay finisher's pendant handcrafted by a local artist. I collapsed into a camping chair, and a volunteer handed me the most delicious bacon cheeseburger I've ever tasted. Will and I cracked a couple beers as the sun set behind the Rockies. As the temperature dipped and the cold began to settle into my tired bones, I couldn't help It was one of the most profound moments of my life.

I missed my time goal, but I crushed my "experience-some-really-hard-shit-and-come-out-the-other-side-a-stronger-person" goal. And I'll take that any day. If you'd like to dive into the nitty gritty details of my day, you can check out my Strava activity.

Oh, and I can't say enough about how well-organized the event was, particularly the generous volunteers! They trudged all that food and drink uphill into the woods on foot! Unreal.

If you're exploring mountainous ultras and looking for a relatively small event with a ton of heart, you've found your race. Indian Creek checks all the boxes and brings the adversity in spades.

Go get lost in the woods and find yourself.

~JVB

*EDIT: Looks like there's been another aid station added for the 2018 IC50!  Sweet.

2017 Greenland Trail 50k

Yesterday I had the pleasure of running my first ultra-marathon at the Greenland Trail 50k in Larkspur, CO.

But this race report begins, as most do, well before the starting line. My training leading up to this event was probably the most focused training I've ever had for a race. Now, that's not to say it was the best training, mind you. There have been plenty of times in the past that I've trained for a marathon by simply running balls-out fast for 7 or 8 miles a few times a week. But I never really understood my body and what was happening to it. This time, I had plenty of base mileage runs, as well as a handful of fartleks and tempo efforts. The training felt smarter.

The morning of the race, as Alex and I made the hour drive down to the starting line form our house, we watched the sunrise into what would turn out to be a cloudless, bright, blue Colorado morning. Greenland Trail is an area of open space and grazing land that sits in a little valley just south of Larkspur, and it can be easy to overlook. After all, Pike's Peak looms large on the horizon above. But the beauty of the place itself is undeniable. Nestled at the foot of the mountains, the views are really stunning, and, as I looked out the window, I was reminded of why I opted for a trail event in the first place.

The atmosphere at the trailhead was a perfect example of why I love these smaller events. We didn't encounter the anxiety-inducing security measures or throngs of people that greeted us at the Chicago Marathon last fall. Instead, there was a little dirt parking lot and a handful of volunteers helping us get our race packets and relaying any pertinent info. Alex could sort of amble about wherever she pleased, taking pictures and relaxing in the grassy spots. It's weird to say, but it felt like a family reunion more than a race with strangers.

The race began, and I settled into a slow comfortable rhythm right away. The voices of so many ultra-runners from so many interviews were playing through my head on repeat: "Don't go out too fast. Don't go out too fast." So I didn't. I wore a heart rate monitor for this race, and vowed that I would try to keep my pulse in a comfortable aerobic zone for as long as possible. There was a pack of about 5 or 6 runners who seemed to have the same idea, so I settled in and ran with them.

The 50k course at Greenland consists of four loops, each about 8 miles long. For my first loop, I naturally wanted to take a lot of mental notes so that I'd know what to expect for the rest of the afternoon. I paid close attention to the distance between aid stations, course conditions, and terrain features. And one feature became evident about 3 miles into the course: there was much more elevation gain than I was expecting. Mind you, it's not all that uncommon for ultras in Colorado to feature massive amounts of hills, but Greenland Trail is known to be a relatively flat, fast ultra. And, for me, coming from a road marathon background, it turns out that "flat" and "fast" apparently mean something very different. Much of my time on the uphill stretches was spent hiking more than running.

In that first loop, another important factor made itself known: the weather. There wasn't a cloud to be seen anywhere, and, as I mentioned before, this race was on open space. As in OPEN. Zero trees. By 8am I was already starting to heat up. Near the top of the largest hill, I found a patch of rapidly melting snow nestled behind a grove of nearby bushes. I bent down, scooped up a handful, plopped it into my hat, and stuck my now giant hat back onto my head. It may have looked goofy, but the feeling of that ice cold water dripping down my neck as that snow melted was pure bliss.

In that first loop, given the growing heat of the day and the hills, I happily put my ego to bed and threw my (already unrealistic) desire for a sub 5-hour finish out the window. It would be a day to simply learn and enjoy myself.

During that first loop, I picked up a running buddy named Mike. Mike and his family live only minutes away from Alex and me in north metro Denver, and he was at Greenland running his first trail ultra, too. We settled into a pretty comfortable rhythm where we could chat and run at the same time, and I was incredibly grateful for it. Running too quickly too soon has always been an issue for me in distance events, but running with Mike made sure that didn't happen.

Alex, meanwhile, had set up a little hangout spot next to the aid station and was waiting to take pictures and give me an emotional boost at the end of the first loop. I gotta say, it gave me something great to look forward to on the three remaining loops. I got in and out of the aid stations fairly quickly, stopping only to top off my handheld water bottle, grab a couple gels, and down a cup or two of gatorade. And speaking of the handheld bottle, I was SO glad that I went that route as opposed to the hydration pack. If I had to sip on warm water all day from a bladder and then wiggle that damn thing off my back at the aid stations to clumsily refill it, I would've been miserable. Plus, having the handheld allowed me to splash water over my head periodically as I ran. I can't stress it enough, I'm SO SO SO DAMN GLAD that I opted to use the handheld.

As for the gels, I was taking one every 30 minutes, along with a SaltStick capsule every hour. The "real" food at the aid stations (muffins, chips, pretzels, etc) looked so appetizing, and I definitely would've indulged had this been a longer event, but gels had been sufficient nutrition for my long training runs, so I stuck with what I knew and relied on them to get me through.

By the end of the second loop, the heat had gotten to be too much, so I ditched my shirt, lathered on some sunscreen that I had stored in a drop bag, and did my best Anton Krupicka impression for the final two laps.

I was feeling pretty good toward the end of the third lap, and I wanted to finish fast, so Mike and I parted ways and I picked up my pace a bit for the final lap. Don't get me wrong, I was still walking up most of the hills, but I still had enough gas in the tank to (relatively) bomb down the downhills and make up a lot of that time. And ultimately I was able to do the one thing I love most in an endurance race: finish strong with good form and a smile.

So there you have it folks. Baby's first ultra. I finished 35th overall with a time of 05:51:23, solidly in the middle of the pack. And I'm actually pretty satisfied with that.... For now. *insert evil laugh*

~JVB

2016 Chicago Marathon

For my final running event of 2016, I ran the Bank of America Chicago Marathon on Oct 9th. Which meant, among other things, a trip down memory lane (I lived in Chicago from 2007-2012) and a belly full of tasty regional grub.

Alex and I flew in Thursday, dropped our bags at our friends' apartment in Lakeview, and immediately hit up The Wiener's Circle for a Chicago dog with everything on it (but no ketchup, rookies). The days leading up to the event also consisted of Giordano's deep dish pizza, Big Bowl stir-fry, and all the Irish pub fare and Midwestern craft beer a boy could ever hope for. I tend to become a vacuous expanse leading up to running events, I'll admit it.

Blah blah carbo-loading blah blah glycogen. The truth is that I friggin' love to eat.

The morning of the race arrived. My pre-race ritual is very nebulous and unstructured. I sorta let my focus drift in and out. Sometimes I try to go through the course in my head mile by mile, but then other times I just let my eyes glaze over and check in with my body. Sunday was no exception. Alex came with me as usual to take care of the gear (an incredible support team of one. I dunno how she does it, seriously). We rode the train into downtown to avoid road closures and got to the starting corrals by around 6:15am.

The Chicago course is notoriously flat, and basically at sea-level, so I felt reasonably comfortable that I'd have a good race. I'll admit, I'm carrying a few extra pounds right now (shocker, based on my diet, right?), but my legs are probably stronger than they've ever been. Also, the weather was a perfect 50 degrees at the starting line with very little wind. The race got underway and, within the first couple miles, I could tell this race was gonna be...

...a problem.

Wait, what?

Yeah. A problem.

See, I felt fantastic out of the gate. So good, in fact, that my original race plan went quickly out the window. I had told myself to start at around an 8:05 min/mile pace and aim for negative splits, which would put me on track for a 3:25:00 marathon. But when I looked down at my watch after what felt like a slow, easy first mile and saw 7:46 staring back up at me, I got excited.

"Holy crap," I thought, stupidly. "I know I shouldn't keep up this pace, but that was too easy. Let's keep this pace and see if I can crush my PR!"

And, had I actually done that, I might have.

But I went full-idiot and did something worse: I sped up.

7:31
7:29
7:20
#beastmodeJVB
7:24
7:32
7:15
#Iamagoldengod
7:32
7:29
7:37
#untouchablemuthafucka
7:27
7:25
7:54
Wait...what?... No, that can't be right. My GPS watch just screwed up, right? Yeah, that's it. Don't let it go to your head, JVB. Just run your race.
6:59
....shit. That was a bad over-correction.
7:23
7:27
7:42
#um...what?...
7:46
8:04
#nonononooo
8:21
#commencedownwardspiral
8:44
8:48
#abort!abort!
9:42
#killmenow
10:16
10:14
10:17

I reached the half-marathon marker on pace to finish with a 3:17:56 time. But I had over-exerted my body in the first half of the race, depleting my fuel too early, and I ultimately struggled hard to finish with a final time of 3:33:53.

Was it the worst result in the world? No.

Am I mad at myself for greedily sabotaging my own race even though I knew better? You bet your ass. This was my eighth marathon and I made a newbie mistake.

Am I done trying to push myself past my boundaries? Come on now, get real. ;-)

~JVB

2016 Colfax Marathon

On May 15th I ran the Colfax Marathon. It was my first time running the entire course, having done the first leg of the marathon relay in 2015. You can view my specifics on Strava here.

I got to Denver City Park at about 4:45 AM to find parking. I'm glad I arrived as early as I did, because the lots were already starting to fill up. But with a starting line with thousands of participants, I suppose you have to expect some parking difficulties, right?

The weather was super agreeable; about 45 degrees at the start with no real wind to speak of. The entire morning never got above 55 degrees, which made for incredibly pleasant running. I had a cheap sweatshirt that I wore to stay warm before the start, but I tossed it before we even began.

I rant the first few miles at a comfortable 8:25/mi. Looking back, it may have been prudent to go a bit slower out of the gate, but that early race adrenaline had me pretty amped. By mile 9, a lingering glute strain began to bother me a little, but it wasn't anything painful, so I was able to work my way through it by the end of the Sloan's Lake leg of the course.

Miles 12-15 climbed about 200 ft, which looking back isn't that much, but it certainly felt like a challenge at the time. I remember thinking, "Dammit, go away hills!" Again, looking back, I probably should have gone up the hills a little bit slower to save some gas in the tank for the last few miles, but I knew that miles 17-20 were nicknamed the "Screaming Downhill" leg, so I figured I'd make up some time there.

But I was wrong. My body just didn't want to scream down the hill by that point. I managed to maintain an average pace of about 8:27/mile on the downhill, but if you adjust that based on the grade %, the numbers tell you what my body was saying: "Fuuuuugh..."

And then mile 21 hit and I experienced the sudden slow-down that I usually suffer at that point in marathons. It's like clockwork. I watched my pace drop off like a rock. 8:27 became 9:00. Then 9:05. Then 9:21. I watched the 3:45 pacer run past me near 23.5 miles and there wasn't much I could do about it. By the time I crossed the finish, I was struggling to run a 10:07/mi pace.

My final time was officially 03:46:14, which breaks down to a pace of 8:37/mi. It was slower than I had been hoping to run, but it was hard to be too disappointed. And my recovery time was quicker than it's ever been, so I'll take that as a huge victory.

Next up: Chicago Marathon in October. A pancake-flat course near sea-level.

Bring it on.

Lucky Laces 10k 2016

I'm not typically a person you'll find celebrating St. Patrick's day with a gallon of green beer. But give me a race to run and I'll be there faster than you can say "Shillelagh!" This time around, it was the Lucky Laces 10k with good friend and fellow runner Laura Adducci. I hadn't run a 10k in a couple years, so I was eager to join her for some fun in City Park.

3...2...1...GO. I started with Laura near the rear of the corral, but managed to weave my way into some free space by the time I reached the first mile-marker. From here, I cruised at just under a 7:00/mi pace. The weather couldn't have been more agreeable, and my legs felt surprisingly strong (I had just come off a 20-miler two days prior).

There's really no bad-assery to speak of on my end. I wound up finishing 16th overall in a field of about 400, so I felt pretty good about that, but the real winner of the day was Laura! This was her first 10k and she finished strong! I was super impressed with her tenacity and spirit.

We hit up Annie's Cafe afterward to enjoy some brunch and post-race glory. The biscuits and gravy were on point.