This was as close as I was getting to this cliff.
Sara and I were sitting next to the trail watching as other runners went past; I was a mile out from the turnaround aid station working way back up the mountain, she was on her way down.
We were both in rough shape.
We were fourteen hours into the Bryce Canyon 100 in Southern Utah, and it had been a struggle. It was more than 95 degrees, the sun was blazing hot, and we had spent much of the day climbing at an altitude between 8,000 and 9,000 feet.
While our training had been great, the combination of heat and altitude was defeating.
Bryce Canyon is beautiful, but it sure felt like an oven.
The Bryce 100 scared me for a lot of reasons.
Jared and I before the start, when it was dark and refreshingly chilly.
100 miles is really far, but this race in southern Utah also had the added challenge of running between 8,000 and 9,000 feet, something this sea-level dweller isn’t used to.
Another high … The weather forecast. Before we flew out I watched in horror as the forecasted temperature kept climbing … and climbing … and climbing.
Together the distance/altitude/heat sandwich had me lowering my race bar so far that by the time we toed the start line I just had to step over it.
[Goals – in this order: Don’t die, don’t get SAR’d out, don’t burn like toast, finish, finish sub-30]
These are all scary factors by themselves, but the scariest part for me was thinking about running 100 miles alone.
After finishing the UROC 100K in Virginia.
I have added a new weapon to my daily training.
This weapon is helping me in my personal relationships, at work, and has become a new tool to use when things get rough on the trail.
A year and a half ago, I discovered that my body had an interesting way of letting me know that I was feeling stressed out: My hair started falling out.
The Apple Watch 2 has a built-in GPS that can use apps like Strava without an iPhone.
I have been an avid Apple fan for years, but I have two Apple Watches currently gathering dust on my dresser.
The majority of my ecosystem is within Apple, so when Apple announced the first-generation Apple Watch a couple of years ago, I knew I’d have one on day one. It had issues, but I enjoyed being an early adopter and finding uses for Apple’s new wearable.
As a running watch, the first-generation Apple Watch required an iPhone, which was less than ideal. When Apple announced the Apple Watch 2 – and its built-in GPS – it sounded great; I could load music onto my watch, leave my phone at home, and get in a quick run. All with just once device.
Over the last few months the Apple Watch has become even more intriguing. Third-party developers, such as Strava, have released major updates to their popular apps that take advantage of the built-in GPS. Overcast, a popular podcast player, has added the ability to download and play podcasts directly on the Apple Watch, a feature that Apple hasn’t enabled on its own Apple Podcast app.
But, as great as the watch has become, I kept asking myself if it really meets my needs.
Early miles of the Pinhoti 100 in November.
Jared posted the other day about training volume
, and his three-up-one-down training philosophy.
He stressed that each runner needs to find what works for them, but then to not be afraid of letting that evolve. This got me thinking about how my training — and everything else — has changed over the last couple years.
I used to live in a building that had a fancy pants gym one floor down, so I used to do my weekday runs on a treadmill. All of them.
When the weather was too bad or the morning was too dark — or the sunshine too bright — I’d run inside.
Inside the building and inside my comfort zone.
Last year, my buddy — a features editor at Recoil Magazine — asked me for a trail shoe buyers guide.
These are the best stories to write, because I literally get paid to go running. And the fact that Jared got to test four or five pairs of shoes was an extra bonus.
The shoe roundups are great because they make me look past my typical favorites (I’ll unapologetically love you forever, Altra) and put my feet in shoes I might not ordinarily try.