48 MILES - 14 HOURS

"When dancing,

the whole point of the dancing is the dance."

Alan Watts

"Breakie"

"Sunscreen"

"Dawn Patrol"

"Vogelsang"

"Stupa"

"Mile Long Falls"

"Merced Lake"

"Water?"

"14 miles to go"

"Build-up"

"Glen Aulin"

"Glen Aulin Falls"

"The Cathedrals"

"Aftermath"

"Fairview"

BACK ON THE TRAIL

Vince Brown wrote, “None of us can be sure… until we search diligently to find out for ourselves.”  Two weeks ago, Matt and I completed an amazing 48 mile run in Yosemite, we will share pictures and a trip report soon.  It was so enjoyable that it opened my eyes to the idea of running a 100-mile race.  I have thought really hard about whether or not I am ready to run 100 miles.  The only way I am going to know is for me to do it.  On Friday, I registered for the Kodiak 100.  The course traverses the mountains above Big Bear Lake.  The timing is perfect, the terrain is similar to my local trails and it is less than three hours from Idyllwild.  I am excited, motivated, and slightly overwhelmed.  But, I am looking forward to a lot of training, and I feel confident that I will finish.  Over the next ten weeks we are going to increase our efforts to raise money and awareness for Lymphedema.  Once again we are going to ask you, our friends and family to help support us in this mission.  All the money you donate will go to the Lymphatic Education and Research Network.

Tahquitz Peak for J's 2nd Birthday

South Ridge Rock Window on Father's Day

 - Daniel

To the Grande Panorama; To the Lion

Text by Matt Gray
Photos by Travis Schultz

At Mile 13, I am on hands and feet, scrambling up a small section of vertical granite that is indeed part of the 33-mile Dirty Thirty Ultra. This section of the trail has brought me a smile since last year's ascent, and I've been looking forward to it all year.  Everything feels in-sync: mind, body, breath, and energy propel me over the rock and up to the ridge line.

As I reach the summit, I turn around to admire the panorama of the Continental Divide behind me: massive, beautiful, breathtaking (of course that might have been the climbing). And I feel satisfied that for nearly half the day I've been able to focus on the Shambala Practice of the Lion ... something I set out to do at the starting line.

Over the last couple of months, I've been focused inward, creating Tiger awareness of myself, my form, and my posture, as I strove to overcome injury and fatigue. Today, I am eager to seek additional balance to my running ... the Lion takes us outward, beyond ourselves, to the great world around us, to the Grande Panorama vista, to the natural beauty ... to a few more of the many reasons we run.

And while I achieved the Lion to an extent up until this point, the next descent and subsequent climb over the halfway point of the race, will rock me. Despite additional stunning vistas, blooming aspen groves, and meandering rock outcroppings, I'll need to withdraw back inward to fight through some aches and pains and rapidly decreasing motivation to carry on.

I grow frustrated that I can't maintain the Lion for the extent of the run, as it is a beautiful trail in a beautiful place.  But it makes for an excellent reminder that these approaches each take time and effort to fully manifest.  With our next event on the horizon, a running of the High Sierra Camps in Yosemite National Park, I will continue my chase of the Lion so that I can fully enjoy a place I have loved since childhood.

Remembering the Tiger: Negotiating Injury

by Matt Gray

So far during my two years of running, I've gone through four training cycles (building and preparing for a race or a featured event after a period of rest).  And each one has seen an injury, or at least something painful enough to keep me off my feet for a while.  My most recent focus event, the Cheyenne Mountain 50K, almost didn't happen because of this training-injury cycle.

In early April, I went out for a mellow Saturday morning run around one of the near-by lakes.  But less than a mile along, a shooting pain on the outside of my knee (the notorious tell-tale sign of iliotibial band syndrome), struck.  I resorted to walking for a distance and then trying a slow jog.  After two or three iterations of this it was clear that the pain wasn't going away.  I had over-trained, run too fast, listened to too many other people's approaches to running, worn the wrong shoes, not fueled properly ... something.

For the next ten days I tried various healing methods, including stretching, a massage roller, different shoes, and some very, very slow shuffle runs on flat dirt roads. Nothing seemed to prevail until about two weeks later when I was on the phone with my brother, griping about shoes and still not finding the right structure and balance. He stopped me mid-sentence.

"Have you gone back to your stride?"

I made excuses for a minute, bringing up all the other external factors that had caused my injury. Within moments though, the image of the tiger from Sakyong Mipham's "Running with the Mind of Meditation" arose quite strongly.

Despite writing about the other animals from this Shambala meditative practice, I had abandoned the foundational tiger practice of mindfulness and looking inward. I realized that I had not been focusing on my breath, or the appropriate 180 strides/minute for a clean mid-foot strike. Instead, I'd been tuning into podcasts and music, trying to find the perfect shoe, and worrying about which pack to buy.

The next morning I took to the trail without anything but shorts, shoes, and shirt.  I focused on my breathing rhythm, my posture, my footfall ... I focused on the act of running and gliding through the world as a tiger: poised and graceful.

The pain still comes back as a shadow, my iliotibial band remains precariously tight. But when I return to my breath and mindfulness, my body relaxes, and I continue on down the trail thankful for the tiger-reminder that I am running.

Running Against ... The Clock? Other Runners? Nothing?

by Matt Gray

When it comes to competition, ultra running is a strange sport. Very few of us will ever be neck and neck at that finish line, or even within striking distance of the leader, or even care to be remotely close behind that first finisher.  The difference of 15 or 30 seconds per mile from one runner's pace to the other, over 30 miles and beyond, becomes a matter of minutes, half hours, hours ... not those nanoseconds that define Olympic victories. You would thus think that time becomes insignificant.

But it doesn't.  That starting gun goes off, you pass through the gates, the clock begins, and suddenly you find yourself concerned with how long the four mile section up ahead will take you. How many minutes is it taking to run this steep mile? How fast can I get through the aid station? Should I spend the time changing my shoes at the drop bag? Can I really finish in under six hours? (No, by the way).

I ran the Cheyenne Mountain 50K trail race on Saturday and all of these thoughts crossed my mind.  As I watched the winner, an 18-year-old who has kicked down nearly 5000 training miles since moving to Colorado Springs in November, take off up the first hill breaking away from any would-be competitors immediately, I felt compelled to do better, to run faster, to stride harder.

I hadn't set out to win the race, nor will I ever.  Just finishing is the first priority (I heard that more than 20% of the field dropped out because of injury and heat exhaustion). And then finishing without injury and with an ability to recover in time for the next run, remain my primary goals. But why then did I become possessed by the clock? Why couldn't I just take my time completing the distance?

Just as the runners in the lead are often competing against one another, those of us in the middle and back of the pack are also competing. But rarely against one another (we're usually making friends, grumbling together, and sharing tips on nutrition, training, and shoes ... thanks Jim Roche!).  Long distance runners compete against their own self. Can I run this distance faster and stronger? Can I overcome my stomach issues? My sugar and/or caffeine bonk? The IT band injury that's been plaguing me for weeks and nearly paralyzing me on the downhills?

The clock becomes a means to measure ourselves against the true competition. Long distance runners compete to conquer the challenges presented by mind, body, and spirit.  Can I overcome this pain? Can I outrun this exhaustion? Can I escape the nagging voices in my head? Can I fend off the emotions gnawing at my motivation and will to continue?

Running is unbelievably fun ... for about fifteen miles (for me currently).  After that, it's an experience ... an opportunity to test my own strength and to voyage deeper and deeper towards my limitations ... an experience that allows me to know how to live all the other miles and days more fully, with more discipline, and with more profound levels of happiness.

So no, in the end, when I do cross that finish line, I'm not actually running against the clock or other runners. I'm running for life.

Training Circuit

by Matt Gray
photos to come soon!

Most every runner has a series of runs that they return to again and again in their local area.  Whether on the road, in the parks, around lakes, across the plains, or up and down hills and mountains, these routes become a part of their favored training circuit.  With my brother on his way to Colorado, I thought it would be fun to put together a brief look at five runs from my training circuit which cover a fine variety of trails and landscapes in and near Denver.

The Local Lakes
1 mile ... 3 miles ... 15 miles+


Sometimes in order to ensure high weekly mileage, convenience is absolutely key.  Across the street from my house, Rocky Mountain Lake offers three different one-mile loops to circumnavigate the park. To the West, Berkeley Lake offers another one-mile loop, and a couple miles South, the Sloan's Lake trail comes in at 2.6 miles. Great views of mountains, changing trees, wryly geese, and the enchanting calls of Red Wing Blackbirds make any of the loops aesthetically pleasing even with the roar of traffic. Depending on my mood, how much time I have, and the snow/melt conditions, I might run around just one lake for an hour, or connect all three for a much longer day. No matter what, these runs are a great time to practice speed, form, and meditation.

The Red Rock-Hogback Loop Challenge
6.5 miles (4 mile, 9 mile and 13 mile variations)

There are several mileage and route variations to the trails leaving from Matthew Winters Park just north of the famed Red Rocks Amphitheater. My favorite though is to head across the street and up onto the hogback (incredible geologic feature which displays dinosaur fossils) for a heady 2.5 miles of rolling and rocky trail.  Views abound as you cut back across the valley into the Red Rocks and then up onto an incredible inter-canyon mesa. The trail remains challenging, but the Colorado panorama unfolding all around you keeps the rewards high. 

The Waterton Canyon Half
13 miles (and shorter variations)

This run will always hold a dear place in my heart as it was the first continuous half marathon I ran.  It became the foundation for all the many incredible trail runs and ultra-marathons that have followed in the last 18 months.  The route follows a dirt road into the canyon, winding around bends in the river, skirting the granite walls, and offering the occasional Big Horn Sheep siting.  Like all canyons, there's a special poetry that exists in the light and the air, which keeps the focus of the run on the surrounding wilderness.


The North Mesa Mash
2 to 14 miles (loops, out-and-backs, flats, steep hills)

Named for the highlight of this run, traversing across the North Mesa above Golden while looking up at the Front Range peaks and smelling the aroma of malts mashing at the Coors brewery, I return to this set of trails again and again.  The wide diversity of terrain, with some extremely challenging hills, keeps me feeling tuned-in and in-shape.  While I don't always enjoy dodging speedy mountain bikers, everyone stays pretty courteous.  This is single-track I'll happily share.


The Infinite High-Line
1 to 66 miles (seriously)


Okay, it doesn't go on forever, but it is THE place for me to knock-out long mileage days. The High Line Canal trail might not have the elevation gain and loss that I need throughout my training, but it is a reliable route, even in the heart of winter. I've run some of my fastest times on this wide dirt trail which parallels the historic canal across wetlands, into McMansion neighborhoods, and up against beautiful ranches.  And with the wide open expanse of the plains, Rocky Mountain vistas, and multiple trail heads, the High Line Canal trail is a familiar, comforting friend that prepares my mind and body for full-day adventures.

Gear

by Matt Gray

For family and friends who know me well, they're well aware that I've never been one to overly indulge in material possessions.  Particularly when it comes to clothes and shoes, I live by the motto on a ratty old Patagonia T-shirt that I've worn more than enough times, "Live Simply." I made one pair of Clarks' semi-dress shoes last nearly five years, wearing them throughout Italy, across Europe and into Southern Mexico. Even a crack running across the entire sole on the mid-foot couldn't keep me from still going out for a city wander in those great kicks.  My Clarks were magical. One day they disappeared; I suppose someone was tired of looking at them.

As can be seen in the picture above, all this changed when I started running.  In between those long sleeve shirts, short sleeve shirts, fleece pants, fleece tops, rain jackets, windbreakers, and rain pants, (all for running in different weather conditions), are seven pairs of running shoes that I've acquired in just over a year, (and two more pairs don't even fit into the organizer).  Each pair is for a particular surface or terrain I might be running.  And most strange for me, I happen to also adjust my clothes to match my shoes. The last part is hyperbole; most moments I look at my gear stash and think, "this has gotten out of control."

Unfortunately, it doesn't stop with the shoes and clothes.  To run comfortably, there are all sorts of packs, bottles and accessories I've acquired.  Each serves its purpose for a different length run or for a mood I might be in on a particular day. Some items serve more basic needs: band-aids, anti-chafe cream, and shoo gu to fix that broken part on my Clarks ... when I find them again.

Why is this stuff important? It's not really, but it serves as another running metaphor ... we have a habit of surrounding ourselves with material goods to be comfortable and to seek happiness when all we need is a beat-up old pair of sneakers, some shorts, a cotton undershirt, and the wide open road disappearing beneath our feet.