"The only bad weather is weather that stays the same." I remember this sales slogan from my early 20's when I sold expensive Timberland goods to tourists as a way of funding my ski bum lifestyle. I agree with it now as much as I did back then. I love +40C and -40C, I just don't like either of them for weeks on end.
The same goes for rain, of which we've been having a lot of lately. Here Colin crossing a side creek on May 17th and the same creek on May 20th. That's a lot of rain. However, Saturday's cyclocross fun sparked my motivation to get out and make the most of it, or at least shut-up and get on with it. If the weather insists on being shit, I will wallow. I headed for a section of riverbank trail that I knew was going to be muddy. Not many folks use this trail, particularly during these conditions. The trail traverses the narrow and steep south bank of the river between the water and the petroleum refineries. The north aspect and heavy forest cover means the dirt track is usually wet in spots. Add a week of rain and the trail becomes stupidly slick on even the slightest slope. Translation: six-year-old-splashing-in-the-puddles fun. I had so much fun the first time through that I changed my intended loop-route to an out-and-back so I could do it all over again. When running becomes work it's time to go out and play.
I hate spring. Mind you I don't hate spring nearly as much as I hate fall, but I wouldn't be upset if we made the leap from winter to summer by skipping spring all together. In this part of the world spring and fall are in-between seasons, transition periods from one state to another that have few redeeming qualities beyond the expectation of the coming state. It's this expectation that drives me crazy. Summer means beaches, bbqs, hiking, and biking whereas winter is skiing. Spring and fall offer none of this. Instead, what you get are poor conditions for recreation and erratic weather that swings between scorching to freezing in the space of a day. Fall is doubly-damned because conditions suck and daylight becomes increasingly brief. The only redeeming quality of spring and summer is no mosquitoes. That's huge around here.
In an effort to break my motivation funk I took my bike to nearby Blackfoot Recreation Area. I was eager to shake up my training regime and I hoped that the new foliage and singing birds would convince me that summer was not too far off. Blackfoot is not particularly challenging for biking, even by prairie standards, but it is a perfect place for a workout on a touring-converted cyclocross. The trails are wide, well-groomed, and rolling, which suits me find. I lack the skill, patience, and suitable equipment to enjoy technical single track. However, I've got the lungs and legs to hit grin-busting speeds on a dirt track. And really, it's all about the grins. Much of the trail system skirts the shores of numerous beaver ponds and a couple of large lakes. These are great places for spotting wildlife and I stopped frequently to scout for birds and such. The trails were nearly deserted, which might be expected given the overcast, cold, and wet spring weather we've been enjoying for the past several days. However, I am always surprised how under-utilized the trails are at Blackfoot. There can be several dozen cars in the parking lot on any given weekend and I won't encounter a soul beyond the first loop in the trail that turns back to the cars. Many folks don't leave the parking lot picnic tables. This is ultimately a good thing - the thought of eating tree to avoid hitting an off-leash lap dog gives me palpitations. It was the cold weather that eventually did me in. My feet were freezing to the point that I could no longer feel them pushing on the pedals. I should have worn overshoes. I would stop my bike to jog in place and warm my feet up but I was having to do this so frequently that the rest of me was starting to shiver. I thought about starting a fire in the stove of one of the ski cabins but I quickly became consumed with thoughts of a hot shower and a warm dinner. That was all the motivation I needed to get back to the truck and head home.
I took a week off from training following the Iron Horse to recover. It was nice having an extra 10+ hours to catch up on the rest of my life. Sadly, with the wife out of town I realized I don't have much of a life so I'm looking forward to running again. It's time to begin preparing for the Canadian Death Race. This is a good thing because I forgot to tell my appetite to take the week off too.
What did I learn from my first ultra and what will I do different?
1. Add hills to my training. I felt that I finished Iron Horse strong - I was still running right to the end. However, my only goal was to finish. I don't intend to set a loftier goal for the Death Race but the course is longer and harder and I want to ensure that making the cut-off time is a non-issue. The problem is Edmonton is flat. I ran my first hill workout on the local riverbank-turned-ski hill by my house: bottom to top in under 1 minute. I will need to make a few trips to the mountains before race date. 2. Stretch. Period. I'm not proposing that I need to take my stretching to a higher level like yoga or something. I don't have a level. I need to start stretching. I use to be able to touch my toes. The thought of reaching for my toes now makes me wince. 3. Experiment with different shoes. I love my Speedcross2 shoes but my hips and knees were very sore by the end. This may be inevitable regardless of the model of shoes I wear but I only have experience with one model over that distance so I should at least try something else. 4. Be strategic in the aid stations. It was pointed out to me that 5 aid stations at 10 minutes per station is nearly an hour of extra time on the course. I don't think I dawdle but I want to remain conscious of this potential time vortex. My fueling strategy worked well so I won't be changing anything there.
5. Have more fun training. This will be easy to accomplish now that winter is over. Preparing for a spring race in a northern climate was a challenge for someone who runs for adventure rather than fitness. I like the cold and snow. But when cold and snow is all you get for 4+ months running becomes monotonous plodding in the dark on the same few routes that are routinely plowed. I've already swapped cyclocross tires onto my touring bike in anticipation of the coming fun.
I've been anxious to get my road bike out again ever since my first ride of the year during false-spring in early March. After that teasing thaw winter fought back with another 6 weeks of unskiable nastiness (aka., worthless winter).
Now spring has finally come to Edmonton as evidenced by the hoards of pale, fair-weather fitness enthusiasts on the riverbank trails. Not to be left out of the action, this past weekend I threw on my spandex, packed my bike in the truck and headed to Fort Saskatchewan. I wanted to experience more of the same landscape I saw in St. Paul so I headed east on highway 15 past the industrial plants. Dow Chemical, literally part of your environment. Buoyed by my ultramarathon performance I had great intentions of hammering out a big ride. 200+ km. This wasn't to be. A cold headwind conspired against me the entire way. Have your parents bored you with their childhood story of having to carry their hand-carved desk to and from school? Uphill. Both ways. On the prairies the wind replaces the hills. It doesn't matter which way you turn the gale-force wind is always in your face. There is no escaping it. This childhood memory has soured me on wind. I would rather ride in a hail storm.
So my longtime nemesis, wind, torpedoed my motivation. Some may wonder how you could ever be motivated in the prairies. Question for the Government of Alberta: How many pennies per km are saved by not repaving the entire shoulder because this is really difficult to ride on. I have always found the prairies interesting. The Russians that settled this region in the late 19th century. The many abandoned farm yards: Who lived here? When and why did they leave? Bridge art in the middle of nowhere. In the end I managed 97.7km in 4.5 hours. I rode around town for awhile, trying to break 100 km, but I got bored and gave up. It was a good ride and 100 was just a number.
This was my first 'real' ultramarathon. At 100 km, the Iron Horse Ultra was nearly double the furthest I'd ever consecutively run. I did complete the Frozen Ass 50 k in February, but that was really just an extended marathon and part of my weekly training for this race.
This was a perfect first race for me. I run to explore and this course continually had new and interesting terrain that was challenging without being ridiculously hard. (Disclaimer - I grew up on the prairies and I still feel a special connection to these landscapes like possibly only a prairie person can.) There were stretches through valleys, across fields, along river banks, gravel roads, power lines, and forest trails. Due to a last minute rerouting there was even a 100 m stretch where there was no trail, just hummocks of grass separating pools of water.
We started at 6 am with a group photo on the UFO landing pad before walking the 2 blocks to the actual starting line on the reclaimed CNR railway bed. The first half of Leg 1 followed the old railway bed. Thankfully the previous day was warm and windy, which dried much of the rain and snow that fell earlier in the week. Still the rail bed was ridiculously muddy in spots, which made me very nervous. It was the kind of mud that sticks to your shoes like glue and adds pounds to each step. I didn't train with ankle weights and I doubted my ability to make the first aid station in such conditions. The mud ended when we climbed out of the railway valley. The view's improved, too - prairie folks like to see the horizon. At this point we began a series of ascents and descents as trail followed the valley to the first aid station.
Leg 2 was the least interesting overall. Much of this leg was an arrow-straight gravel road that continually climbed at an angle that was steep enough to be tiring but was not so steep to justify walking.
Leg 3 zigzagged through a variety of habitats including a trip up Moose Mountain and a beautiful stretch along the shores of Moosehills Lake. The leg ended by turning east toward St. Paul and following a gravel road into the town of Elk Point. From Elk Point the 100 milers turned southeast towards Lindbergh while the rest of us headed toward the finish line. I changed my shoes at the aid station to cope with a hot spot on my heel that I think was a combination of the heel-tugging mud and the camber of the road. Other than that minor inconvenience I was feeling good and was excited about the possibility of finishing before dark. Much of Leg 4 was also a road of sorts that gradually climbed over much of its length. Now that finishing wasn't a question I felt a little less guilty about walking some of these hills. We left the aid station to start the fifth and final leg on yet another gravel road. Thankfully (and surprisingly) I never met a car on any of these roads so they were really more like broad trails. It was at this point when I was very happy that I wasn't running 100 miles. Not surprisingly, I was tired and my hips and knees were sore from pounding on the downhills of the roller coaster gravel roads. However, I could see the many steeples of St. Paul, which gave me the motivation to run hard to the end. The roar of the crowd carries me to the finish line with an official time of 12:35:59, which was good enough for 5th place amongst soloists.
and the same creek on May 20th. That's a lot of rain.
However, Saturday's cyclocross fun sparked my motivation to get out and make the most of it, or at least shut-up and get on with it. If the weather insists on being shit, I will wallow.
I headed for a section of riverbank trail that I knew was going to be muddy. Not many folks use this trail, particularly during these conditions. The trail traverses the narrow and steep south bank of the river between the water and the petroleum refineries. The north aspect and heavy forest cover means the dirt track is usually wet in spots.
Add a week of rain and the trail becomes stupidly slick on even the slightest slope.
Translation: six-year-old-splashing-in-the-puddles fun. I had so much fun the first time through that I changed my intended loop-route to an out-and-back so I could do it all over again. When running becomes work it's time to go out and play.
