Northfork Fire

Sorry been kinda of quite lately. Just been plugging along training and dealing with wiggles trying to keep from becoming hurt.

Anyways been thinking a lot about the fires the past few days. This is the big news here in Colorado. A dry past few months has created very very high fire danger. My wife found this article and video, just nuts. Have to remember when watching the video that it is in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

You can find the article here: http://kdvr.com/2012/03/27/video-from-inside-the-fire-family-flees-the-flames/

Books Read in 2011

At the end of year I post my list of books that I read at year and link them to Amazon so you can check them out if interested. Here is my list for 2011. The ones that I put the number in bold are worth the read, the rest were either for work or just plan crap.

If you have any suggestions of books to check out for 2012 I am all ears. I try to read at least 12 a year but if I ever want to knock down my growing list I am going to have to read more than 25. I just don't see that happening.

1. K2: Life & Death on the Worlds most dangerous mountain
2. The Extra Mile- Pam Reed
3. In Defense of Food
4. Coaching for Performance
5. Food Rules
6. Eiger Dreams
7. Paleo Diet for Athletes
8. Relentless Forward Progress
9. Running on empty
10. Seal Team Six
11. Cycling home from Siberia
12. The Big Year
13. The Man Who Cycled the World
14. The Big Book of Endurance Training
15. And Then the Vulture Eats You
16. The Raw Truth
17. Now Discover Your Strengths
18. The Paleo Diet
19. Steve Jobs

Bear Creek 10Spot

Ran a race this morning at Bear Creek Lake Park in Lakewood called Bear Creek 10Spot. It was 10.4 miles with about 1000ft of climbing. Not a lot of climbing but that last uphill at mile 8 hurt! Here is the elevation profile and map from Adam's website.



My plan was to use it as my long easy run this weekend keeping my heart rate under 150 but that did not happen. My average heart rate for the race was 175- OUCH!!! I finished th 10.4 mile course in 1:15:00 flat on my watch which gave 8th overall and 2nd in my age group. Here are my mile splits along with the average heart rate for that mile, can you guess where the hills are.

7:28- HR 170
7:00- HR 177
7:13- HR 173
7:29- HR 173
6:33- HR 170
7:40- HR 177
7:25- HR 174
6:56- HR 176
7:57- HR 179
6:48- HR 178
Last 0.4miles in 2:26- HR 184

This was a really fun low key event that could easily become a yearly affair to run. Great job Adam!!!!

Ramblings and Pranks

Been pondering all week if last Saturday's effort at the 12 Hours of Boulder warrants a race report or not. Most likely not since I treated it as an easy long 6 hour jog and did not do the whole 12 Hours. Anyways props to GZ for finishing is 100!

This weekend I am going to race- strike that- run the Bear Creek 10Spot on Sunday. If I feel good (which has not been the case all week) then I will run hard, if I don't then it will be a fun jog. Could not beat the $20 sign up fee ($40 now for last minute people).

On a side note I had to share this. Now that is a PRANK!

Bear Chase 50K

I finally got back on the horse this past weekend and ran my first ultra since last year's Leadville 100 by running the 50K version of the Bear Chase. I just have not had the interest this past year with everything going on in our family's life to do the long races. Anyways a super quick report and some pictures.

I signed up for this race without really putting in any long runs. I was running about 50-60 miles a week for a while just as a stress relieve but my longest run was only 14 miles every weekend doing the Dirty Bizmark loop. About 3 weeks out from the race a I did a 24.5 mile run in the Marshall Mesa/Dowdy Draw area in 3 hours and 45 mins at an easy pace. After that weekend I took the next 2 weekends off due to family coming to visit, needless to say I was a little under trained.

I had 2 goals in mind for this race- A) break my PR at 50K distance which is 4 hours and 31 mins or B) Finish before noon which is 5 hours and 10 mins.

To keep this short I went out at a moderately hard pace but never close to the red line with the exceptions of the small hills on this course. I was able to finish the first 19 miles in about 2 and half hours or so. The third and final lap (12.4 miles) I was doing fine the first 5 miles of the loop then gradually got slower and slower until by mile 29 I was on my hands and knees with the puke fountain turned on in full force. My stomach just shut down again and my body quick absorbing what I was drinking and eating. I was able to walk it in losing about 4-5 places in the standings to finish in 4:50:22 for 14th male and 16th overall. At least I hit my B goal, got an ok time, and got back into ultras again.

What is next? I am pondering doing either the 6 hours or 12 hours of Boulder on Oct 15th. I am leaning towards the 6 hours so that I can go see Braden's hockey game that morning but I am unsure right now. I kind of want to go out for 50 miles which should be very doable on this course in 12 hours. We will see, here are some pictures from the race.

Louis C.K. is one funny dude!

I came across this on Gary Robbis blog. It is funny as hell. Just make sure that you watch who is around when watching this, lots of f-bombs ect... If you are looking at this in Facebook you will have to go to the blog to see the video, well worth the effort. Have a great weekend!

Paleo Fitness

This is an awesome read and kind of goes along with how I am trying to eat lately but failing at big time due to Girl Scout cookies. I copy and pasted the entire article here for my future reference but you can go to OutsideOnline.com article by clicking on the title of this post.

My wife as started getting into Crossfit and I have been reading articles about the Paleo diet and some about Crossfit here and there over the past month. She really enjoys it and gets me wondering how it would affect my ultra running and training for 100s. Would the benefit of spending the time doing Crossfit like workouts for example be greater than the benefit of using that time actually putting in more miles? I don't know.

Enjoy.
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The Workout that Time Forgot
Will caveman calisthenics be the next big thing for adventure athletes?
By Nick Heil

Erwan Le Corre seems to defy gravity—and not just because he's French.

I'm standing close by as the 39-year-old movement coach—shirtless, barefoot, and built like Mikhail Baryshnikov—hops up and grasps a wooden bar lashed eight feet off the ground between two stout maple trees. Le Corre dangles calmly from both arms for a moment before swinging one leg up to the side, hooking it over the beam, and—swoooop—crouching on top of it and looking down at us. The move is so swift and catlike that I'm not quite sure how he did it. A few minutes later, I attempt the same thing, legs scissoring awkwardly until my arms give out and I hit the dirt with a thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.

This is day one—hour one, in fact—of caveman camp: July's weeklong MovNat Reawakening Workshop, at Summersville Lake Retreat, an RV resort in West Virginia. MovNat, an abbreviation of "Move Naturally," is the outdoor fitness-and-conditioning business that Le Corre founded in 2008. Our camp—modern dome tents, a fire ring, and a kitchen area covered by a canopy—is set up in a grassy clearing a couple of miles from the lake. Gyms are out; wilderness is in. Instead of weights, we lift rocks, logs, and one another. Hand-to-hand combat is as much a part of the regimen as lying in the grass and watching billowy clouds blow by.

"MovNat is a comprehensive lifestyle," Le Corre tells us. "It's about diet and nutrition. It's about exposure to sunlight and nature. It's about getting rest. It's about feeding the mind with healthy insights and positive thoughts." Le Corre, who relocated to the United States full-time in 2009, founded MovNat on the premise that humans once dashed around untamed landscapes with power and grace, gathering berries, toppling mastodons, and so forth—and that proficiency at such things will help reconnect us to the world in which we evolved. Not only were we born to run, he says, but also to jump, climb trees, swim deep underwater, slog through swamps, stalk prey, and fight off attackers.

"We live like zoo animals!" he continues that morning, pronouncing it "ah-nee-mahls." It's an idea Le Corre borrowed from the British zoologist Desmond Morris, author of the 1967 classic The Naked Ape, and it's central to his worldview: that we are essentially wild creatures ill-suited to desk jobs and processed foods. "We have become divorced from nature, trapped in colorless boxes," Le Corre says. "We have lost our adaptability, and it's threatening our health and longevity."

Clearly, the approach holds some appeal: all five of Le Corre's $1,700 summer workshops have sold out. I'd worried slightly about the freak factor before arriving, anticipating a clan of wayward hippies and hairy Luddites. But the group is surprisingly normal—and cosmopolitan. Among others, there's a corporate-recruitment manager from Osaka, Japan; a musician and his wife from London; a journalist from Zürich, Switzerland; two brothers from northern New Jersey; a Web designer from Brooklyn; and a computer programmer from Tallahassee, Florida. Everyone looks reasonably fit and is either barefoot or, like myself, shod in Vibram FiveFingers, the simian-looking foot-gloves.

"When I saw his promotional video, The Workout the World Forgot, I thought, This makes sense," Richard Carlow, the manager from Japan, tells me when I ask what inspired him to make such a long trip. "I wanted to learn it from the Source."

The Source is being assisted by Vic Verdier, a 42-year-old former French commando who currently lives in Thailand, where he teaches Krav Maga, the official self-defense system of the Israeli Defense Forces, and other martial arts. The only other staff is Allie Brodeur, 22, an accomplished acro-yogi and poi spinner—and our camp cook.

They make a colorful trio, but it's Brodeur's cooking that's the focus of most of our first day's conversation. That's because we're all being put on a strict version of the paleo diet, as in "Paleolithic," a pointedly unhedonistic approach to nutrition modeled after the eating habits of our hunter-gatherer forebears. Meat, fruits, veggies, nuts, and certain oils are OK, but grains, dairy, salt, sugar, caffeine, and alcohol are all verboten. Starbucks, I'm reminded on the first morning in camp, didn't materialize until the Late Neolithic.

By the time I turn in that night, after more exercises and a dinner of gravyless pork ribs and boiled carrots, I'm drained and swan-diving into full detox: woozy, wobbly-kneed, and worried that it's going to be a very, very long week. I do, at least, find a queen-size air mattress and cotton sheets in my tent. "This isn't survival school," Le Corre reassures me. "We want you to be comfortable here." One great thing about hunter-gatherers, apparently, is how much they love Bed Bath & Beyond.

MOVNAT DRAWS FROM some familiar sources—CrossFit, low-carb diets, barefoot running, martial arts, mud wrestling, Quest for Fire, etc.—but Le Corre's program occupies a space all its own. If anything, MovNat falls within the concept of "evolutionary fitness," an increasingly popular trend embraced by a loosely organized but fast-growing global community of health enthusiasts, medical professionals, and athletes. The movement is often lumped under the "paleo" rubric, but it's more than just a prehistoric way to eat and exercise.

The most fervent paleos prefer raw meat (thankfully, our workshop meals were always cooked), eschew footwear, fast periodically, and entertain themselves by dissing vegetarians—especially vegans, who they believe are misguided about human nutrition. But most paleos are more moderate, embracing the 80/20 rule: don't despair over the occasional bagel or sundae, as long as you adhere to the diet roughly 80 percent of the time.

The basic tenets of the paleo diet have been kicked around for years, but its watershed moment came in 1985, when an anthropology professor at Emory University named S. Boyd Eaton published "Paleolithic Nutrition: A Consideration of Its Nature and Current Implications" in the New England Journal of Medicine, suggesting that the paleo diet could be a public-health panacea. While the paper made a sizable splash, it wasn't until Loren Cordain, a professor of exercise science at Colorado State University, came across the piece a couple of years later that the idea began to reach a larger audience. Cordain eventually became the reigning authority on paleo nutrition and, in 2001, published The Paleo Diet.

Interest in the paleo lifestyle sputtered along for a few years, with help from flag bearers like Ray Audette, the author of NeanderThin, and Frank Forencich, author of Exuberant Animal, as well as a few primal-exercise proselytizers, like Art De Vany, a buff eptuagenarian and former economics professor from Los Angeles whom many credit with launching the evolutionary-fitness idea and whose latest book, The New Evolution Diet, is due out this month. But toward the end of the aughts, something curious happened: Cordain's royalty checks began to fatten up, and The Paleo Diet crept into Amazon.com's top 100. Cordain attributes much of the book's sleeper success to Robb Wolf, a former champion power lifter and biochemist who apprenticed with him in 2006.

In the late nineties, Wolf had suffered a series of health problems, including ulcerative colitis, high blood pressure, and depression. "I was augering into the mountainside," Wolf told me. Two years later, ailments cured by the paleo diet, Wolf discovered CrossFit, the popular strength-and-conditioning system that combines weight lifting, sprinting, and gymnastics. Eventually, Wolf took the paleo message to the greater CrossFit community, speaking often at gyms and events. Word spread with viral intensity, and as CrossFit mushroomed—the brand grew from 13 affiliated gyms in 2005 to 2,200 by 2010—so, too, did paleo's popularity.

These days, low-carb, high-protein diets are embraced by everyone from professional athletes to suburban moms. While the paleo approach is considerably more holistic than, say, the now disparaged Atkins diet, not everyone is buying it. The influential nutritionist Marion Nestle, for example, has questioned the wisdom of completely eliminating grains and dairy from our table. "It's never a good idea to restrict food groups unless you have to," Nestle says. "These foods have been eaten by humans for a long time with much pleasure as well as nutritional value." Others, like Katharine Milton, a respected anthropologist at UC–Berkeley, argue that paleos' fundamental presumption—that we have been unable to adapt to relatively new types of foods since the advent of agriculture and animal husbandry—is flawed. Humans, Milton argues, have always, even in Paleolithic times, adjusted to their changing environment, nutritional and otherwise, quite well.

Despite the lack of consensus, by the time I get to caveman camp, premodern diets and exercise are a small but growing phenomenon. NFL veteran John Welbourn preaches the paleo diet to his former teammates on the New England Patriots. Endurance gurus like Joe Friel, who, along with Cordain, co-authored The Paleo Diet for Athletes, urge triathletes to try it. Similarly, books like Christopher McDougal's Born to Run, about Mexico's Tarahumara tribe, are inspiring people to run barefoot or nearly barefoot, helping jack sales of Vibram FiveFingers by a factor of five in just the past year. Countless Web sites, books, and blogs have sprung up too, along with a handful of local paleo clubs across the country whose members gather to do things like learn archery and make grass-fed-beef jerky.

AT CAMP, WE FALL INTO a familiar pattern: up by seven, hearty breakfast, some warm-up drills, a skill-building session on barefoot running or proper log-lifting technique, lunch, siesta (or "MovNap"), a combo circuit, a swim in the lake, meaty dinner, and a lecture on topics such as lipid metabolism or the value of vitamin D.

So far, considering there was no fitness test required, attrition has been pretty minimal. A few of us have missed meals because we weren't feeling well, though some have been hit worse than others. There's a strict no-snacking policy, and Dave Csonka, the computer programmer from Florida, who's a buff six-five, has been begging for bananas because his blood sugar keeps crashing. Worse, his arms are covered in poison ivy. On one of our daily 40-minute barefoot hikes to the lake, Oswald Fombrun, one of the brothers from New Jersey, gets nailed just beneath the eye as we dash past a hornet's nest hidden in some rocks. The hikes have been a favorite part of my day, in which I imagine myself a wily hunter tracking down lunch, until I get stung twice on the arm.

Most of our training takes place in a shady grove near camp, where Verdier and Le Corre have built a temporary outdoor gym, with timbers lashed at different heights between trees, a complement of rocks and logs, several four-by-four balance beams, and a couple of picnic benches for high jumps. Verdier mostly hovers quietly in the background, while Brodeur keeps the food processor and blender humming back at camp.

On occasion, Le Corre will interrupt what we're doing to demonstrate proper technique or impress us with feats of skill and strength. After a few of us fail to move a massive log, he comes over, levers the tree trunk (which must weigh more than 300 pounds) onto his shoulder, and carries it the 100 yards to camp, where he plunks it by the campfire, dusting the bark off his arm with a theatrical flourish.

Le Corre is tall and tawny—the kind of physique you might expect to find if you waxed the hair off a Neanderthal. Still, for all the hard-bodied exterior and motivational speeches, he's no drill sergeant. His coaching is seasoned with quasi-mystical declarations, like "Oxygen is an accident, breath is intentional," and tips, like how listening to more reggae encourages rhythm and flow. At one point, I find him standing in the grass, performing some sort of sun prayer, head bowed, one arm raised to the sky. "I was just having a moment of gratitude," he says. He owns an iPhone, drives a Land Rover, and, perhaps due to his Frenchness, is comfortable wearing tight black briefs at the lake.

By the third morning, I'm filthy and sunburned and have acquired hundreds of tiny cuts and scratches that sizzle in a glaze of sweat. Even so, my body has (mostly) adjusted to the diet, and I'm feeling surprisingly good as we squirm around on crackling brown grass under a blistering sun, practicing an evasive move that might help us escape an attacker. Le Corre barks that we have become domesticated, that our sterilized and hermetically sealed lives have left us intolerant of nature. "But you can train dirt!" he exclaims, making an oblique reference to the fact that being exposed to grit and germs helps bolster our immune systems.

Not only does exercising outdoors make us more resilient, says Le Corre; it's also a better conduit for fitness than the typical cardio penance or preacher curls popular at big-box gyms, where waist trimming and biceps bulking are the main motivators. MovNat advances a concept that certain athletics coaches have pushed since the seventies, one that treats the body as a tool for dynamic movement, not a topiary sculpture.

Later that afternoon, after practicing more barefoot running ("Fall forward, catch yourself on the front of your feet"), Le Corre adds a twist to our trip to the lake. Along the way, we have to stop and carry a partner on our backs. I team up with Christoph Zürcher, 44, the journalist from Switzerland, who's six-two and has about 20 pounds on me. We're sweaty and shirtless, and I awkwardly hop on his back while he hooks his arms under my legs and starts lumbering forward. "Uuuuugghhhhh," he groans. "How far are we supposed to go?"

"Switch!" Le Corre shouts after about five minutes, and I stagger down the trail, bent under my crushing Swiss payload. At last we scramble over large rocks and emerge at the lake.

"The more we move, the smarter we become," Le Corre says as we sprawl on the rocks after our swim. "We're less stressed when we see green, like leaves and grass." A motorboat whizzes by, towing a water-skier. "I love technology," he continues. "I love all the modern conveniences that we have now, but we have to ask: When do we use it, and at what cost?"

LE CORRE GREW UP RUNNING around the fields and forests on the outskirts of Paris. He dabbled with ball sports—soccer, tennis—but hated the rules and boundary lines. At 15, he moved on to karate, quickly surpassing older, more experienced opponents. But he also found karate's formal protocols and tense competitions too staid and confining.

Then, at age 18, he happened to watch a television show about a 45-year-old Parisian stuntman named Jean Haberey. At one point, Haberey jumped out of a helicopter into an iceberg-strewn ocean wearing only swim trunks. It was the most outrageous thing Le Corre had ever seen—and he wanted to do it, too. A year later, he tracked Haberey down, and for the next seven years he followed him and his other disciples around the French metropolis, playing high-risk games: a "fight club of natural movement," as Le Corre puts it.

"He was the first guy to take people up onto the roofs of Paris," Le Corre said. "He also took us down into the underground, always barefoot, with no gear at all, to train people how to move silently like cats through urban obstacles … especially at night, when everyone was asleep."

Once, Haberey and Le Corre held a sit-up competition while dangling by their legs from a bridge over an eight-lane superhighway. Another time, Le Corre climbed along the transom of a tower crane, legs dangling in the void nearly a hundred feet above the ground. "It was crazy," Le Corre recalls, "but you just felt so alive."

Haberey's urban antics helped kick off the parkour craze, but Le Corre, like most of his followers, eventually grew disillusioned. "I supported him for a while," Le Corre says, "but it turned into a cult of his personality. It became too dark and underground, all about helping him, not others."

For a few years, Le Corre delved into endurance sports, competing in Ironman-distance triathlons while supporting himself with odd jobs, including making soap and men's jewelry. But turning himself into a perpetual-motion machine wasn't his raison d'être, either. Finally, in 2004, he stumbled upon an online comment about Methode Naturelle, an obscure training manual published in 1912 by Georges Hébert, a French naval officer. The book featured black-and-white photos of robust young men in briefs performing all kinds of primal-movement exercises: jumping, running, swimming, climbing, etc.

"I was like What?! This is exactly what I was doing before, but this guy had given it a name," says Le Corre. "He had systematized it, and I thought, That's the way to go."

Hébert's motto was "Being strong to be useful," a concept largely inspired by the defining event of his life. On May 8, 1902, Hébert was stationed on the Sughet, a naval ship just offshore of Saint-Pierre, on the island of Martinique, during the infamous eruption of Mount Pelée. In minutes, the blast flash-fried most of the town's 30,000 citizens, searing them with pyroclastic ash before burying them in tsunamis of mud. Amid the carnage, Hébert and his shipmates were credited with saving some 700 lives, pulling from the sea scalded men, women, and children, some of whom had been blown hundreds of feet through the air by the blast.

Preparing your body and mind for real-world, life-or-death applications is at the root of MovNat. Our workshop activities (throw a rock, climb a tree) may seem random, but they're intended to cultivate what Le Corre refers to as "selective tension," a kinetic reaction in which muscles relax and contract in patterns that help you move efficiently, especially in unpredictable situations. To underscore their practical value, Le Corre would often cite imagined modern-day scenarios during our training. "What if you had to pull someone from a burning building?" he asks one morning. "Or a flood," Verdier adds. "Sometimes survival comes down to who can run up a flight of stairs and who can't."

One afternoon, Le Corre shows me a video on his laptop, basically the director's cut of The Workout the World Forgot. I recognize a few scenes: Le Corre scrambling through brambles and running on the beach in Corsica. But there's other, more dramatic stuff in this version. "I can't put this online for liability reasons," he says as he appears onscreen jumping, from boulder to boulder, across a raging, flood-swollen river.

In the next scene, as a large wave subsides, Le Corre leaps from a cliff into a frothing sea; it looks as if he's about to be pulverized into human bouillabaisse. As the next wave arrives, he angles his body and kicks—a subtle, fishy move that lines him up in front of an impossibly narrow opening in the rocks. The wave breaks, but Le Corre rides it like driftwood into the small alcove. He vanishes briefly as the chaotic surf washes over the shore. The water retreats, and there he is, crouched on the rocks, unscathed.

"I'm not trying to show off," he says, perhaps sensing my disbelief. "I'm just showing you what's possible."

TOWARD THE END OF the week, Verdier finally takes center stage. It's combat time. "The best option is always to get away," Verdier says. He speaks with a measured calm that reminds me of David Carradine in Kung Fu, a TV series I loved as a kid. "But if we have to fight, we should be ready to fight to the end." Street battles are "total chaos," he says. "You're flooded with adrenaline, and most fights don't last more than a minute."

Verdier passes out muay Thai strike pads, and we take turns punching the pad as hard and fast as we can. I team with Fred Fombrun, 26, one of the brothers from New Jersey. Both Fombruns are serious amateur boxers, and Fred's first punch is so powerful I stagger backwards and almost fall over. It takes all my energy to keep my feet during his flurry. My own assault is considerably less impressive; at one point, I notice Fred checking messages on his iPhone while I hammer away at the pad.

After fight class, we adjourn to camp, where Brodeur has lunch waiting. Spaghetti! Oh. No. It's zucchini, shredded to look like spaghetti: zughetti! Still, the veggies are dressed with raw campari tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil, garlic, oregano, olive oil, and cracked black pepper—and it's delicious. I'm famished, and I gulp it down like a starved coyote, shamelessly licking the sauce from the bottom of my plate.

Despite my frequent anti-paleo cravings (the movie version of which I'm calling Quest for Fritos), I feel great. My skin feels thicker, my sunburn has faded into a honey-wheat sheen that it hasn't sported in years, and the soreness in my back and arms has dissipated completely. Only Dave Csonka, the big dude from Florida, seems to still be in decline. In addition to the poison ivy and low-blood-sugar spells, he's also tweaked his neck. "I'll be fine," he says, gamely playing along even though he has to rotate his whole torso to address us individually.

One question we all seem to be pondering is finally asked out loud by Fred Fombrun: "What exactly am I supposed to do when I get back home?" he says. "There aren't a lotta parks where I live in northern New Jersey."

Le Corre is working on an answer. In 2009, he met Robb Wolf, the influential CrossFit instructor and The Paleo Solution author, through a mutual friend. Inspired by Wolf's story and the viral success of CrossFit, Le Corre began hammering out a business plan modeled on it: he hopes to train and certify instructors, who will license the brand for their own gyms or create grown-up outdoor playgrounds like ours. Or both.

I could see the appeal as a general fitness program, especially because Le Corre believes that, if the regimen is intelligently designed, you have to do only a few circuits a week—no more dailies or oppressive dates with the treadmill. "A specialized athlete can improve their game, because training like this helps prevent injury and improve balance," he says. I figure it will also translate to the things I like to do, like skiing and cycling, because it's helping my body move the way it was designed to. Best of all, it's way more fun than doing intervals with a heart-rate monitor.

In the meantime, Le Corre is writing a book about MovNat. He also continues to crisscross the country, hosting one-day clinics, seminars, and other events. In October, he was a VIP guest at New York City's first annual barefoot run. A few weeks later, he and Wolf traveled to the Johnson Space Center's Wyle Laboratories to introduce and discuss the benefits of paleo diets and MovNat with NASA.

WORKING OUT On an empty belly, in a "fasted state," paleos argue, increases production of human growth hormone. So on the last morning, Le Corre has us begin our final, skill-culminating circuit sans breakfast. We begin by walking around the grassy hill near camp, twisting and bending, followed by body-weight squats. Then we drop down and prowl around the hill on all fours. "Scan the horizon," Le Corre instructs. "Stay low! You don't want to be seen. Remember: in nature we are ever mindful. Always alert."

He ratchets up the intensity with push-ups and wheelbarrows, a partner holding your feet, and then tells us to drop to the ground and roll down the hill, like logs. I'm so dizzy by the bottom, I can't stand up. Nearby, our other Dave, Dave Beretta, a young kid from East Greenwich, Rhode Island, is doubled over, dry-heaving.

Le Corre keeps throttling. We stagger into the wooded training zone for log lifts and stone carrying. Next, it's balance-beam walking and high jumps. Le Corre throws in some mind games, telling us we're doing an exercise on a ten count but stopping at eight and then counting backwards or repeating a number over and over: "Seven, seven, seven, seven …"

"Do we function in sets of ten in the wilderness?" he asks. "How do we know how long we will have to do something?"

After more than an hour grinding through the drills, we step up to the high bar that we attempted on the first day. I jump up, hook my leg, and … burst out laughing when I monkey myself on top of the bar. One by one, nearly everyone else, so embarrassingly defeated at the beginning of the week, pulls off the same feat. "See?" Le Corre says, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Progress."

I leave West Virginia inspired. Back home, I invent circuits in a neighborhood park—sprint barefoot across a field, jump over a bench, crawl on all fours down some stairs—even though I notice dog walkers and parents with small children altering course to avoid me. In the evenings, I cook my girlfriend dinners of grass-fed beef and roasted vegetables, with sliced watermelon for dessert. But it requires a level of dedication, planning, and self-control that I can't sustain, and soon I'm caught in the undertow of enchiladas and triple cappuccinos and driving a few blocks to the grocery store. My training fades to once a week, then once a month, and finally to watching 10,000 BC on Netflix.

I might have anticipated this while sitting at my gate in the Charleston airport, glumly half-watching a chattering news anchor talk about the Gulf oil spill while pudgy kids trundled by, clutching waffle cones the size of their heads. It dawned on me how each day boils down to a series of decisions centered on convenience and comfort. As I slumped in my chair, sipping water, our final morning in camp already felt distant and dim.

After the last day's circuit ended, we followed Le Corre down a game trail, deep into the woods. We weren't allowed to talk and had to move as quickly and quietly as possible. It started to rain, and soon we were not only sweaty but soaked and spackled with forest grit. At one point, Le Corre dropped down on all fours, and we did the same. Crawling down the trail, I crunched over some thorns but didn't feel a thing.

Eventually, we came to a small, fecund amphitheater, at the center of which was a dark bog, maybe 20 feet in diameter. The air was ripe with the smell of moss and ammonia, and the foliage flicked and glistened neon green. For the first time in 20 minutes, Le Corre finally spoke. Wearing only shorts and a dark-green bandanna, and streaked with mud as if someone had outlined his muscles with a black magic marker, he looked downright feral. "Adaptability is the holy grail of MovNat," he told us. "This is what we have done throughout human history. But we have lost touch with the world that created us."

With that, he charged across the swampy black hole, sinking instantly up to his waist but diving his arms and chest into the muck and thrashing his way to the other side in one sustained, growling effort.

The rest of us stood there dumbstruck, a couple of people shaking their heads while Le Corre beckoned from the other side. Finally, one by one, we splashed across to join him. And then, as if to underscore the fact that, yes, we had at last reawakened and it wasn't so bad, we slogged across the bog again—not once, but twice.

One man to run two marathons per day for eleven months

Came across this story and had to share it, 13,000 miles in 11 months. Impressive!!!

PS- If you are viewing this in Facebook or Google Reader, ect you will have to come over to the blog to see the video as a FYI. I just noticed it does not show up in Google Reader.

Grandma Headley

Before 2011 had a chance to turn over the calendar I lost my second grandparent of 2010 the morning of Dec 31st. She was a very young 91. I have copied her obituary on my blog for my future view. You can see it here. I has been a tough year in 2010, here is to moving forward into 2011 with hope and love.

Peace,
Shad





CORRECTIONVILLE, Iowa -- Besse M. Headley, 91, of Correctionville, formerly of Sidney and Arnold, Neb., passed away Friday, Dec. 31, 2010, at Correctionville Nursing and Rehabilitation Center.

Visitation will be 5 to 7:30 p.m. today, with a prayer service at 7:30 p.m., at Grace United Methodist Church in Correctionville. The Nicklas D Jensen Funeral Home of Correctionville is in charge of the arrangements.

Besse was born to sandhill homesteader and rancher, Charles M. and O'Dilla (Fry) Fisher, on June 28, 1919, in Arnold, Neb. She graduated from Arnold High School with the class of 1937. After graduation, she entered normal training, but went to work as Arnold's citywide switchboard operator.

On April 13, 1943, she became a war bride, marrying Donzel "Jack" Headley in Washington D.C. After World War II, the couple purchased Central Grocery in Arnold. In 1952, they moved the business across the street, purchasing the Jack and Jill. In the 1950s, they started the Swirley Top, bringing soft serve ice cream to Arnold. In 1962, Jack and Besse moved to Sidney, Neb., buying the Jack and Jill Store which they successfully operated until they retired until 1984. Jack passed away in 1994. Besse moved to Correctionville in 2002.

Besse was a longtime volunteer at the Sidney and Correctionville nursing homes. She was affectionately known by the residents as the "juice lady" and the "popcorn lady." She was a member of Eastern Star for nearly 70 years. Besse loved to travel, knit, fish and eat ice cream. Most of all she was a loving wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother.

She is survived by four children and their spouses, Joe Headley of Lodgepole, Neb., Charles (Jan) and Lisa Headley of Omaha, Tanja and Don Shever of Correctionville, and Jim Headley of Gering, Neb.; 10 grandchildren, Barbara "Buffy" and Dean Soucie, Joe and Kari Headley, Aree Ann Headley, Chuck and Theresa Headley, Marisa Headley, Kate Headley, Emma Headley, Shad and Ashley Mika, Jeni and Chris Schmidt, and Alex Haeberle; and 12 great-grandchildren.

She was preceded in death by her husband; her parents; brother, Charles and wife, Lou Fisher; and two stillborn children, Mark and Mary.

In lieu of flowers, memorials may be directed to the American Diabetes Association; the Alzheimer's Foundation, or the Correctionville Nursing and Rehabilitation Center.

Books Read in 2010

At the beginning of the year I decided that since I was unemployed and had lots of time on my hands with no cable TV to watch that I would try my hand in reading more. I set a goal of reading 12 books in 2010. Needless to say I surpassed that without a problem. I read 16 of these books before starting my new job in March. With working at a great new job my book reading goal in 2011 will be a more modest 12 books again or one a month. You can also look at some of my reviews for these books on my LinkedIn profile by clicking here. I keep a running list on this profile since LinkedIn offers this cool feature.

Below is my 2010 list along with a link to each on on Amazon.com.

2010 books read

1. Die Trying
2. Born to Run
3. 14er Distasters
4. Forever on the Mountain
5. Montana Mountain Goat (local Montana book, not on Amazon)
6. Pre
7. Above the Clouds
8. The Beckoning Silence
9. Running with the Buffaloes
10. The Long Walk by Rawicz
11. Fire on the Mountain
12. The Greatest- Haile Gebrselassie
13. Gold Hill and Back
14. Effective Project Management
15. Beyond the Mountain
16. Minus 148
17. Raising the Bar- Gary Erickson
18. No Shortcuts to the Top
19. Mountain Rescue Doctor
20. Once a Runner
21. Goal Setting (WorkSmart book)
22. Touching the Void
23. Dual in the Sun
24. Hyperfitness
25. Where Men Win Glory- Krakauer
26. Again to Carthage
27. Last Climb
28. What the CEO wants you to know

The Runner in Winter (Boulder Colorado)

Here is a great video of the local trails that I run before work sometimes and on weekends. Thanks GZ and Brandon for pointing this out.

New Balance MT101 Give away

Go over here and throw your name into the hat. This dude has been giving lots of stuff away this holiday season. All you have to do is comment on his blog.

http://www.runningandrambling.com/2010/12/new-balance-mt101-giveaway.html

Peace- Shad

The Grossman Motivation Series Part 10

These are great motivation pieces written by a great runner, Eric Grossman. I had to copy these from Running Times just for my own record in case this is ever removed from the site. LOVE IT! You can find it by clicking here or just read below.
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Maybe you saw me on TV. The Western States 100 was featured on NBC's World of Adventure Sports in July of 2007. I was interviewed the day before the race as well as at mile 56. You might have noted my deliberate and rational mental preparation during the former, and my almost complete mental breakdown during the latter. I was stopped. Though desperate for water, I could barely sip any fluid. Though desperate for calories, I could only nibble at food. Everything was making me sick. The run had already completely stripped me of all pretense and all hope of finishing competitively. When asked how I was doing, I could only respond: "I can't imagine going on."

I have only been able to muster the desire to run Western States on alternate years. I ran in 2005 until I dropped out at mile 78. At mile 20, my vision completely blurred in one eye, I collided with a sharp branch and gouged my right thigh. Over the next 50 miles, the inflammation grew intolerable. In 2009, I once again organized my training around preparation for this pre-eminent ultramarathon. I sprained my ankle at mile 12. Although I finished, I wasn't able to run again until late fall that year. When I did start training again, I developed chronic Achilles tendinitis that stayed with me through the five ultras I started in 2010. When I became simultaneously plagued by an acute hamstring pain, I stopped running. Instead, I began to saw and split large fallen trees for firewood. Seriously. I gave myself a hernia.

That was two and a half weeks ago. Last Thursday, I was scheduled for a follow-up exam with the surgeon. I jogged lightly in the morning. Knowing my propensities, he asked if I had been running since the surgery. He checked my incision, cut a suture and sent me out with a pass to ramp up training again at my discretion.

Early last spring, after months of trouble with my Achilles, I was told that recovery would likely depend on spending a year limited to very light running. I had reasons to try and run anyway. For several years I've enjoyed the benefits of competing with a sponsored ultrarunning team. I wanted to keep my place on the team. So, I ran even when I would have been better served by resting. Now I have given myself no real options.

That is the ultimate truth we have to contend with: Decision making, like politics, is local. Each depends on nearby factors. Appearances notwithstanding, choices aren't freely made. The decision to run depends on the rewards we get by doing it, offset by the costs we incur. So why are some people able to exercise moderation and work toward their long-term interest while others fall prey to temptation, overdo it and end up injured?

Freedom emerges where the person inserts long-term interests into near-term calculations. This doesn't involve magic, but it does involve reflection and effort. My purpose in the previous nine parts of this series has been to elucidate the kind of reflection and effort required. One pitfall we both face when I write about willpower is that we may both be convinced it is something I have and you need. So I keep reminding myself, and you, that willpower doesn’t work that way. We cultivate the freedom we desire. When we imagine that it is a gift that some just happen to have, it immediately evaporates.

Aligning short and long-term interests mostly requires a comfortable relationship with the passage of time. Yes, patience is a virtue, and your best ally in cultivating freedom. As I hope I’ve shown, I’m not particularly patient. When I start training after a layoff, my impulse is to see how far or how fast I can go. After a few weeks I feel good — I’ve readjusted to the immediate metabolic demands and my legs itch to move faster. The short-term gratification I get from running longer and faster does not align with the long-term benefits I’ll get from coming back slowly.

I’ll need to refer to my own playbook to manage. If you haven’t already read them, check out parts 1–9 in this series (see "related articles" below). At the core of developing willpower is one central tenet: feelings change. What feels good today may not feel good tomorrow and perhaps, more importantly, what feels painful today may not cause pain tomorrow. One of the greatest appeals of running ultramarathons is that we are forced to realize that it never always gets worse. That’s because you will have run into the wall. The race is so long, though, that you have time to come out on the other side. The most striking thing you find is that what had seemed hopeless can be recovered. You will rise and fly again and quite likely feel ecstatic for having transformed yourself.

If you did catch that episode of World of Adventure Sports, and stuck it out through the last commercial break, you saw the backside of a tall scrawny runner as he strode through the undergrowth en route to a respectable sub 24-hour finish at the Western States 100. I was conferred the Energizer Bunny award for getting back on the trail and finishing despite my near total collapse only a little over halfway through the run. The reward of finishing was reason enough for withstanding the trials of that day. The real value of the experience, however, was outlasting my impulse to stop. Nearly every bone in my body cried to be still and rest. A very subtle chord resonated through me that this too shall pass. So I hobbled out of the aid station, then walked, jogged and finally ran again. All it took was time.

Eric Grossman is a member of the Montrail ultrarunning team. At age 40, Grossman won the 2008 USATF 50-mile national championship. Check back next week for more of Grossman's motivational tips.

The Grossman Motivation Series Part 9

These are great motivation pieces written by a great runner, Eric Grossman. I had to copy these from Running Times just for my own record in case this is ever removed from the site. LOVE IT! You can find it by clicking here or just read below.
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I'd like to challenge you to a race. If you accept, we'll meet at a time of my choosing, run a distance of my choosing along a course that, yes, I choose. I'll inform you of my choices only as you absolutely have to know them. I'll text you 15 minutes before the start so you can get your shoes on. I'll have the course marked clearly, but you will only be able to see markings as you approach them. You will not know how far you have to go, or what lies ahead. You won't know where the finish is until you get there.

You may want know my reasons for challenging you. OK, let's say that I just want to beat you. Suppose that you also want to beat me. Will you accept? If we have similar abilities, do I gain an advantage by knowing the parameters of the race? You probably feel that I do. I'll be able to plan, after all. I'll eat the optimal pre-race foods, ensure I get enough sleep and choose the best shoes and clothes for the distance and terrain. I would certainly understand any reluctance you might feel about racing me.

What if I told you that my purpose is actually to see how fast I can get you to run? I know how you are before races. You get all wound up. You obsess over race preparation, exhausting yourself before you even start. And the night before? You barely sleep. I'm offering you a way around all that tiresome hassle. I've got your best interest at heart, so will you accept my challenge now? I want you to imagine that you can actually run better by knowing less about the race, even as you run it. You can shut down your brain and just run, pleasantly unaware of your remaining mileage. I’ll do the thinking for you, and set a pace that I think will be optimal.

Those who compete in trail races, especially trail ultramarathons, get a small taste of how this kind of challenge plays out. Trail races are difficult to measure and mark, so there is an element of surprise, especially the first time runners compete on a given course. Most race directors do not post mile markers, and even posted mileages are notoriously inaccurate. The Hellgate 100K may be the most sinister ultramarathon you can run. It starts at midnight on a Friday night in December near Fincastle, Va. I was certainly in the dark the first year I ran it. Because of snow and ice, the crew assigned to mark the course fell behind, so I ended up in front of them. Not only was I unsure of mileage, but I was also unsure of the route. When I started climbing, I had no idea whether I was in for 100 or 1,000 vertical feet. There are nine aid stations where runners can grab food, refill bottles and try to regain sanity. If you are deliberate enough while you are there, you'll think to ask about the distance to the next aid station.

After running through the night and into the frigid dawn, stamping postholes into interminable stretches of snow and ice for over 50 miles, you will arrive at the eighth Hellgate aid station. If you are collected enough to ask, they'll tell you it is 6.6 miles to the ninth, and final, aid station (click here a complete course description). That doesn't sound too bad, so you stride out on the lengthy downhill section of gravel road, thinking that this second-to-last segment will pass quickly. When you turn onto meandering single track, you are slowed. You climb hills and go around corners, always thinking that just around the next turn you'll see some sign of the aid station. It doesn't come. You were thinking you'd finish that section in an hour. You are already at 1:20. Your suffering is protracted, but what happens to your performance? Did thinking you only had 6.6 miles until the next break cause you to run a little faster than you might have had you known the actual distance was at least 8 miles? How does your consideration of the distance to be run in any race affect your pace and your perception of effort?

When Jure Robic died in a collision with a car in September, he cut short a legacy of perhaps the greatest feats of endurance achieved by any person. He rode his bicycle an average of 28,000 miles every year. He holds the world record for a 24 hour ride: 518.7 miles. He has won the Race Across America an unparalleled five times. According to a New York Times story from 2006, Robic left decisions during events to his crew, termed his "second brain." Robic was allowed to choose the music he listened to, but all the other decisions, including speed, breaks and fueling, were left to his crew. Significantly, they kept him uninformed about remaining mileages. So was keeping Robic in the dark a good way to promote top performance? Perhaps my challenge to you was not so unfair after all!

The year after I graduated from college, I traveled to Japan with an invited group of athletes to compete alongside Japanese collegians in an Ekiden. I ran the final leg, some 21K, for our eight-person team. I was handed the team sash in the middle of the countryside en route to the holy city of Ise. I ran completely alone through a light drizzle all the way to the famous Shinto shrine, where the race finished. I had no feedback about pace or distance other than my watch and my own senses. I simply ran, unreflectively soaking up the sensations of a strange land while metering out my effort. Afterwards, I had to be shown how my split stacked up against those of my Japanese counterparts. I had the second-best time for that leg.

So maybe I can persuade you that a seemingly unthinking approach to running can yield good results. That isn’t my intention. Training and racing are ultimately exercises of your intelligence. What I want is for you to broaden your concept of running intelligence to include all the things you do with and without conscious awareness. Even if you don't offload training and racing decisions to a separate crew, you should still locate and use your own second brain. It extends through your body and into every extremity. It is your activity and your feedback. You can call it intuition, but it isn't mindless, and it requires honing just like any other intelligence.

It is me.

So what do you say? Let’s see how fast we can run this thing.

Eric Grossman is a member of the Montrail ultrarunning team. At age 40, Grossman won the 2008 USATF 50-mile national championship. Check back next week for more of Grossman's motivational tips.

The Grossman Motivation Series Part 8

These are great motivation pieces written by a great runner, Eric Grossman. I had to copy these from Running Times just for my own record in case this is ever removed from the site. LOVE IT! You can find it by clicking here or just read below.
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The energy in the dorm would just be ramping up when it was time for me to trek across campus to the Blue Room. Every Saturday night, I donned my apron and stood behind the counter, mixing frappes for the slow trickle of customers until close. I maintained this trade-off throughout college; I gave up socializing on Saturday nights. In exchange, I gained a small amount of money, but, more importantly, I was always up for the Sunday morning long run. To be fair, all of my teammates made the run as well. The difference was that, on occasion, some of them felt a lot worse than I did.

College students, even serious athletes, occasionally succumb to the temptations readily available on weekend nights. When I was in college, Saturday morning races meant we retired early on Friday night. Saturday nights were more negotiable. In the balance? We all knew about the workout for the next day: It would be the time honored Sunday morning over-distance run. Early on Saturday evening, a runner might well decide to lay off the alcohol and turn in before the wee hours of the morning, knowing that the quality of the next day's run would be higher. The calculus changes, however, with the developing circumstances of the evening: more friends arriving, better music playing, a girl lingering.

We attributed a weakness of willpower to those who fell prey to such temptations and would show up in less-than-optimal condition on Sunday morning. We imagined that temptation stood, like the devil, on one shoulder and outmaneuvered the angel on the opposite shoulder. “Poor sucker!” we'd think, “If only he had listened to the angel!” He could have been cruising through the relatively easy 6:30 per-mile pace. Instead, he’d grit his teeth and barely cling to the back of the group. He may have even expressed regret for his lack of restraint. If the run was bad enough, he may have remembered it well enough for his little angel to bring it up the next time. “Hey dummy,” the angel would say, “You remember what happened last time!”

This raises an important question: If the angel prevails the next time, will our runner be any less of a sucker? Isn’t he still just doing what he is told and obeying the immediate pros and cons as best presented to him? I want to convince you that responding to the angel takes no more strength of will than responding to the devil.

The bottom line is that any choice is ultimately a calculation that pits the pros and cons against each other. Every decision has its reasons. We may think a particular decision ill-considered, but who are we to say? If the Sunday run is important enough to trump Saturday night festivities, then it will. We let the angel and the devil duke it out, and side with the most convincing.

This dynamic implies an existential and practical problem for runners. Like G.W. Bush, we want to be “the decider.” We want credit for our accomplishments. Before the season, we want to set goals for what we can do and afterward, we want to reflect on what we did. If every decision was simply a cost-benefit analysis that depended only on the circumstances at the time, we really can't take credit for any of it. Worse, much of what we want to take credit for is our effort. If our decisions to exert ourselves are really out of our hands (and in the hands of talking critters) then how can we claim that effort as our own? Any autonomous motivation seems doomed to dry up before we even get started.

You may like to think that you really are like the president and can exercise veto power over your little critter advisers. Well, suppose that I grant you veto power? You get to decide now between that next drink and going home early. What sways you? Some reason, right? You didn’t just make the answer up, did you? In that case, you might just as well have rolled the dice or consulted a random answer generator. You can’t then turn around and claim credit for that decision! So while I don't think we can escape the immediate calculus that goes into our decisions, I would like to explore the sliver of light that gives us some leverage over our decisions.

We think of decisions like they happen on the spot, when we have to provide the answer to the perennial question: “Should I stay or should I go now?” This is thankfully false. Your ray of light is that you can make decisions over time that build a long perspective to deal with the question. The trick is to stack the negotiation so that the best answer is the one that is supplied by your critters.

There are a lot of ways to stack your decisions. I’ll provide three that I think provide potent examples:

1. Set the default to "run." Suppose the devil and the angel provide equally compelling cases. Instead of a “jump ball,” have a possession arrow and keep it pointed on the same team. The angel always wins the ball. So, the weather’s really bad, but you skipped the last one and you really need this workout. The scales are about even. Check the arrow: It says “run.”

2. Invert the incentives. Hard workouts can be uncomfortable. Your devil critter can use this against you. “You’ll suffer if you try these hill repeats,” he’ll say. You can, over time, make the discomfort its own reward, like training for a hot race by turning on the heat in the car during the summer. By continuously reprogramming your own responses to dreaded stimuli, you can make them feel positive. “Bring on the heat,” you’ll say. Likewise, late on Saturday night, you can embrace your monastic celibacy.

3. Raise the stakes. Think of the runner who stops at a port-a-potty, and, fiddling with his running shorts, accidentally drops his keys into the froth. He bangs open the door, takes off his wedding ring and throws it in after the keys. His buddy, waiting outside, exclaims “What are you doing?” to which the runner retorts, “You didn’t think I was going in just for the keys, did you?!” Similarly, you can give your runs epochal significance by making them seem disproportionately important. You can imagine that missing a run or even being less than ready to do one well, will set you back compared to your competition. While it may not, strictly speaking, be true, the motivation to put running first may indeed serve to keep you ahead of your nearest competitors. And that motivation is increased by stacking the negotiation.

Eric Grossman is a member of the Montrail ultrarunning team. At age 40, Grossman won the 2008 USATF 50-mile national championship. Check back next week for more of Grossman's motivational tips.

The Grossman Motivation Series Part 7

These are great motivation pieces written by a great runner, Eric Grossman. I had to copy these from Running Times just for my own record in case this is ever removed from the site. LOVE IT! You can find it by clicking here or just read below.
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Sometimes the voices of our ancestors whisper to us on the faintest breeze and sometimes we have to be blown over. Distance runners situate themselves to catch both kinds of wind.

I’m running just inside the tall perimeter fence at Johnson Middle School. The 7th graders are running circuits. We come back around to coach Hines for the second time and he stops us to introduce the next activity. I ask if I can keep running.

Ray Nichols stops by my house at the start of his run to Crescent Hill Reservoir. He’s several years older than I. He plays basketball for the high school. He runs to stay in shape. We run around the reservoir. I ask him why he spits. We run back and past my house. He stops at his house and I keep going. He looks puzzled.

I’m in coach Worful’s classroom after school, reclined in a desk. We’re talking about the spring. Many of my friends will be playing soccer. I will miss them.

The van has no A/C, so we roll into Philadelphia with hot air billowing through the windows. It’s May of 1990 and I sit shotgun, talking breezily with Berg. I tell him after graduation I plan to cross the country on motorcycle and run road races. He says: “I’ll give you $100 to get you started.” That evening I race 25 laps around Penn’s track, swapping leads with a Dartmouth runner.

I’m sitting under a picnic pavilion in Duluth, Minn. The mud is caked on my legs, all the way up my backside and spattered across the slogan on my homemade shirt: “KNOW DEFATIGATION.” Dusty Olsen trots across the finish. “You should carry water,” he says. “I finished in front of you,” I respond.

Melody has been waiting for me. She’s at mile 92 of the Western States 100. I tried to stop at mile 85. The tipsy aid station workers hovered over my skeletal frame. It wasn’t possible to stay there. I left for a final 7-mile slog. I arrive to a displaced carnival refreshment stand buzzing with activity in the middle of a remote darkness. Melody doesn’t accept my plea. “You came here for this,” she says.

Eric Grossman is a member of the Montrail ultrarunning team. At age 40, Grossman won the 2008 USATF 50-mile national championship. Check back next week for more of Grossman's motivational tips.

The Grossman Motivation Series Part 6

These are great motivation pieces written by a great runner, Eric Grossman. I had to copy these from Running Times just for my own record in case this is ever removed from the site. LOVE IT! You can find it by clicking here or just read below.
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The buffer of warmth generated from running met the crisp autumn air. The countless tiny droplets from our quick breaths caught the faint glow from the distant street light. We celebrated the end of our season in a fitting way: We played chase. Jennifer Sinai invited the teams to a slumber party at her house, and we were loose on the fields of Sacred Heart Academy that abutted her backyard. Now that I was relieved of the pressure to perform, I became aware of the free flow of air in and out of my body.

That morning it had been a chore just to eat. I was completely congested. I sat across from my coach at Denny’s. I tried to blow my nose so that I could chew and breathe at the same time. He didn’t say anything at the time, but later he told me I had sounded like a fog horn, and knew we were in for a hard day.

Sure enough, I blew another state meet. For a high school athlete, the stakes don’t get any higher. Almost hourly since the previous Monday I was reminded — with an accompanying wave of anxiety — that this was what all the preparation had been about. I had deferred getting nervous about all the preceding meets by assuring myself that each was small potatoes compared to the state meet. Now I had to pay up.

I don’t remember much about the race other than that it was a slog. I had finished ahead of all the other runners in regular season races. Although I felt like I was yoked to my plow and breaking hard soil with every step, I stayed near the lead for the first mile. As runners started to pass me, I remember wishing Dave Lawhorn, my teammate and best friend, well. He went on to a great finish for him in seventh place. At least 20 runners finished ahead of me. My recollection of the run is hazy, but I remember that evening with crystal clarity.

I paused between flights in our game and hovered in the shadow of an old tree. My vaporous breath hinted at a lightness of being completely betrayed by my earth-bound performance that morning. I articulated the problem to myself and got an answer. The problem: Many things are out of our control. The five kilometer course for the state meet is set at the Kentucky Horse Park, on ground trounced by countless horses. There are other fast runners, many of whom prepare zealously to run as fast as possible. Even the things I might hope to control, like my own state of mind in the days before a big event, may well elude my efforts and manifest as illness. On any given day, and especially on a big day, I might do worse than expected.

I might do worse than expected. The sparkle of the street lamp was an angel with the divine revelation: You have a year to prepare so that on the first Saturday in November you may have a bad day … and still finish ahead of all the other runners. My path became clear. I began to plan for the training required to finish a minute or so faster than my nearest competitor.

If you have been around running for a while, none of what I did will come as a surprise. Every issue of Running Times will include some version of the training regimens that reliably yield improvement. I know that night I planned for the added mileage, mostly as additional morning runs and weekly long runs, that I would need.

You can find ways to improve.

We should not brush lightly over well-worn phrases like “set goals,” and “expect the unexpected.” Our ability to use these tools gives us leverage. The world hums along, obeying its own logic, indifferent to our appeals. When we are too proud, we expect that our efforts will be rewarded. When we are too humble, we give up on our projects as hopeless. When we engage with the world and learn from our efforts, we move forward. When we do the work to review our mistakes, we can figure out ways to avoid those same mistakes. When we set goals, we can devise means of reaching those goals based on our own experiences and the experiences of others who have set similar goals. Most importantly, when we take into account those things that used to seem outside of our control, we grow in stature. We assume responsibility for our “off days” and get credit when we succeed despite them.

It should be only slightly anticlimactic to reveal that I finished second at the state championship the following year. My relative performance suffered, as it had before. My time, however, was a minute and 20 seconds faster than the year before. Though my training didn’t put all of my competitors out of reach, I had finished ahead of every other runner in every one of my regular season meets. Rob Shoaf, the state champion both years, had made plans of his own. As competitors will, he took my performances into account and trained so that his fitness peaked just as mine declined. The friendly rivalry was good for both of us. I’m certain that he values the memories of high school competition as much as I do. Not because we can reminisce about our moments of glory, but because our recollections reinforce the nature of performance more generally: We can do better.

Eric Grossman is a member of the Montrail ultrarunning team. At age 40, Grossman won the 2008 USATF 50-mile national championship. Check back next week for more of Grossman's motivational tips.

The Grossman Motivation Series Part 5

These are great motivation pieces written by a great runner, Eric Grossman. I had to copy these from Running Times just for my own record in case this is ever removed from the site. LOVE IT! You can find it by clicking here or just read below.
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This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.

You won't like this message, but you need to hear it: Stop being so puny. You keep shrinking. You do what you're told. You follow the money. You run on warm, sunny days. That would be OK if you also thought for yourself, did things that had no reward, and, most importantly, you ran when it was cold and wet. I can hear you formulating your response already. Be careful. Don't make yourself punier than you already are.

You've got a lot of good reasons to make excuses. For starters, think of how much bigger the world is than you. Who are you to resist gravity, reverse the rotation of the earth or pull back on the outward expansion of the universe? Even among the world of people, you are only one of countless hordes. You don’t even stand out against the backdrop of those you can name: your extended family, those at work or those in your circle of friends (and competitors). You cave to the pressure your boss puts on you, yield to the leverage wielded by your family and haplessly participate in exchanges that depend on little beyond what your neighbor happens to be doing. Is there any wiggle room actually left for you to maneuver? You are vanishingly small.

Worse, you like it this way. You don’t have to own up. When someone tries to pin you down, you have a ready response.

“It wasn't me!" you explain.

Your boss made you do it. You were only doing what it took to keep peace in your family. You were only doing what every other person seemed to be doing. You know how lame that is. Who do you think you are? Don’t answer! Just take the punches. Let them leave a deep impression. You need it.

You've been pressed on this before, I know. It started when you were young. You made your little brother cry; you left him doubled over from the roundhouse you practiced on him. Why did you do that? What were you thinking? Here’s where you dug the hole in which you’ve been carrying aces ever since.

You’ve gone to that hole often, and recently. Yes, you’ve hurt others. But we’re talking about you right now. Why did you keep running through the pain until you wound up injured? You don't even have to think. You’ve got your ace.

"I didn't mean to!" you practically scream at me.

That excuse is so insidious. No edifice can contain it. Yes, you get to declare your intentions. But when your act is offered to you and you refuse to claim it, anything you might have been oozes out of your weak grip and through your soft stance. You are little more than thin, shapeless goo.

When the truth of that has sunk in, maybe you will be ready to build this thing from the ground up. Yes, I’m talking about you, Eric. Only when you accept that you are nothing will we be able to get somewhere.

You will have to claim yourself, one footstep at a time, by taking responsibility for the direction you find yourself headed. No excuses.

Eric Grossman is a member of the Montrail ultrarunning team. At age 40, Grossman won the 2008 USATF 50-mile national championship. Check back next week for more of Grossman's motivational tips.

The Grossman Motivation Series Part 4

These are great motivation pieces written by a great runner, Eric Grossman. I had to copy these from Running Times just for my own record in case this is ever removed from the site. LOVE IT! You can find it by clicking here or just read below.
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One of my earliest crushes was a demure small-featured girl who visited my neighborhood each weekend. Whitney’s father shared custody of the children, including two younger brothers: Joel and Jamie. I imagine the quarters were small. In any case, we spent our time outside, where Joel and I had plenty of space to goof around. Our partnership worked well: He got to play with an older boy, and I could lose my inhibitions long enough to catch Whitney’s attention with our crazy antics.

I knew it was working when I ran continuous laps around the block with Joel riding piggyback. Each time I crossed in front of the house Whitney sang out from the porch: “I think you’re really loony but you’re really loony-toony.” We eventually established that we liked each other. I don’t remember if we ever defined our relationship, but I remember one summer that Whitney spent away. For a long time I kept a box of all the letters she wrote me during that time.

We had at least one date. Whitney went to Collegiate School in Louisville and she invited me to a school dance. It must have been semi-formal, because I remember being dropped off at the home of her mother and stepfather and waiting at the door feeling utterly self-conscious in my borrowed brown sport coat. Thank heavens for the beneficence of the older generation, who can casually intervene when middle school becomes unbearably awkward. Will, Whitney’s stepfather, opened the door, pipe in hand, and ushered me in. “Your outfit is a symphony of brown,” he stated. The ice broken, he kept up the cheery banter throughout our dinner.

Too bad he didn’t go to the dance with us. I won’t linger long on the gory details. Just picture a half-lit wall with a line-up of gangly overdressed preteens pressing backwards like they wish they could disappear and pop through to the other side. We wished we could cut loose. Someone had collected good dance tracks. “Rock Lobster” echoed across the empty dance floor. We were completely constrained by our self-consciousness. We needed a Joel to run across the floor and slide on his knees to seize the hand of a partner. He could have dragged her off the wall. When “No Parking on the Dance Floor” played, he would have the perfect excuse to pry the rest of us off.

That’s the lesson in motivation: When the music plays, you dance. There’s no room for reflecting on it. Think of how different the dance floor looks when you are on it, dancing, compared to when you stand pensively beside it. You stand by the dance floor because you don’t want others to see how silly you might look. Dancing from the middle of the floor, the music fills your body and you move with it and with the people around you. You stop thinking about how others will view you and you just are. You are less self-conscious and therefore more yourself.

Your continued motivation depends upon your ability to perform to your potential. High-level performance depends upon achieving the state of mind in which you are the performance and nothing else. To achieve this, you will need to have developed the habit of complete focus and engagement with the task at hand. This Holy Grail of sports psychology may be best known as “the zone.” When you are in the zone, you have a heightened awareness of salient sensory information (baseball pitchers, for example, see a larger strike zone), and you become less aware that time is passing. You move fluidly, without hesitation. You are “lost” in the moment, but, ironically, just when you stop thinking about yourself, the best you can perform.

You can find lots of prescriptions for reaching the zone. These are like diets. If they worked, we’d stop hearing about them. The problem is, we are working against antagonistic forces. In the case of diets, we are working against the biological imperatives to stock up and the environmental triggers to consume. In the case of reaching the zone, we are working against the biosocial need to fit in. With the exception of sociopaths, we have all been equipped with psychological mechanisms for alerting us to the potential scorn of our peers. How hard will you work to avoid embarrassment, shame and social exclusion? Your level of self-consciousness is a good measure. If everyone else is standing on the wall, you may do well to avoid potential embarrassment and stay put yourself.

So, like a lot of our less-than-optimal traits, self-consciousness is a trade-off worked out by our ancestors. You have inherited the mechanism and a fragile means of working around it. The means? Accept yourself. Let others see you, and let go of the worry over what they might think. The risk is that they will think about you in unflattering terms. The gain is nothing less than an open gateway to becoming better. That, and attracting the attention of yon fair maiden.

Eric Grossman is a member of the Montrail ultrarunning team. At age 40, Grossman won the 2008 USATF 50-mile national championship. Check back next week for more of Grossman's motivational tips.

The Grossman Motivation Series Part 3

These are great motivation pieces written by a great runner, Eric Grossman. I had to copy these from Running Times just for my own record in case this is ever removed from the site. LOVE IT! You can find it by clicking here or just read below.
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We got Without Limits via Netflix last night. Hate the title. At least I can't blame Pre for it in the same way that I can blame Phelps for the title of his book, No Limits. I much prefer Paul Tergat's approach with Running to the Limit. I don't go for mysterious or supernatural mumbo jumbo. Maybe athletes don't want you to think they have limits -— but of course they do. And, like Tergat, great ones have become very adept at approaching them.

A couple of months ago, I convinced my 10-year-old son to run a handful of 200s on the track. We had entered both kids in a mile race and I wanted them to get a sense of the pace for it beforehand. So, I lined them up and started my 8-year-old daughter first and, five seconds later, gave my son the signal. I told him just to approach, and not pass, his sister. So he did, and he ran very controlled. He also started to look like a lion pacing his cage. So on the fourth repeat, I told him to wait eight seconds after his sister started and then to run as fast as he wanted. I was watching from across the track and my mouth dropped. If I did believe in hocus pocus, I would say that Steve Prefontaine's spirit had found its way to the Abingdon High School track in Southwest Virginia! His strong arms swung low — almost 90 degrees at the elbow — and his legs extended surprisingly far behind him.

You probably know that two movies — just one year apart — came out about Pre. His is a compelling story partly because he competed at the top level, and partly because he died young, but mostly because of the way that he lived. You probably know his story: He was a frontrunner who couldn't stand to be boxed in; he felt that anything less than racing wide open from the start disgraced the sport. He lived full-throttle and partied hard. He bristled at any attempt to reign him in, including attempts from coaches working in his interest. Even if you don't know the two movies and even if you've never heard of Pre, you can get a sense of who he was just from my brief description.

People are master character and story builders, and not just the novelists among us. We have to participate in crafting our own stories in order to be anything. Let me explain.

When I was in high school, I drove a car. What car did I drive? Well, let's see, it was a yellow Volvo 240. At least it was yellow until I painted it blue. OK, so color notwithstanding, can I positively identify the exact car I drove in high school? I could start at the beginning and get an assembly record, conveniently shown on the door jamb as the VIN. But, my brother wrecked the car and the part showing the VIN was replaced. That's OK; it's probably also listed on the engine. Or it was. The engine had burned up and been replaced before we even got the car, so it shows a different VIN than the other parts (well, before the door jamb was replaced). So, should we go with the identity of the engine or with the identity of the pre-replacement part that used to have the VIN? Wait, you think, let's just use the identity of the majority of the car parts. Well TOO BAD because every single part of the car has been replaced at least once (that isn't actually true, but it could be). What is left to make the car I drove in high school a particular car? Answer: it's history.

This gets more serious with people, who are faced with the same problem. Our cells continuously replace themselves and die. In any given seven years, almost all of the cells in an adult human will have been replaced. Why don't we go ahead and change names and assume a new identity to match the whole new set of cells? Who should change the names? In my case, it's this overly analytical, philosophical type who spends too much time alone running on mountain trails.

Becoming a person is not a magic event that happens at conception; it's a process that happens as we grow and start to formulate, with the help of those around us, a story about who we are. Unless we are depressed, the story likely exaggerates the positive. And why not? We have to live the story, so shouldn't we shine it up a bit?

Here's the tricky part, and it will help explain the enormous appeal of sports. I can make up a character with far greater prowess than I actually possess. Sporting contests, however, are specifically designed to separate fact from fiction — they reveal the truth about what we were made of on that day (or days). Exaggerating my story will have at least two devastating results: I'll be revealed as a fraud and I'll misappropriate the resources that I have at my disposal. Conversely, if I am reasonably accurate about what I can do, I can use resources to improve myself and win the most respect possible.

The chances are good that as long as you are improving yourself and winning respect, you'll stay motivated. That works especially for young people who are working to establish themselves. You are telling the story of becoming a good runner. My story, for example, started with accidentally joining my high school cross country team when I got a "special" letter from the coach before my freshman year. Turns out he sent the same letter to all incoming freshman, but I didn't know that at the time. I liked to play soccer and ride my bike, but I had no concept of distance running. It turns out that I was good at it, so I trained harder and harder and eventually became a high school standout in Kentucky. I was recruited by an elite school and readily adapted to training at the collegiate level. I did not, however, adapt well to the way I was coached. Things eventually came to a head when I was denied an overseas travel opportunity offered to the rest of the team. I was ready to end the story line that had me running at that particular school. I called my high school coach to talk it over. He listened intently, as always, and responded that this was my chance to have a real impact right where I was. My perspective changed immediately. I didn't have to be the runner who was humiliated by being denied a team privilege. I could be the runner who took a hit and got back up, even stronger than before. And isn't that a motivating story?

You are going to get knocked around. Your story will have difficulty, strife, illness and injury. Your trials are that much more dramatic when compared to times when you performed well. To stay motivated, you will have to rework your story continuously to confront the reality of your situation and to remain aspirational. Lance Armstrong was a strong rider before cancer. As a cancer survivor, he became an endurance icon. Does he have human limits? Of course. We can all strive to push and even redefine those limits, though, and still live to tell the tale.

Eric Grossman is a member of the Montrail ultrarunning team. At age 40, Grossman won the 2008 USATF 50-mile national championship. Check back next week for more of Grossman's motivational tips.