Thanks for visiting my blog. This is where I document and share all of my running adventures with my friends and fellow runners. The good, the bad, and the unquestionably painful. All for your entertainment! Enjoy!

Sunday, April 10, 2016

2016 Zion 100: Mesas, Mud and Merriment

For me, running the Zion 100 has evolved into a tradition, rather than a competitive endeavor. As a brand new, inexperienced ultra runner, I lined up for the inaugural Zion 100 and it taught me a lot of valuable lessons that day. I've returned to that race every year since, and I continue to learn and grow from the experience. 

I've watched this race evolve over the years as Matt Gunn continues to refine the event as better trail options become available, and as conditions dictate, as the race continues to grow and draw a larger field each year. 2016 had the fewest changes so far, with almost everything remaining the same from the previous year, with the exception of the location of the start line. Instead of starting in the Virgin City Park, we relocated to a large camping area nestled in the desert just outside of town. In my opinion, this is a major upgrade for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it makes it easier for us to camp at the start line.

There had been a lot of buzz leading up to the race because the weather forecast was predicting rain. In most races, this is just a minor annoyance, but a steady rain in the desert presents a long list of serious hazards and can lead to significant degradation of the trails. Water doesn't soak into the desert soil very well. It likes to form rivers and shoe sucking, slippery mud.

The Calm Before the Actual Storm

This was my 3rd consecutive weekend of travel and racing, so as the race started at 6:00 AM, I pushed myself deep into the pack of anxious runners. This wasn't going to be a day to run hard, or to take things too seriously.

A long line of glowing headlamps headed out of the campground and into the desert for a traverse to the first big climb, Flying Monkey. I was feeling good and enjoying the casual banter as we navigated through the dark to the base of Smith Mesa, and a climb I'm all too familiar with.

In addition to starting a familiar climb, I found myself in a familiar situation with a familiar friend. Due to some law of nature that I can't quite explain, I found myself making this climb with Danny Widerburg. If Danny and I are in the same race, we always end up together for the first several miles. And like a well oiled machine, and without preplanning or coaxing of any kind, we begin a relentless banter that could probably get us banned from future races. The hardest thing about climbing a steep grade with Danny is managing my airflow in between fits of laughter. Good times.

Some things I learned from my time with Danny:

1. I'm on Danny's Fantasy Ultra Running Team. But so is Steve Prefontaine. And he's dead. And he's not even an ultra runner.

2. Steve Prefontaine was actually the same height as Danny's 7 year old son. This is an historic fact I did not know.

3. Some overuse injuries that runners deal with can actually be spread through intimate contact, much like an STD.

I always learn something from that guy...

After finishing the ascent to Smith Mesa, we hit the first aid station before heading out for a long, rolling loop that would eventually bring us back to this aid station before hurling ourselves back down the Flying Monkey.

For the first time that morning, I was able to see the sky and the clouds building off to the south. The overcast skies were perfect for running, but it left little doubt that we were going to see rain.

After finishing the loop and making a quick stop at the aid station, we dropped back down Flying Monkey for a fast, technical descent.

Disclaimer: This trail scares the crap out of me! It's the perfect mix of runnable and technical, which can get me into a pretty bad situation. It's a trail that begs to be ran down quickly, but presents you with perfectly engineered rocks that are expertly placed with the intention of grabbing a shoe or snapping an ankle. I'm actually surprised that half the field even makes it to the bottom without some form of serious injury. 

"Dude…Look How Fast I'm Running Down This Thing"
Photo Credit: Derrick Lytle

After surviving the descent, we headed across the desert, making our way to the Dalton Wash aid station on a nice piece of single track.

I started to develop some pain in my right knee during this section, and quietly wondered if my wife also had some pain in her right knee. Very little else could explain this. Thanks, Danny!

 Water Crossing Headed to Dalton Wash

Dalton Wash is at mile 15, and is the first crew access point. Jo was waiting for me there and helped me reload my hydration pack while I fueled up. I was in and out quickly.

Dalton Wash Inbound

Danny Widerburg and Tobias Sorensen On My Heels

Leaving Dalton Wash, Heading to Guacamole!

Leaving Dalton Wash starts with a long climb up a power line road before dropping onto the "actual" Dalton Wash Road, where we begin the LONG gradual climb to Guacamole. The climb to the mesa isn't punishing because it's not steep like the other major climbs on the course. But it's LONG and serves to slowly chip away at you. Little by little, eroding your strength and sense of humor.

We're greeted by another aid station when we top out at the Mesa. After a quick stop, we head out and run a long, undulating loop on slickrock mountain bike trails. I've always enjoyed this part of the race because it provides great views and it's relatively easy running. For Slickrock anyway.


After finishing the loop, I headed directly back down Dalton Wash Road without stopping at the Guacamole aid station. I was well supplied with fluids and Hammer gels, and from experience, I know it's a fast downhill trip to the Dalton Wash aid station.

Back at Dalton Wash Aid Station

I took some time with this stop because I know the trail ahead will provide the biggest challenge of the day. I fueled up, checked all my gear, kissed my wife and headed toward the Goosebump.

The Goosebump is the climb to access Gooseberry Mesa. The Goosebump sucks.

After cutting through the desert for a few miles, I reached the base of the climb, dropped a few swear words, and began the ascent. The footing is terrible for the first quarter mile. Loose sandstone, scattered rock, and plenty of eroded ruts make for entertaining climbing. The upper areas of the climb offer boulders and jagged rock to keep things interesting.

To my surprise, it was my best ascent to the mesa ever! I didn't vomit, make any enemies, and I only stopped to catch my breath once. Definitely a new record!

Near the Top of Goosebump

The Gooseberry aid station sits right at the top of the climb and is always a welcomed sight. Even more so this year when I was greeted by the familiar faces of Aaron Williams and his awesome wife, Kristyan, as they were manning the aid station. I stopped long enough to reload the pack and down some calories before heading out for 12 miles of slickrock running on the mesa.

Gooseberry Slickrock 

I felt good running the mesa and wrapped it up quickly, returning to the aid station before pointing my feet toward Grafton Mesa, and my crew chief!

The trip to Grafton aid is quick. It's a 6 mile stretch of dirt road that is mostly flat with a little bit of rolling as you pass through wash areas. I was feeling good and making great time.

Heading to Grafton Aid

Coming into Grafton

Jo was waiting for me when I arrived and we started to make preparations for running in the dark, and for running in the rain, which seemed imminent at this point. I grabbed a waterproof jacket, fueled up and rolled out.

As soon as I left the aid station, it started to pour.

It rained the entire time as I dropped down toward the Grafton Cemetery and then back up Grafton Mesa. The ground was getting greasy, but it was still runnable. That wouldn't last.

When I made it back to the Grafton Mesa aid station, the sun was beginning to set. The rain was coming and going, but was going more than it wasn't. I took ample time to load my pack with everything I might need if the weather worsened. I swapped shorts for tights, added gloves and put on a long sleeve tech shirt.

I was going to be running through a storm for 14 miles before seeing Jo again. I needed to prepare for everything.

I ran back down the dirt road toward the Goosebump as quickly as I could. I was worried the descent was going to degrade quickly with the rain and I wanted to get off the mesa as fast as possible. I passed the Gooseberry aid station without stopping and I bailed off the mesa heading to the desert floor.

Most of the trail was still in good shape and handled the rain well. When I got near the base of mesa, the trail got slick and I had to carefully pick my down to the bottom.

Once I hit the desert floor, I was headed through 8 miles of sand, dirt and wash bottoms to the Virgin Desert aid station.

The trail was in good shape, but there was plenty of slipping and sliding along the way. The rain was stopping and starting again, but it was getting more intense as time went on. There was a real danger of this race being stopped if things got worse and I felt a strong sense of urgency to make it to the finish before that happened.

When I got to Virgin Desert, they placed a red wristband on me, which corresponded with the flagging on the red loop. My first of three loops before heading to the finish.

The rain had started in earnest now and it wasn't letting up.

About 2 miles into this 5 mile loop, I was forced to make a quick pit stop. I stepped 10 feet off the trail and added even more moisture to the desert floor. Anxious to get back on the trail, I spun around and launched my leg right into a cholla cactus. These are nasty little buggers! When you connect with a cholla deeply enough, the entire branch just separates from the plant and stays with you. When I looked down, I could see this giant chunk of cactus hanging from my leg. I can't grab it because then it'll just stick to my hand. I hunted around and found two flat rocks that I used to pinch the cholla, then pull it away from me. After a few painful tugs, it fell to the ground. I inspected the wound and found about a dozen cactus needles still deeply embedded in my leg. I tried to pull them out but they wouldn't budge. So I turned and ran the last 3 miles to finish my loop.

Not the Same Cactus, But an Accurate Depiction of Your Common Cholla

When I got to the aid station, I found a volunteer with a fencing tool. He agreed to pull the needles out of my leg. He gingerly grabbed each needle, we both took a deep breath, then he'd rip it out.

It hurt like hell!

All fixed up, I swapped my red wristband for a white wristband and headed out for a 6 mile jaunt in the rain.

The white trail was getting extremely slick and muddy, but for the most part, it was still runnable. The rain hadn't let up at all and was only getting worse. Moving as quickly as possible, I made it back to Virgin Desert to start my final loop before heading toward the finish line.

The blue loop was much worse than the previous loops and I began to feel pretty bad for the runners that would be dealing with this mess later tonight, or even tomorrow morning. It was barely runnable.

I hit the Virgin Desert aid station for a final time. I loaded up on water and fuel before heading out for the final 8 miles.

The first few miles went well. The trail surface handled the water well and I made good time. The final miles before the finish line were a mess. Mud was caking to my shoes, adding unneeded weight and burden. I was skiing down the short hills because it seemed to be the safest mode of transportation by that point. As the finish line came into view, I made the final descent in cartoon character fashion, doing everything I could to stay vertical. I succeeded.

Finishing in 22:59

The rain grew stronger in the moments after I finished, but by then, it didn't matter. Jo covered me with an umbrella as I warmed up by a fire, reliving my trek through the worst desert rainstorm I'd ever seen.

I soon learned that sections of the course were being closed due to the conditions and runners were being routed back toward the finish. Depending on where they were at the time, they would finish the race with either 85 miles or 92 miles. Only a handful of runners would run the entire 100 mile course. I was grateful to be one of them.

Runners in Need of Mudflaps!!

Knowing that rain was likely, I ran the race in the Topo Athletic Hydroventure. These shoes are designed to keep water out, and they did. I ran through the night in a heavy rain and wet, sloppy mud and my feet were dry at the finish. Definitely an advantage.

This is a race that will be talked about for a long time. I'm sure some runners are disappointed, but there was nothing that could have been done to control the weather, and the conditions were becoming dangerous for the runners and harmful for the trails. The race staff did all the right things.

Week 4 of my binge racing saga continues next week as I run a road marathon in my home town. I haven't been home in 10 years, so running my way through town is the best way to see what's new in that sleepy little burg.

Thanks for reading!

Sunday, April 3, 2016

2016 Behind the Rocks 30k: Yes…I ran a 30k

Sometimes the best thing for my recovery after a high intensity 100 mile race, is a nice long run in variable terrain. And then again, sometimes it's just a really stupid idea. 

This story is about one of those stupid ideas.

After running hard, and winning the Pickled Feet 100 last weekend, I wanted to head down to Moab and test my legs at the Behind the Rocks 30k. This is an event put on by Mad Moose Events and I've wanted to run this race for a while but it never seemed to work out. 

If I was honest with myself, it didn't work out this year either, but I was in a gluttonous mood when I signed up. These things happen.

After a week of restful running, I was at least somewhat confident that my legs would carry me over the 30k course without too much drama. After all…it's ONLY 30k, right? 

Jo and I loaded up the trailer, put the pups in the truck, then headed southbound into the red rock desert for a weekend of camping and tomfoolery. 

The Portable Agnew Compound, Ready to Roll!!

When we finally arrived at the camping area near the start line, we stepped out of the truck into a relentless arctic blast. I somehow wasn't expecting this. The wind was so cold and forceful, that we abandoned the idea of setting up all of our camping gear for fear of losing it to Mother Nature overnight. We set up what we could before heading into town for an early dinner with our good friend, Emily Kagan. Emily had been dirt bagging around the Southwest and was planning to run the 30k, as well.

I crawled out of the trailer at 5:00 AM on Saturday and was greeted to a dark sky full of brilliant stars, below freezing temps, and a very light breeze. I was happy the wind had died down, but it was still SO cold. But the windless, star filled morning gave promise to a beautiful sun filled day.

The 50 mile race began at 6:00, followed by the 50k at 7:00, then all of us "non-ultra" runners would be heading off at 8:00. In between race preparations, I went to the start line and watched the other races start, thinking to myself that I was really happy that I had enough restraint to NOT sign up for either of those races.

Sunrise Over the La Sal Mountains

Shortly before 8:00, I lined up with Emily at the front of the start line. Emily was planning to be competitive so she belonged there. I lined up in the front out of habit.

We're off!!

From the start, it was clear that my legs weren't super interested in this. Not at all. My turnover sucked and I couldn't build any speed. I quickly fell from 4th place to 11th place in the first mile. I was hoping my legs would loosen up once my body got warm, but even after sweat was pouring off the bill of my visor, I was still running at a ridiculously slow pace.

By mile 3, I was being passed regularly. By mile 4, I realized it was hopeless. I had nothing to offer and it's highly likely that this whole thing was a bad idea. By mile 5, my legs were toast.

I began having this mental argument with myself. It went like this…

Me: Dude…this sucks!
Me: I know, right?!
Me: What the hell are we gonna do now?!
Me: I don't know! You're the idiot that thought this would be a good idea!
Me: Dude!!! We just got passed by a guy in basketball shorts!! How does THAT happen?!?!
Me: Shut up!

Aside from a bit of agony, sluggish legs, and an ongoing argument with myself, I was actually enjoying the race. The course was stunning, with almost constant views of the La Sal Mountains and some very cool red rock formations.

The footing didn't allow much time to space off into the distance, but at my current rate of speed, I had more time than usual.

I came to the first aid station at mile 6 and loaded up on Hammer Heed, ate a gel, and lingered longer than normal to allow my legs to rest. Next aid station was 4 miles away. I headed out, preparing for a long 4 miles.

I tried to chat with other runners as a means of taking my mind off my own misery. But to my surprise, most runners didn't find my conversation worth slowing down to listen to, and they pushed on ahead of me.

That was pretty much how the entire race went. I'd be getting passed, strike up a conversation, they'd move on ahead, repeat.

I Had Very Short Conversations With EVERYBODY in This Picture

I finally reached the aid station at mile 10, now more than halfway through the race and still unsure if I'd ever finish. This was another prolonged aid station stop. I drank, took in calories and made small talk with the volunteers. Mostly because they weren't allowed to run away from me while I was talking.

Somewhere around mile 11 I got passed by a friend that wouldn't normally be passing me. After showing some signs of deep concern for my wellbeing, she, like so many others before her, left me in her wake.

By now, my hip flexors were so tight, it was difficult to run at all. I was forced to walk every few minutes to let the pain fade. Then I realized how comfortable walking was and I slowly began to become addicted to it. I kept reminding myself that walking was not going to help my pathetic situation but I wasn't really on speaking terms with myself due to the earlier argument.

We came to the final aid station at Mile 14ish and I ended up in a conversation with one of the volunteers that recognized me. This gave me the perfect excuse to rest my hip flexors for a few minutes, so I let our conversation drag on for a while.

Heading out of the final aid station, we faced a long rolling climb to the high point on the course. Running uphill in sand and slick rock wasn't an option an hour ago, so it was totally pointless to try at this late stage of the race. I hiked with as much deliberation as I could muster, up the hill and toward the finish.

Reaching the top, I was hoping to find a gradual downhill for the last few miles, but that's not what I found. Instead, I was greeted by flat rolling slick rock and more sand. I really, really wanted (needed) that downhill.

I eventually DID hit the downhill and I tried to make the best of the situation by running as fast as I could, trying desperately to make up for lost time.

That didn't work either!

My hip flexors just wouldn't allow a decent turnover. It's like I was mired in quicksand and it was deeply annoying. All day long, I'd been trying so hard to pull a decent run together and I failed consistently. I just wanted to be done with it.

Emily Kagan Finishing MUCH Earlier Than Me, 4th Place

Still about a mile away, I could see the finish line taunting and teasing in the distance. Even as I ran towards it, it didn't seem to be getting any closer. Seriously…I needed that finish line.

I dipped into the bottom of the valley and realized the finish line was going to be an uphill run... in sand.

GREAT! Why not?!?!

Now within view of all the spectators, walking would not be tolerated. I had to force myself to retain some small amount of dignity, no matter how painful it is. So I ran. Unhappily.

Jen Stagner Passed Me at Mile 11 With the Promise of Beer at the Finish. She Delivered!

So Happy to be Done

There was a time, not so long ago, when running back to back ultras was a normal thing for me. These days, it's not so easy. I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere.

Maybe my days of being a prolific ultra runner are over. Or maybe I just had a bad day. Either way, it's not important right now. As painful and disappointing as the race was, I wouldn't want to be doing anything else with my Saturday.

Behind the Rocks is a great race in an amazing venue, staffed by awesome volunteers and managed by some of the best people in the business. I hope to run it again someday. On fresher legs.

As if this race wasn't challenging enough…Jo and I will be in southern Utah again next weekend for the Zion 100. We'll see how that goes…


Sunday, March 27, 2016

2016 Pickled Feet 100: Is it Always Cold in Idaho?

There was a time, not so long ago, that my greatest ambition in life was to become a marathon runner. At the time, 26.2 seemed to be a lofty goal, likely unattainable. A lot has happened since then. 

I didn't transition to ultra running in an effort to push harder and go farther. I transitioned because of the community surrounding the sport. I often find myself returning to the same races every year, and I've come to understand that it has more to do with the people than the course or the scenery. And that's why I keep coming back to the Pickled Feet Ultras. 

Jayk Reynolds at Sunset. First Night of the 48 Hour Race

Pickled Feet provides timed events at 6, 12, 24 and 48 hours, as well as a 100 mile trail race. I had been running the 24 hour race the last couple of years so I wanted to mix it up and run the 100 miler this year. The decision was partially made because I wanted to drop to a shorter distance and save my legs in preparation for a busy April.

Yeah…that's the world we live in. I dropped to the 100 miler to save my legs.

The 100 mile runners started at 10:00 AM on Friday, which allowed me to sleep in, get a belly full of food and take my time getting ready. I felt good, but I also felt terribly undertrained for 100 miles. The long winter in Utah has made it difficult to get the kind of mileage I would prefer before a race like this, so I was banking on experience and muscle memory to pull this off. Not a great race strategy.

Timp the Trail Pup Knows Exactly What We're Doing and She's Pretty Excited to Get There

The course this year was a 2.6 mile loop, mostly double track and some gravel road, with a tiny bit of pavement around the only aid station, located at the start/finish line. Because 2.6 doesn't go into 100 in a neat fashion, we would be running three small loops near the start line to get the mileage as close to 100 as possible.

And So it Begins...

I intended to run hard right from the start and see who would come with me. Nobody took the bait.

Running the Small Loop

The first three loops amounted to almost 1 mile. Before I had finished my third loop, I was lapping the back half of the field.

I ran my first mile in 6 minutes flat.

Leaving the start line, we take a grassy trail into the woods where we begin the large loop. When we come to the loop, runners can choose which direction they want to run. Being able to change direction any time we want is a blessing, because running the same small loop, in the same direction, for so many hours is a mental drain.

I chose to run left on my first loop because experience tells me that most runners will go right. This will let me see the rest of field when we meet on the back side of the course, so I can get an idea how the field is shaping up in the early miles.

I hadn't studied the 100 mile entrants list in advance, so I had no idea who my competition might be. But I knew Davy Crockett was lurking out there, and despite running 100 miles the previous weekend, he can always be a threat. Davy has the unique ability to log tons of hard miles and he rarely shows any wear and tear from it. When Davy has a good day, he's hard to beat.

I ran hard for the first 20 miles and had lapped the entire field at least once. I allowed my pace to slow so my heart rate could drop and I could settle into a more sustainable pace.

I was hitting a Hammer gel on every other lap, so my energy was high and I felt great physically. Nonetheless, I wanted to continue to build distance between me and the rest of the field, but I began to do it in a more cautious manner. Caution and maturity are things I've been experimenting with. Mixed results so far...

At mile 30, the bottom of my left foot began to hurt, A sharp pain was shooting through it and I was forced to walk for a while, trying to figure it out. I stopped twice to adjust my laces, hoping it was a simple fix. It persisted and was slowing me down.

After a lot of worry, and another 10 or 12 miles, the pain just vanished.

Coming in to Log Another Lap

I came to this race, hopeful for a win, even though I felt completely undertrained. And a small part of me had thoughts of snagging the course record, which was a stout 17:23. When I hit 50 miles in 8:10, I doubted that I had enough speed left in me to knock out the back 50 miles in 9:13 or less. I tried to push the notion out of my head and focus on the race at hand. But the thoughts kept migrating back to the course record...

The weather was typical for Boise in March. It was cold on half the course and warm on the other half. It rained once and we got pummeled by hail twice. The wind was a constant, cold reminder, that we were in Idaho. With that being said, it was the nicest weather I'd seen at this race over the last three years.

By mile 60, I had built up a pretty comfortable lead, but Davy was still out there laying down solid splits. In fact, he and I were the only people still running the entire course. Trying to wear that man down is simply impossible.

I started a strategy of trailing behind Davy, keeping an eye on him while attempting to reel him in to make another pass. It was like he could sense me stalking him (at that point, he could probably smell me), because when I got close enough to try to make a pass, he'd vanish into the woods. The stalking would continue like this for most of the rest of the race.

As the sun began to dip deep into the horizon, the temperatures dropped dramatically. The evening went from super uncomfortable to almost unbearable. Moving quickly and with deliberation was the only chance of keeping my body warm enough to function properly. Even aid station stops became abbreviated in an effort to battle the cold. Because it's Idaho in March!

By mile 70, I felt like I had a big enough lead to secure the win as long as I could keep moving. My mind began to drift back to the idea of breaking the course record. I started calculating splits with each lap, working through the numbers in my head, then recalculating after finishing each loop.

I kept coming to the same conclusion…if I was going to break the record, it was going to be within a matter of seconds. And even then, it depended on my ability to keep moving at a very solid pace.

The mental struggle and constant internal debate began, and from that point on, it never stopped.

By mile 90, the win was sealed up and it became clear that the record could potentially be feasible. I was fueled by the realization that I might miss the course record by just a few seconds and that thought was agonizing. I ran hard, reminding myself of how painful it would be to fall short by such a tiny margin. I was leaving it all out there, going for broke!

I had been running the 2.6 mile loop in 28-30 minutes, and this had been consistent for several hours. When I came in to the timing chute, with one lap left, I had 32 minutes to beat the current record.

Without even slowing down, I headed out onto the course to wrap this up. It was going to be tight.

I finally crossed the finish line in 17:20:33, beating the course record by less than 3 minutes!


I was freezing as soon as I stopped running. I was hungry, and I was exhausted. I chatted with the Race Director for a few minutes, loaded up into my truck and headed toward a warm bed at our hotel.

Pickled Feet was my 3rd overall win in 2016, but that's a streak that won't last as I fall into a training program for the upcoming Hardrock 100. 

Thanks to the Race Directors, Emily Berriochoa and Amy King, and all their volunteers. They do an amazing job putting this race on. 

Special thanks to Topo Athletic for providing me the best running shoes on the market. I pulled these Topo Fli-Lytes right from the box and they carried me to a great finish. Thanks, guys!

Jo and I are heading to Moab next weekend for the Behind The Rocks trail run. Two things are guaranteed…I'll be SLOW and the race will be AWESOME!

Happy Trails!