We arrived 35 minutes before the start of the race; perfect timing. I got out of the car, and told my friend, “Make sure you leave it unlocked; I’m going to warm up a bit, then come back here and drop my sweats”. We were at the Moab Red Hot, a point-point trail race; she was going to drive the car around and meet me at the finish. The 55k started, and since trail races aren’t like big city marathons, I could see and even speak briefly with my friends, as they trotted away from the parking lot, up into the amazing slick rock country, up into another world. My race, the 33k, was going to start 30 minutes after the 55k. I jogged around another 10 minutes, then went back to the car.

Except it wasn’t there.

My friend apparently did not know there were two races with two start times; figured the race had started, she drove off. Hmm. You know how before a race you get everything you need laid out, exactly, perfectly, down to the last little detail? Well, I had done that, and it was all right there in the car, which was no longer here.

Not good. But after the reality sunk in, I actually wasn’t that disturbed. This wasn’t like the time I was car camping alone in winter, got up at Midnight to relieve myself, and while standing naked in the snow, accidentally locked myself out of the car. This wasn’t like the time I was alone in Kathmandu, and leaving my pack unattended while taking a shower, was robbed of every last rupee. This wasn’t like the time I went for a run on the beach in Costa Rica, and coming back to the car, found it broken into and my passport and money gone.

Well, this was sort of like that last one, but regardless, it was probably better that this happened to me than to someone else. Because with 10 minutes before the race start, I engaged my inestimable charm and good looks – or maybe trail runners are just really nice people – and borrowed one gel, obtained some Vitamin I (Ibuprofen), and stashed my warm-ups in a friends drop-bag.

And with that, we were off. I was the only one not carrying a waist pack – i.e., no water – but I really feel at home in the desert, so it was OK.  Those who want perfect order better stick to the roads.

Photo Bernie Boettcher

We climbed a big hill, up and out of the valley, and then dropped down into the other world, out of sight of cars, out of sight of power poles, out of site of anything, except red rock, blue sky, and the occasional scrappy little bush. Coming off that initial little downhill, I caught up with a woman wearing a “Crested Butte” shirt. She matched my pace. Or maybe I matched her pace. I don’t know – after a few hundred meters we were still side-by-side without trying to do that. I took note of this development. At this point we were on a flat jeep road – a bunch of people passed us – we didn’t take the bait, and stayed on our pace.

We came to the first of three aid stations – I stopped to chug down water, while everyone else filled their bottles and ran on. I could see the lady from the Butte up ahead, who I now viewed as a compatriot, and concentrating on good patient form, caught back up after 5 minutes. At that point, the course left the jeep road, and cranked up onto the slickrock – no trail in the normal sense of the word – just cairnes or white dots painted on the bare rock. The runners who had passed us suddenly went backwards – they weren’t good on technical terrain – indeed, everyone around us suddenly disappeared like they were waylaid by muggers – we were alone. The leaders were totally out of sight up ahead. The main pack was totally out of sight behind. Shari and I would run for the next two hours, together, without seeing another runner – and except for the aid stations, without seeing another human being.

Her being there was really, really, good. Emotionally, it was crucial – it gets sort of lonely out there – left to my own devices, I probably would have started walking, admiring the lovely scenery. Technically, being a team was extremely helpful – we shared navigation duties – we’d start weaving around on the slickrock until one of us spotted the next cairn and called it out. Shari was a monster on the uphills, while I was good on the technical downhills – she’d get ahead on a hill, then once we crested, I’d work to reel her back in – she’d do the same with me. We rubber-banded each other, in an uncanny display of highly efficient and effective running – it is possible we were both one minute per mile faster being together than being alone.

The amazing thing is, we weren’t exactly trying to do this – it just happened. Competition and cooperation magically merged into one unified force.

There was a big gap between the 2nd and 3rd aid stations, so I resolved to go for water at first chance. Of course, there’s not supposed to be any water in the desert, but I’ve always gotten by out here, and sure enough, I glimpsed a pothole off to the right. Veering over to the tiny pool left over from the last snowfall, I broke the ice on top, drank heartily, stood up, and got Shari back in my sights. I did this once more, and that was all I needed. All was good.

Shari had kept cruising of course, so I had to work hard to get back on, which served to keep my effort honest during the long middle sections of the race. She apologized for getting ahead, but we just laughed – this was going so well – we were both so glad to have the other there. I even told her about my mishap at the start, and how I obtained a gel from a kind runner at the starting line. She then told me it was she who gave that to me. I hadn’t even realized that – I was stunned – trail magic is real.

Photo Bernie Boettcher

About mile 15 we saw someone far ahead, then quickly caught up with a young woman, who was alone and wandering in the desert, like in some biblical tale. She was clearly fit, but had become so demoralized from being alone, had come to a complete stop upon hearing us behind, waiting for us to catch up so she could get on our train. We were on a roll though, and motored on by.

Leaving the last aid station with 5 miles to go, Shari had gotten her usual gap while I had stopped to gulp down water, when suddenly we popped out onto a flat jeep road again. I could see Shari up there banging out the tempo – but flat roads are definitely my nemesis.

I think many of us have felt an energetic connection with another runner – we’re not sure what it’s about, but we’ve felt it – and fortunately I was feeling it this time. I felt I should be up there with her, I belonged up there, so even though I hate flat terrain and my legs were not happy about this at all, I had the emotional will to not let go, and work hard to get back on. It took a full three miles, but I finally did reel her in. If it had been a guy up there, even one who I was officially competing with, I might have thought, “screw it”, and let him go, but not on this occasion. Some of us are motivated by different things.

I exclaimed, “Dang! Wasn’t sure if I was going to make it. Thank you for giving me something to chase!”

She said, “I expected you to catch up!”

The catch happened right at the start of the downhill to the finish. I felt relieved, excited, as well as slight remorse, and said, “I used to be pretty good at this, so hang on.”

Down we went. On the technical sections I was on my own; when it flattened out I could hear Shari gaining behind me, then it would get technical again. I caught sight of a woman up ahead, and easily reeled her in, very pleased as I knew Shari was glued to my heels and would thus pass another woman. For a mile and a half we enjoyed the fruits of our earlier labors on the fast descent, and then there was the finish line. I was sort of excited to finish, but mainly all I could think of after crossing it was to turn around to check, and there was Shari, only 13 seconds back, 3rd women.

We hugged at once. We were so happy. A good race is a good thing, but trail magic is special.

Here is the first secret: I like treadmills.

I keep that to myself because runners love to hate treadmills: they are boring, stupid, hot, and boring. As a hard-core mountain and trail runner who normally doesn’t even wear a watch, this is especially true for me – saying I like running on treadmills is like admitting I like Tofu.

And like a few thousand other trail runners I know, I use to avoid running on roads, so the thought never even entered my mind to go near one of those machines. But one winter I went into the gym – can’t even remember why now; maybe I had an injury and was putting some time in on the elliptical – and tried a treadmill. To my total surprise, I liked it immediately.

It turns out, there are many advantages to running on a treadmill:  You won’t get lost. You won’t get hit by a car either.

You probably won’t get bitten by a dog, attacked by a mugger, collapse from dehydration, break a leg falling on ice, die of hypothermia, get sunburned, or not get back home after your run in time and make your spouse really mad at you, because you might be home already.

On the other hand, some people are worried they will miss a step and get spit off the back, flying ignominiously across the gym floor, to the stunned looks of dozens of onlookers who will immediately end their own workouts in order to rush home and tell their spouses about the complete idiot they just saw go flying across the gym floor.

But this doesn’t really happen. Unless you drop your iPod into the mechanism and stick your hand inside the rapidly spinning gears trying to retrieve it, treadmills are perfectly safe.

Their main disadvantages are:

1. Boring

2. Boring

3. Boring

I’m going to explain what we can do about that in a minute, but first I must note, that if you are one of those indolent, coddled people who live in a southern climate, and have a flexible work schedule so you can run outdoors in the short daylight hours of winter, you can stop reading right now. This blog post isn’t for you. These secrets are reserved for the poor saps like me – I mean, the tough athletes of strong moral fiber like me – who live in the northern climates and must work for a living during hours not dictated by oneself.

And one more disclaimer: In this excellent article elsewhere in Running Times, you can find very good information on the workouts professional runners do on the treadmill. But if you’re a pro, you already know all that, and if you’re not a pro, you can’t possibly do the workouts they do. So here’s how I approach treadmills:

A) I never run indoors when the weather is warm or there is enough daylight.- treadmills are for winter.

B) Treadmills aren’t for everyday use – they are good for accomplishing maybe two quality workouts each week.

C) Speed, strength, flexibility, and agility decrease dramatically with age, while endurance hangs in there, so going to the gym for 3-4 months every winter really helps. I start normal training in the spring feeling great, then notice by fall I often become sluggish or injured, so now I’ve come to almost look forward to winter and going back indoors to re-build.

OK, enough jabber; here are my “secrets”:

1. First, warm up (some secret eh?) My warm up is to shoot baskets, because I hate warming up and won’t do it otherwise, but sort of enjoy chasing after an errant basketball.

2. Then, get on that treadmill. Do a solid tempo workout. Get off that treadmill 30 minutes later. This is probably the key – I often hear people say, “After an hour, it’s just too boring!” Which is true – but there is no reason to ever go past :30.

3. The treadmill workout is all about quality. Do what you came to do, then stop – resist any urge to do “more”. Because by never going past your chosen workout time, you are able to stay focussed on quality, you are able to go hard, then you are ready to come back and do it again the next week.

4. A 30 minute tempo run provides outstanding benefits. You can be in the middle of a restful, winter base-building phase, but just one quality 30 minute run per week won’t disrupt that, and will enable you to start spring training feeling chipper. It’s harder to achieve the same quality doing a 30 minute tempo run on glare ice at night with the only illumination coming from oncoming car headlights.

5. Indoors, one can listen to music or podcasts without being a hazard to yourself or others. I don’t do music myself – the little “beeps” coming from pushing all those buttons is enough amusement for me – but when I used to ride a bicycle wind trainer- which by the way is far more boring than a treadmill – I watched movies.

6. After I’ve dripped perspiration all over the machine, I get on the nearby climbing wall and do some bouldering, then I lift weights, and finally may swim some laps. Like I said, winter training is the time to iron out last season’s kinks and avoid those to come. I end the evening workout by sitting in the jacuzzi drinking Gatorade, wearing sunglasses under the harsh fluorescent lights, imagining that I’m really on a white sand beach in Fiji enjoying a Mai Tai.

Here is one more benefit to be derived from running on treadmills that is never mentioned:

It’s actually really good for your running form. Counter-intuitive, but true. That’s because wo things not immediately apparent are taking place:

1. The astute (or lazy) runner soon realizes since the treadmill is already moving on its own accord, it makes sense to stay in the air as much as possible. So rather than a long lunging stride, what is easiest is a short and quick cadence, being light on one’s feet. This of course, is how we should be running anyway. I find it takes me about a month to get used to the treadmill, but then the next time I go outside, I notice my form is greatly improved.

2. Those readouts on the display panel give you the means for instant feedback to make subtle adjustments to your form. While it’s hard to know exactly what is taking place while running outside due to all the variations involved, on the treadmill you know exactly how fast you’re going. Indeed, you have to go that precise speed or get spit off the back. So if the pace of your goal race is 7:15 per mile (or it’s at an 8% grade, etc), just set the machine exactly at that, start running, and learn the subtle little things you can adjust to maintain that pace(or grade) with the least amount of effort.

3. Because there’s really nothing else to do while on a treadmill, it is possible to focus on nos. 1 & 2 above, and become a much better runner. Or better yet, you can finally watch every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Tom Borschel, a friend and well-known runner, passed away at his home in Idaho Falls on December 29.

Tom always went all-out, giving everything he had to running, friends, family, and work.  While in Italy in 2004 as Manager for the US Junior Mountain Running Team, Tom jumped into the World Masters Championships and won the 45-49 age group.  His special joy was racing uphill, and he was most proud of the overall record he still holds going up Mt Tamalpais, a 30:32 he set 25 years ago.

A full Bio and Condolences may be read and offered here.

I didn’t appreciate Tom until he was gone. That is a cliché, and I don’t like clichés, but it’s true – only now are his special gifts sinking in.

Tom’s favorite saying was, “Run like a scalded cat”.   Jogging really slowly for a really long time has become fashionable of late, but Tom was the opposite: he loved to just pound it.   There are all sorts of training plans circulating on the Internet, and they are good, but I also notice that the ascent records at most mountain races were set over ten years ago.  Thinking about Tom is making me realize that the best modern workout is no substitute for raw emotion, joy, and guts.   And even more important, totally going for it does not necessitate suffering – it’s fun.

He was the same with his friends: all-out; nothing held back.   Eight years ago my partner and I were going to try the Cascade Trifecta: climb Mts Rainier, Adams, and Hood in one day.  Tom volunteered to come and drive us for 24 hours – it’s not that we were that good of friends – Tom was just that good of a guy.   Whatever it was, he just fully committed to it.   Right now, Tom is helping me realize that’s a good way to live one’s life.

While he won many laurels, the award I always wanted to nominate Tom for was, “Sponsored Athlete of the Year”.   Such an award doesn’t exist of course, but maybe it should.   I was the Manager of the La Sportiva Mountain Running Team, Tom was one of our runners, and instead of just collecting the free schwag, Tom totally worked his butt off.   He went to every trade show, all on his own dime, and at the end of every season he submitted a 2-page report listing everything he did for the brand and everything he planned to do the following year.   It was stunning – athletes don’t do things like that – most are too cool.

Tom wasn’t cool at all.  He just did everything he possibly could, all the time.

“I am hit hard from this because he was such a inspiration, and it took his passing to have me realize what was so easy to take for granted. Tom … this is from the guy who you felt free with, drank with, ran with, traveled with, laughed with, and gave great advice to. I am uncorking a good dark homebrew tonight and will remember the guy I took for granted. Hopefully our next run will be up taller mountains.” – Bill Raitter

I lost touch with Tom this last couple of years.   Then I sent him a Facebook note a month ago, and on December 22 his wife responded saying, “I am sorry to tell you that Tom is ill with ALS (Lou Gehrig disease) and is at home resting.  He can no longer speak well or type.  He wanted to let you know he appreciated the adventures and your sponsorship.”

Yikes.  I sure didn’t see that coming.   I learned he was no longer able to breathe on his own so the doctors put him on a ventilator that day, and he asked for his son to come up from Grand Junction.   Six says later, after discussion with his family, Tom asked for the ventilator to be removed …

Saturday January 7 was the Memorial Service in Idaho Falls.  Here in Boulder, six of us who knew Tom did a Memorial ran up Mt Sanitas, a super-steep classic hill climb, that Tom once drove all the way down from Idaho just to run. Simultaneously, seven people did the same thing up Mt Tam in Marin County CA. His wife wrote me, “Tom would have liked this.”

Indeed, I liked the Run as well … instead of trotting up (It’s January, no races coming up, no reason to go hard) – I stripped down to shorts and t-shirt and went as hard as I could.   That’s definitely what Tom would have done – and here’s the interesting part – going hard wasn’t actually harder.   Tom taught me it’s simpler, easier, and more fun.

A few photos here.

“He reminds me that death is not bias towards the old and the unfit, it can happen to the best of us at any time.”  - Galen

In its five short years of existence, The North Face Endurance Challenge 50 Mile Championship (aka the “TNF50”) has earned a very distinct reputation: the gun sounds, and a large group of guys start running really, really fast. No ultra jogging here. Runners look at the entry list and exclaim, “It’s probably the most competitive ultra field ever!” Then say the same thing every year.

I was there on Dec. 3 in Marin Headlands, north of San Francisco, and have this to report: the stories are true.

The North Face started this race in 2007 with the bold move of putting up $10,000 for first place, for both men and women. (They later added $4K and $1K for second and third place). Some runners might think this a typo, as ultra-runners are supposed to be doing it for the “love of the sport,” but the cash really changed the game. It drew Matt Carpenter out of Manitou Springs, Colo., which is almost impossible to do, and in that first year he lost a great race to Uli Steidl, a 2:14 marathoner from Seattle. People were really excited: they saw it was possible to actually race a trail ultra, instead of simply maintaining a steady pace while hoping everyone else throws up or gets a blister.

Matt really hates to lose, so came back the next year with guns loaded, and after another great race ran away from Uli for redemption. And along with them came most of the top ultrarunners in the country, all of which wanted to get in on the fun. They’re all used to racing from the front, so the first part of TNF50 in many years has looked like Mile 10 of the New York City Marathon: a big lead pack who were the all-stars of the sport. This is where you wanted to be if you want to be a competitive trail runner.

As for me, I was at this year’s race crewing my son, Galen, who was making his 50-mile racing debut. And he was indeed in the lead pack as it came rocketing down the hill into the first crewed aid station.

Crewing an ultra race is odd — one stands there for long minutes (sometimes hours), wearing every stitch of clothing you’ve got and still shivering uncontrollably, while skinny runners clad only in racing singlets zip by like phantoms. This is particularly true of TNF50, because runners start at 5 a.m. in the pitch dark and pass through the first aid stations before the sun has brightened the sky. While the line of headlamps snaking down the hill is a surreal visual treat, I still felt helpless standing there holding the water bottle to give to Galen, as every headlamp light looks like every other; there are no visible bodies attached. While unable to identify my own son, I was wearing my reflective yellow cycling windbreaker, which made me glow in the dark. This little trick worked, as a light with presumably Galen attached to it suddenly ran up to me, grabbed the bottle, and disappeared into the night.

Yikes, those guys were really moving! Definitely not like any other ultra I’ve seen; they barely broke stride. I’m sure the mid-packers were grabbing sandwiches and doing the usual ultra things like removing jackets, etc, but these guys in the lead pack were racing 50 miles like it was a road marathon.

Indeed, leaving the aid station at mile 12.7, I started pondering the split. The lead pack came thru in 1:32. That pace would result in roughly a 6:08 50-miler with 10,000 feet of elevation gain on semi-technical trails run partially in the dark. There’s no way that would hold up, but the point is they were motoring … really going after it.

But they were gone in a flash, before I could process any of this. Another revelation hit me: everybody in a road marathon is fixated on their pace. If your goal is 4 hours, you have burned into your brain your minute-per-mile pace, all the needed splits, and are dedicated to running that exact pace exactly. But while these guys were racing like it was a road marathon, a big difference is they could not know their pace because there are no mile markers on trails. Everyone was just going for it. The carnage would soon begin.

Galen’s wife Kristen and I drove to the mile 28 aid station. The lead pack was down to seven hearty runners, led by Mike Wolfe and Dakota Jones, while others were clearly just hanging on. Galen came thru 6 minutes later, looking good, at the head of a chase pack of maybe 15. He later told me he had been enjoying running with Rickey Gates, a great runner and kindred spirit, but the wheels had come off for Rickey already. 

We had time before the next station, so we waited here to see what the rest of the race looked like, with the women and others we hadn’t seen yet. After a while the top women came thru, looking very good, mixed in with guys I mostly didn’t know, except for Karl Meltzer, who was methodically tapping out his usual steady trot, and Tsuyoshi Kaburaki, who I only remembered because he was Japanese and was wearing a flaming red outfit.

At the mile 39 Muir Beach aid station we experienced a common agony of ultra crews: waiting a distressingly long time for one’s runner, who is usually a cherished family member, to come thru. There is nothing to do, no help to give; one must simply wait, standing in silence, hoping everything is mostly all right. Turns out the wheels had come off for Galen around mile 35; he had gone from ninth place and feeling good about picking up people in front of him, to a weak stomach and legs waiting for the finish to finally arrive. Hard to watch, but much, much harder to experience.

Mike and Dakota meanwhile, had opened up a whopping 10-minute gap, turning it into a two-man race for $10,000. The rest of the looked like they were hanging on, while those two were full of fire; only they were going to hold that early pace.

Kristen and I drove to the last aid station at mile 44.5, where Mike finally got a gap on Dakota going on to a stellar win. The question of pace dominated my thoughts.

The top women were now mowing down the top guys like they were joggers. I wondered if the women were smarter — certainly the norm in other things – and thus started slower, or if because of the darkness they couldn’t see where each other was, did not form a pack, and thus naturally settled into their own sustainable pace.

I also realized this was a rare chance for me to run with Galen, who is dramatically faster than me, so I belatedly trotted up the last hill to catch up, and got to see more of the inside of the event. 

I caught up with Ellie Greenwood, wearing a bright turquoise skirt, cheerfully power-hiking past guys who were running. One was Leigh Schmitt, who later said, “Each year I run a faster time, and each year I’m further down in the standings!”

I gave encouragement to another fellow she passed as he was slowly grinding up the hill. He turned and said, “Heck, I was hoping to win this race!” It was Michael Wardian, one of the country’s fastest and most prolific runners from the marathon to 100 miles.

I realized the fastest guys may have had the hardest day. Wardian is a 2:17 marathoner, so the fast early pace did not feel alarming to him. Galen said the pace did not feel fast, which is just how Rickey perceived it as well; Galen has won the Pikes Peak Marathon and Rickey twice won Mount Washington; both extremely difficult achievements. Another factor may be when the body stops functioning and the ultra-suffering begins, guys who do 100 milers expect and know that’s coming, while marathoners are logically wondering if this sort of thing is worth doing.

I caught up with Galen who was gamely marching in to 20th place, which he noted was his worst finish in a trail race ever. One should note this is out of 300 starters, and his 7:17 is a time I could not have approached in my best race on my best day ever, but top runners are top runners not exactly because they are fast, but because they expect to be at the top.

Karl would keep doing what he always does, trotting past dozens of guys in the waning miles to finish 13th. Kaburaki would pass even more guys, including Geoff Roes in fifth before Geoff got him back with a mile to go. The slower starters had fast finishes.

But that’s not what TNF50 is about. It really has the feeling of being one of the best ultras ever. Every single one of the top 25 guys have won races. That’s amazing, and it’s the reason that, when the gun goes off, they go for the win. That may not be “smart” strategy, but it shows how the once tiny sport of ultrarunning has developed a lot of depth in recent years.