Nueces 50 Mile Race Report

On Saturday, March 3, 2012, I had the pleasure of running 50 miles in the Nueces River Valley, on the western edge of the Texas Hill Country. As usual, Joe and Joyce Prusaitis put on an extraordinary ultramarathon. Their races truly are top-notch, both in terms of the course itself - which is beautiful - and in terms of the organization, volunteer staff, and aid the runners receive. I saw many familiar faces on the trail and at the aid stations, including newly-weds Doug and Jazzy Ratliff (congrats you two!)

My goal going into this race was to just have fun. I wanted to go out there and get caught up in the beauty of being out on the trail - to just do my own thing and listen to my music on my iPod and have a blast. And I did just that.

I drove out to Camp Eagle on Friday, checked in and got my race tags, and parked my car in the camping area and ate oranges and almonds and watched episodes of the Golden Girls on my laptop until it was time to sleep. By 5 am, I was well-rested and ready to start my adventure. I got all my gear together (which wasn't very much: one water bottle, a headlamp, nipple guards, and my iPod. That is really all you need to run 50 miles on Joe's well-organized course) and headed towards the start line.

The first few miles of an ultra are always my favorite miles. Everyone is excited and fresh. You have your headlamps and flashlights out. You feel like you are embarking into the the unknown and you feel anxious and happy, and maybe even a little scared, all at the same time.

Now, if you haven't been on the trails at Camp Eagle, let me tell you you something about them: they are tough! Okay, maybe not that tough, but they are definitely challenging. There are some big climbs throughout the course, and you feel absolute relief when you get to the top of a big hill because by then you have just had it with climbing! Then, you get to the quad-punishing downhill! And the trail is not smooth. It is rocky. You've never seen so many rocks in your life (unless, of course, you have run the Cactus Rose 100 at Bandera).

But, what rugged beauty! More climbs means more scenic views. You get to the top of one hill and you can see a beautiful expanse of the Texas Hill Country. You get to the top of another hill, and what is waiting for you on top? A giant, beautiful creaking windmill set against the rising Texas sun! This course has it all: water (you run along the river for a short portion of the course), bridge crossings (there is one long suspension bridge that you get to run across and several other smaller crossings), and wildlife.

On the last point about wildlife, let me tell you a short anecdote before wrapping up this race report. At about mile 42, I found myself face to face with a big buck standing right in the middle of the trail. Off to the side was a fawn. They both stood staring at me, no more than 10 feet away. I took a step toward the buck, hoping he might move. He didn't. He just stood there. Staring. Now, I've seen one too many YouTube videos of deer going crazy and standing up on their hind legs and attacking with their front legs to take this situation lightly. I mean, come on, I've just run 42 miles! I am tired as hell and have the strength of a marshmallow Peep. If that deer attacked me, I was totally defenseless. Worst case scenario: there were plenty of rocks to defend myself with!

But after a few second of just standing there, regarding each other with mistrust and probably waiting for the other to make the first move to get us out of this situation, I decided to take action. I ran at the deer with my hands in the air and screamed. The thing ran away. And so did I. As I ran towards the finish line, I smiled at what turned out to be a fun little adventure.

Ultrarunning and Life, the Game of Inches

It's well past my bedtime, but I'm awake and I can't stop thinking about running. I keep playing out Badwater in my head: what it must be like to run the race. If I close my eyes, I can see Death Valley. I am running and I can see the road ahead narrowing off into - where? What lies beyond the road except more road? And I can hear the patter of my own feet as they come down on the blacktop. Feel the heat radiating against my legs, and not just my legs, but everywhere really. The inescapable grasp of some awesome power. My God. The One I pray to before every run. The One to whom I offer up my daily sweat.

And after these visions comes the pain of the yearning, because, inevitably, the feelings turn physical and all I can do, as always, is go for a run.

Now, I've just finished watching a clip on YouTube. It is from the football movie, "Any Given Sunday." Al Pacino plays the coach of an NFL team, and towards the end of the movie, he and his team find themselves in an impossible situation: they are down and have little chance of coming back to win. During a locker room break (the locker room break, the typical sports movie Big Speech Moment), Pacino gathers his players and coaching staff around to deliver one last speech.

It's is one of the most stirring, powerfully affecting speeches I've ever heard in a sports movie partly because it avoids most of the sentimental traps typical for the genre (it still remains recognizably a Big Speech Moment) and partly because Pacino is still capable of delivering a tough, fine performance.

He talks about football being a game of inches, how when you find yourself in the depths of hell, when you are down and out, all you can do is fight to claw your way out, inch by inch. You have to be willing, he says, to fight and die for each inch.
Anyone who has suffered hard to get to where they want (need) to be knows, instinctively, what he means. It's not just about football. His words get under your skin and even deeper - they get down to the bone - because he is talking about life. He is talking about you and me and the game we all play.

I've come to realize how trivial and unimportant Badwater must seem to many (most) people. But surely there is something in your life that burns you up, consumes you. Surely you've wanted something so badly that you were willing to do anything to make it real. I think the desire to achieve - and eventually, the striving for that achievement - is what largely defines our characters. What we do defines who we are. What's your goal?

The goal should be something worth striving for. Something that gives us great satisfaction. Something more substantial and enriching than money, fame, or sex. Maybe the goal is to help others: that must be extremely satisfying. Maybe it's to climb a mountain or cross a desert. Maybe it's to be a good father or mother, a devoted wife or husband. Whatever the goal is, and there can and should be several in our lives, we should desire it passionately, and then strive for it inch by inch. Live for it and love it. And maybe one day we can look back and say, "I've done it. I've accomplished something worthwhile."

That must make for a good life.

The Ethics of a Hamburger: Man Has Heart Attack While Eating at Heart Attack Grill

I recently saw an item on ABC News about a restaurant called the Heart Attack Grill in Las Vegas. A man suffered some sort of cardiac episode (possibly a heart attack) while eating a 6,000 calorie burger called the Triple Bypass. Jon Basso, the owner of the restaurant - who acknowledges that the food he serves is unhealthy, dangerous, and possibly lethal - seemed remarkably calm about and unmoved by the ordeal. The whole damn story left me feeling unspeakably depressed; it made me want to go out into the fresh air, go for a run, eat an apple, and sigh for society.

What got to me wasn't so much the attitudes of the customers, who seemed amused and intrigued by the place. It's understandable that people would be curious; the joint has a morbid sense of humor about its business: diners wear hospital gowns, the wait staff dresses in nurses' uniforms (the owner dresses like a doctor), there is a weigh-in station where customers clocking in at over 350 lbs. eat free, and now, after this recent episode, customers can eat at the-place-where-that-guy-had-a-heart-attack. No, it doesn't surprise me that people would want to patronize this curiosity. But, what does surprise me, what does get under my skin and tick me off, is the attitude of the the owner. Mr. Basso seems to think this is all good fun, a good-for-business chance happening that will certainly seal the Grill's reputation as a place to get really greasy fast food.

It's all supposed to be really cute, but I'm not laughing. Obesity is a real problem. Think of all the people you know - family members, friends, public figures, politicians, celebrities - who have died of a heart attack or stroke or whose lives have been diminished by heart disease. Think of the all the surgeries, the drugs, the medical bills, the lost time. Am I the only one who finds all this incredibly sad?

And yet, Mr. Basso will have good grounds - certainly legal grounds - to defend his business. "Anything that is legal that you want to eat or drink that's fun, that enriches your life at the moment, I will sell it to you," he said. But, that doesn't cut it. Precisely because he knows just how unhealthy his menu items are, Mr. Basso is faced with an ethical dilemma that reaches beyond the question of legal compliance. His moral argument is that people are responsible for their own food choices.

He is, of course, right, but that doesn't mean he isn't a sleaze. Just because people are ultimately responsible for what they put in their bodies - and they certainly are responsible for that - doesn't mean Mr. Basso is off the hook. In cashing in on America's food problem, he becomes the worst kind of social parasite, someone who is willing to take advantage of the obesity epidemic in America just to make a buck.

Places like the Heart Attack Grill are not the root of the problem (they aren't: one hamburger, even one as big as the Triple Bypass, cannot, on its own, cause a heart attack; and people surely know going in that the food is unhealthy, and yet still they go), but they certainly are not part of the solution. If nothing else, a place like the Heart Attack Grill presents us with manifest proof of a cruel irony: that tragedies like heart attacks are now accepted as commonplace and "normal" when "normal" should mean living a long, full, and healthy life.

My 100 Mile Adventure in the Cayman Islands

I had the opportunity to run 100 miles in theCayman Islands and to meet some extraordinary people. The experience is one I will treasure for the rest of my life. The man who organized this event, James Murray, and his girlfriend, Lauren, are among the nicest, most gracious people I have ever met. They showed me around their beautiful island, from it's crystal clear blue waters and white-as-snow sand to it's delectable cuisine.

My first impression of Cayman was that it was alive, full of gusto and energy. Cars were honking, the sun was ablaze in the blemishless eternity-blue sky, tourists were going this way and that. The place had a musical pulse, a syncopated rhythm of time and energy where even the most mundane things - a wall, a corner building, the lamp post - came to life in unexpected ways. A splash of color here, movement there. Oh, look an iguana crossing the road! And is that a parrot in the trees? My heart skipped a beat faster just to keep up.

To run in the Cayman Islands was a joy. Even more than that, it was life-changing (that's no exaggeration). But, when you attempt something of this magnitude, the results usually are life-changing. Not that I haven't run 100 miles before. I've stabbed at the distance five times before, and each time has been meaningful, shaping me little by little and helping me grow more and more. But, I've never done anything on this level before. The purpose behind A Crazy Idea - as the project was lovingly called - was to benefit the Cayman Island Diabetes Association.

Diabetes runs in my family. My dad has it. My aunt has it. I am at risk for diabetes. It is sort of the unspoken epidemic in Cayman, and indeed, the United States as well. There is no cure for diabetes, but there is certainly hope for management of it. Through patient education, the appropriate use of medications, and lifestyle alterations, including the incorporation of sensible exercise and a balanced diet, diabetes can be managed effectively. Our goal was to be a part of that education process, to bring diabetes to the public consciousness and get people on the island thinking and talking about their health. No one wants to be told they are eating the wrong foods and that their lack of exercises is killing them. But, these are truths we cannot afford to ignore.

Our message had to be bold. Running 100 miles is pretty bold, I think. And we got the attention of the local media - the newspaper, social media, and radio stations. Dozens of people came out to see us off. It was quite an event! Some people stayed up with us all through the night, pacing us, getting us food and drink and anything else we needed during the run. As for myself, I had a blast. I ran with Steve, a lawyer in Cayman who offered to write a letter of commendation to the dean of my law school. Steve ran by my side in flip flops into the wee hours of the night. A spectacular guy!

I ran with Sarah, a tough and energetic woman who kept me going through the most trying parts of the journey. We sang the entire soundtrack to "Sister Act" before moving on to Disney songs. She would make a strong, strong ultrarunner herself. She has the right stuff. There was also Adam, who came on the scene with a smile and energy that proved infectious. He ran by my side through the night and I felt good just having him with me.

Not once did I feel any negative energy out there. All good vibes, baby! People were cheering along the route. Cars were honking. It was a big party! When the run did get tough - and it did get tough - I was able to look to my companions for strength. At certain points in the run, the heat got to me. Temperatures reached into the 100s and the humidity was near 80%. But, the overall experience was never unpleasant. Even though I was having a hard time, I thought about all the people that were counting on me. I thought about James, who was just ahead of me, fighting his own battle. I continued on.

The final miles were a frenzied blur of excitement. It seemed as if the whole community had come out to see us finish. The cheering carried me through to the finish line, despite my aching legs. I hugged James and my entire crew. It was an awesome feeling. I can't help but feel that we made a real difference out there, that we inspired people to take up their own physical challenge. If we inspired just one person to come up with their own "crazy idea" then it was all worth it. After wards, person after person came up to tell me thank you and that they felt if we could run 100 miles, they could at least do a few themselves.

Inventor helps long distance runners g-ear up!

Sometimes, when you are logging in those long miles, it helps to have some tunes to groove to. When you are as avid a runner as Terry Madl, you know how important choosing the right headphones can be. "Every time I wore earbuds, they kept slipping out of my ears when I ran," recalls Madl. No matter which brand he tried, Madl could not find headphones that worked for him. None of the products on the market were very runner friendly. Thus, G-ear was born.

The device is quite simple, a cross between a bandanna and a pair of headphones. The silky-soft, moisture-wicking, antimicrobial fabric adjusts to fit around your head and then ties snugly in at the back. On either side are two slots to fit in the custom-built flat headphones that fit comfortably over your ears. The wire from the headphones goes through the fabric so it does not get in the way when you are running.

Simple. And it works. Many runners find traditional earbuds too invasive to be comfortable, and wraparounds are not everybody's cup of tea, so they turn to more complicated systems. Usually, these elaborate designs compromise sound quality or they cost an arm and a leg. Sony MDR-Q23LPPS w.ear headphones are the perfect example of such a complex system. The cushioned clip-ons are comfortable enough, but the sound is one-dimensional and the cushions get sweaty during workouts.

The G-ear system not only feels good around your head, it also sounds good. The dynamic audio is crisp and clear. The headband, if not fashionable (it actually is quite fashionable and it comes in three distinct styles: jam, a continuous headband look, flō, a headband style that ties, and hȳp, a bandanna style that ties in the back) is completely functional. It wicks sweat and cools the head on hot days. If you don't get to washing the fabric after a couple of runs, the antimicrobial fabric will prevent germs and harmful bacteria from forming.

Madl is a 57 year old ultramarathoner whose list of accomplishments include finishing the infamous Badwater race through Death Valley and completing the Marathon des Sables in the Moroccan Sahara. If anyone knows what it takes to endure those seemingly endless workouts, it's him. “There are times when I choose to immerse myself in the environment when I am running, but there are also times when I absolutely need music. During races, I always bring music or books with me.”

With research and planning of his product ongoing, Madl is optimistic about the future of G-ear. If you would like more information about how you can purchase this product, feel free to contact Terry Madl at terry@getintog-ear.com.

Running with the Buffaloes 100 Race Report

When Walt Whitman wrote of the public road that "I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, you express me better than I can express myself," he pretty much summed up my feelings about this race. The inaugural Running with the Buffaloes 100 Mile Run took place on Saturday, October 16, 2011, and as with all of my big races, I have fond memories of every step, yet in the end, I was glad to be done with the whole damn thing.

The race embodied what I love most about ultras: that low-key atmosphere of casual athleticism. No one here is a braggart. No one here is prideful. The feel in the air is chill. Attending one of these events, as opposed to, say, a big city marathon, is the difference between nestling in at your friendly neighborhood coffee joint and going to a Starbucks.

There were twelve of us doing the 100 miler. We met in West Yellowstone, the start of the race. The little town of hotels, gift shops, and restaurants sits at the entrance of America's premier National Park. All the runners stayed at the Gray Wolf Inn. After checking in and unloading our bags, we all went to Wild West Pizzaria for a hot meal. Some familiar faces sat around the table that night - like Pam Reed, the petite-sized female endurance warrior whose record-setting accomplishments have paved the way for other runners around the world. There was George Velasco, the seasoned ultra veteran who refuses to let the limitations of age, and even injury, come between him and his goals. There was also Bill McCarty, a man celebrating his 64th birthday by running 100 miles, proving that you are only as old as you choose to be. We lit a candle on a cake and sang "Happy Birthday" to him, then, we headed for bed.

Running with the Buffaloes was different from every ultra I've done. For one, it was all on the road (but, to call this a road race is somewhat misleading. Along every stretch, is a shoulder of soft gravel and dirt that mimics a trail). Secondly, there were no aid stations. We were crewed for the entire 100 by race directors Lisa Smith-Batchen and Dave Carder out of vans. They had everything from baby wipes to Red Bull to cheese sticks, candy, and boiled potatoes.

If you've ever crewed for an ultra, you know the hard work that goes into it. In some ways, crewing is harder than running. When you run, you at least get to zone out and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. With crewing, not only do you have to stay up for as long as the runner, but you also have to remain mentally alert throughout the whole ordeal. Multiply the experience by twelve runners and you get some idea of what it was like for Lisa and her volunteers.

By the start of the race and up until about mile 30, I managed to keep up with the lead pack. That may have been a mistake to go out so fast. I hit mile 50 in eleven hours. But, I felt good and the general trend of the first half of the course profile was downhill. Eventually, the pain in my legs became more evident and I slowed down. But, pain is inevitable in a 100 mile run, and so far, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on with my body, so I pressed onward.

To take my mind off the pain, I focused on the beauty of my surroundings. Running through the National Forest in mid-October is a blessing of colors. The day was a perfect mix of sky blue and deep green, leaves of brilliant reds and yellows. The weather was sunny and cool. I grooved to the tunes of TLC, Ace of Base, Miles Davis, Eminem, Johnny Cash, and John Coltrane on my iPod. I drank steadily and consistently, ate plenty. Life couldn't have been any better.

By nightfall, things got a little dicey, but my spirits stayed high. Despite feeling a sleepy, I kept moving forward. In any case, rest was not an option - at one point, I asked Lisa if she would let me in the van to close my eyes and sleep for five minutes. Her response: "So sorry, dude," and she drove away. Sleepiness was, I think, my number one enemy during this race. To battle it, I chugged anything with caffeine, including Mountain Dew and coffee.

I experienced surges of energy throughout the race and allowed myself to be swept up by them. By mile 70, I was powering up all the hills and running for miles at a time. My goal was to catch the next runner in front of me. "He's only half a mile ahead," Lisa told me. I pressed on. After hours of running, I still hadn't caught him. Later, I found out that Lisa had lied to keep me motivated. He was actually about three or four miles ahead. In the middle of the night, I eventually caught up with him and passed him. I put about five miles distance between us. Then, I lost motivation to run hard. My only goal at that point became to no get passed up.

And I didn't get passed. When the sun came up, it was a blessing. The majesty of that red glow rising slowly over the Tetons is something you must see to believe. It gave me a boost of energy and I pressed onward.

We finished in the little town of Driggs, Idaho (the race actually went through three states - Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho), right in front of the Dreamchasers store, owned by Lisa and her husband, Jay. At the finish, I collected my buckle, ate some pizza, and drank some coconut water. Then, I waited for the other runners to come in. George came in beaming. After years of trying to successfully finish a 100 miler, he finally earned his buckle.

But, the star of the race was Bill. Bill had been having trouble for a while before the finish. By mile 70, he had developed a curious lean. From what I heard, his hamstrings were shot. His pacer had to hold him up and support him. But, he made it in with time to spare and with a big grin on his face. According to Lisa, he never complained once during the run. He always kept chugging along.

Thus marked the end of the inaugural Running with the Buffaloes 100 Mile Run. I can't wait to go back next year. In short, it was the best race I've ever done.

Grizzly Country: The Value of Running the Trails of Teton Valley

"Lions, and tigers, and bears! Oh my!" -Dorothy Gale, The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Anyone who has ever hiked the trails of Teton Valley is familiar with the sense of fear inspired by knowing they are walking in the land of the grizzlies. The awareness that there are creatures out there in the woods that are bigger than you, creatures that are physically capable of killing and eating you, is enough to instill within trail enthusiasts a sense of complete and utter humility. Out there, you are not top of the food chain. You become aware of your own fleshy vulnerability. The effect is almost primal. It awakens within you a long-dormant state of consciousness. It was this very brand of consciousness that early humans lived with.

Man's evolutionary history is very much tied with that of the Great Bear. Both men and grizzlies, for instance, crossed over the land bridge from Siberia to Pleistocene Alaska at about the same time in history. Archeological records suggest that man might even have traveled the same southern route into the continental United States as grizzlies. If this is true, then man's consciousness might very well have been directly shaped by coexistence with grizzlies and like creatures - the man-eaters.

I remember one run in particular: a group of us went hiking and about 50 yards up ahead, a big grizzly crossed our path. It didn't look our way. It didn't stop. It's just ambled on. I was stunned. Our group stopped dead in our tracks and slowly backed away. My heart was pounding. My senses were alert like never before. I was alive, such a wonderful feeling! In that one instance, when that grizzly crossed my path (although just briefly and without incidence), I began my fascination and obsession with the Great Bear. I bought books about the beast. I read all about bear attacks. I poured over the story of pioneer Hugh Glass and his famous encounter with a grizzly that would leave him mauled and stranded in the wilderness. And in all my research, I have come to several conclusions about the relationship between man and bear.

In Teton Valley, much is made of this relationship. The front page headlines of The Teton Valley News or even The Jackson Hole Daily are occasionally preoccupied with the latest bear attack. Almost always, the victim is to blame. Still, the authorities must decide whether to issue a death sentence for the offending bear or to relocate her (it usually is a female who attacks because she is protecting her young from a perceived threat). It's is a hotly political issue. We have all the rules in place: habituated bears are dangerous bears are dead bears and so forth. We force order and logic on a situation and relationship that is very often not governable by order or logic. Still, we don't want more people to get hurt, so some action is necessary.

But the possibility of death is always present despite governance. You can feel it out there. It's part of the allure of the trail. We live in a highly "civilized" world, though I know the word is a bloated one. What I mean is, urbanization and the destruction of the last vestiges of wilderness have made it near impossible for everyday people like you and me to have real contact with nature and the primal elements. Most of us will never see a bear in its natural habitat because we have destroyed that possibility for ourselves. This is why Teton Valley and the greater Yellowstone region is such a valuable, sacred place. It is a pocket ecosystem, a last remnant of a wild, scary, exhilarating world.

It is our link to the past and our key to understanding our place in the world. Places like Teton Valley - to the extent that they offer excellent hiking, mountain biking, skiing and running opportunities - are invaluable on a psychological level as well. The humility that is forced upon us on the trails, in the land of the grizzlies, is the very antithesis of human pride and greed, those traits that have lead to genocide, war, and death.

We should all be concerned with the preservation of such ecosystems and with the protection of grizzlies. We should hike intelligently and cautiously because, it is true that a habituated bear is a dead bear. We should cherish the mountains and trails because they remind us who we are at the core. They remind us we are alive.

Philosophies from the Tetons (Part 2)

1) There's a difference between being fit and being healthy - I've met a number of fit people that aren't exactly healthy. They are slaves to whatever drives them to push their bodies to extremes. There is nothing wrong with pushing yourself, but there is a line. Ultrarunners edge very close to crossing that line at times. Running 100 miles is not a healthy endeavor. Being healthy means looking after your mind and spirit as much as your body. It also means maintaining healthy, loving relationships with those around you.

2) Fear is your friend - When you're out for a run or hike in bear country, you quickly gain a sense of humility. You instinctively know that you are not top of the food chain out there. A grizzly bear could be - probably is - lurking somewhere not too far away. The fear that builds in the back of your mind is a healthy and quite sane response! Fear entails respect which entails humility and caution.

3) Suffering is weakness - It shows weakness of mind. It shows that you choose to spend your time in a self-made hell rather than a blissful heaven. It shows lack of skill. If you are suffering in a race, you are doing something wrong. I know ultrarunners like to brag about their suffering because they think it makes them look tougher or more of a badass. Dean Karnazes says, "I love the pain." I know a guy who likes to show off the fact that he "shredded his tendons" (his words) during a 100 mile race and had to wear compression boots for a time after. This is nothing to boast about. Suffering is not a sign of strength. He either did not train properly or had a very poor race plan. Probably both. Ultramarathons offer you the unique opportunity to create a relationship with your body. Why choose to spend your time in misery?

Grand Teton 50 Miler Race Report

It was an intimidating start. I wasn't feeling 100%, the field was small, and the course was tough. I dreaded finishing in last place, or worse yet, not finishing at all. Both were distinct possibilities in my mind as I stood with the small crowd at the start line at 6:29 am, waiting for the race director to countdown to "1... and then, GO!" Fifty miles can seem like an eternity when you're in a bad frame of mind. But my coach, Lisa Smith-Batchen, was at the finish line, and I could not envision quitting in her presence. The woman would kill me.

"3...2...1..." And we were off. The course is comprised of two identical 25-mile loops. The first part of the course goes up what is called Fred's Mountain. It's a doozy of a climb up steep, rocky single-track trail. But, it was a beautiful morning and the views were gorgeous. Once I got into the race, all my anxiety melted away. The runners around me were chatting away about this and that. I cheerfully listened on as I ran.

After Fred's, it's pretty much all downhill. You work your way to the bottom of the canyon and then you make your way back up to the top for the next 25 miles. I made the big mistake of hammering the first part. The course is very runable, but, you need to pace yourself if you're going to hold out for the second loop. But, I wasn't thinking about things like that. I was having fun. Eventually, I put my iPod on and was grooving to some tunes. I was passing people. Life was good.

By the time I got to mile 25, I was in the lead pack. Not good. Lisa screamed at me to "slow down!" By that time, my quads were kind of shot. And all I could think about was going up that damn mountain again. Slowing down would not be an issue. I was deflated.

The second climb up Fred's was grueling. The trail going up seemed never-ending. My brain kept going, "This is brutal." I kept saying that over and over in my mind: "this is brutal... this is brutal." Then, I realized how negative up my thinking was. If you think something is going to be awful, it probably will be awful. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. So, I changed my thinking. Trite as it may sound, I instead repeated the words, "This is beautiful." And, dammit, it worked. I got over the mountain.

The rest of the run is sort of a blur. I fell down a couple of times and skinned my finger. That hurt. I got nipple chaffing. (NOTE TO SELF: duct tape is not the answer to this particular issue). But, overall I was satisfied with my performance. I finished in 13 hours and change. Not a PR, but I'll take it. When I reached that finish line, it was - as is the case with most of my big race finishes - all I could do from gobbling down every and any food item in sight!

My First Pair of Hokas - The Marshmallow Shoe

They look so weird. Marshmallow shoes - that's what we called them. With their absurdly thick soles and bright neon colors, they look like great big clown shoes. And they seem to go against the current trend of minimalist running. Kind of the antithesis to that movement, really. But, they seem to work for a lot of people. Karl Meltzer is a fan. Catra Corbett is hooked. Lisa Smith-Batchen is a recent convert.

And these things are popping up everywhere. At your next trail ultra, take a look around at people's feet. Odds are, you will spot more than a few marshmallow shoes. Runners who own a pair swear by them and proclaim them to be some sort of magic shoe. "Love my Hokas," they will say. "Makes downhill running so much fun!" "I'm never going back to my old shoes."

With my 50 miler in the Tetons right around the corner, and with no other shoes to wear for it other than road racing flats (can we say "ouch!"), I decided to buy a pair and try them out for myself. See what all the fuss is about.

Turns out, they aren't so bad. They are actually minimalist in some ways. To begin, they are incredibly light, although they appear bulky. The heel-to-toe drop is pretty minimal. Where Hokas stand out, it seems, is in the cushioning. The thick sole makes roots and rocks almost nonexistant. You can glide over the trail. Downhill running becomes a breeze because all the shock is absorbed by the sole, which is made of a very soft EVA.

It's kind of weird at first to wear something so bulky-looking yet so light-feeling. You are high off the ground with them which may turn off purist runners who want to "feel" the earth beneath their feet.