Over the past month I have had a phenomenal set of races. A welcome break to what was looking to be a dismal 2012. After the catastrafu-…….nk that was the Vancouver Marathon in May, I seemed to mess up my knee and glute during a brief period of hot weather we had later that month. Hydration, it’s a thing, just do it. This setback led to weeks of not running, and followed an already low amount of running recovering from the marathon. Being a lover of high mileage, this took an immense toll on me physically as well as mentally. After visiting a personal friend who is a PT and having him rectify my wrongs, I got back SLOWLY into running and expected very little in the way of performances. I guess that’s just what I needed, because what followed was a tremendous string of races that still have me riding high!
First was attempting to defend my title at the Langley Half Marathon, a truly brutal all road course that leaves no prisoners. I knew the 1:15:30 record set by Ian Frasier was out of the question, but my 1:19 of last year left me wondering how much closer to an elusive CR I could manage on 2 weeks of total training. This would be my longest run since Vancouver…. I jumped into the lead from the gun, pressed early on the first flatter sections and then eased into the first hill so as not to kill myself early. I knew I was the only non-islander (Langley is on Whidbey Island, and the race is almost completely dominated by locals who know what the hell they’re doing in terms of pacing this monster) and there is a bit of a target on my back considering the top 5 remembered me and did some whispering and pointing at the start line. I tried to press as well as possible on the flats and be controlled and smooth on the downhills. I’m confident in my uphill running ability that I tend to just go on feel uphill and focus my energies on keeping the other elements in check. I passed up water station 1 (not a mistake) and accidentally dropped the cup from water station 2 (a large mistake), so by the time I got to the turn-around water station at the top of the course I was, to put it mildly, parched. Knowing I stopped at the top last year and drank water made me OK with stopping again to carefully pour water on my burning quads and to drink the sweet liquid of life. Also knowing Frasier walked part of the uphill makes me feel confident in my “stop at the half way” tactic. On the return trip I kept track of my lead on second place. Running without a watch I had no idea of time, but I felt I had a larger lead than the previous year and wasn’t worried about being caught.
Returning on the hills that day was absolutely brutal. It was a gut check if ever there was one. My legs hurt so bad from a lack of uphill training, and a general fatigue I hadn’t encountered in months. Towards the final miles my flatland speed began to diminish and the first thoughts of doubt began to set in. The only thing really keeping me together was course knowledge. I know the course now and I was prepared for each hill and a general idea of how long the climbs were. Knowing this easily knocked a minute off my time. As I sped down the last long hill into the finish I really opened it up and tested how hard I could push on a downhill. Finding another gear I was pleased that when I crossed the tape I’d found myself 2:30 seconds faster last year. 1:16:58 puts me under 1:17 (smiley face), gives me two of the three fastest times on the course (double smiley face), and puts me within striking distance of the CR (next year!).
*****
Having felt very very pleased with my run at Langley, getting back into training was easy, but my next race was going to be quite a bit trickier. I am planning on running the Chuckanut 50k in March, and to prepare I decided it would be good to run the middle 18, it would be better to race the middle 18, and it would be best to run one of Candice/James’s races on the middle 18. As luck would have it I found myself waking groggily and without coffee along the Bellingham shore having “slept” in a tent at an adjacent campground. Candice and James remembered me from Yakima Skyline, but I anticipated being an unknown to the other competitors. This race as like Langley is filled with locals, keen on the shifty tricks of the trails, and well-versed in the curves and subtle features of the mountain known as Chuckanut. Somehow I found myself on the start line holding my bottle and two gels being whispered about and pointed at by one other competitor. Why? Honestly. No idea, I’m an unknown!!! As we set off up the trail I somehow found myself in the lead. I did not want to be in the lead, but that just happened. I had very little course knowledge here, and powered by sheer terror of replicating Max King’s interesting navigational errors, I scorched my way up the first climb attempting to place as much distance between myself and second place as possible early on. As I climbed up to Fragrance Lake I tried to get my mind on what I was doing, I needed to drink in as much course into my mind as possible, and I wanted to run 2:30. I figured that is the time Roes ran for this section when he set the 50k CR, and without the flat 10ks bookending it, was possible, but a TALL order especially on a month and a half of total running.
Almost as soon as I got to Fragrance Lake I realized I had made a mistake of pacing. Checking back on the switchbacks I saw I was being pursued by a pink racing flatted creature of real speed. My tactic of knowing when to push and when not to (they call this course knowledge, it is a thing) was seemingly blowing up in my face from the start. When we dropped down onto the dirt road I was terrified that my downhill running was sucking more than normal and I was pretty damn sure I was lost because nothing made any sense. On top of that my legs hurt, you know, from all the running. I again opted to run watchless and go on feel rather than pace. Smart decision, but habitually checking your empty wrist looks a bit odd. Then again running like a damn madman through the forest with a number pinned to your shorts doesn’t do me any favors. Climbing up the road I tried to make myself as efficient and even-paced as possible, again a quick look back confirmed I was in for well over an hour more of really hard racing as I seemed to put no distance on my competition.
I cannot stress how long that road seemed. I almost thought about dropping because I went out so ridiculously fast on the first climb, and had already walked once or twice. I couldn’t grasp what idiot was controlling my legs, but I stubbornly soldiered on. Reaching the ridgeline I scared the living bejeezus out of the aid station, filled my bottle and took off down what almost no person on the planet would call a “trail.” Trails dont have cliffs, trees growing in the middle of them, or a Mario Bros-style platform jumping puzzles in them, we civilized suburbanites call that: “the woods.” That being said, getting onto the technical portion of the course I began to feel good. Well, great. I started to pick up steam and really got motoring, hopping and ripping along the undulating ridgeline. By the time I dropped off the back of the ridge into the valley I was back in Beast Mode, only without Skittles. On the long return below the ridge I took my SRC singlet off, tucked it into my shorts, watered the head and quads, and flew. Gently easing onto the throttle I kept pushing faster and faster on the long rollers picking up free seconds where I could.
As I pulled into the aid station at Chinscraper I felt super confident. I’d walked only once, I’d run quickly on the flats, and my downhills felt better than previously. Another quick refill-o-H2O and I was off up the hill. Starting into the trail I immediately happened upon the top two 12k runners, having no idea they were A. fast, and B. not in the middle of the 12k pack like I’d guessed. I ripped by them trying not to let anyone show me up on the climbs. This move scared the living Sam Hell out of them, seeing as they were racing for series points and thought I materialized out of thin air. My move though, was…ill-timed. Chinscraper followed what I originally thought was Chinscraper, which then had more uphill afterwards. Who the hell puts more hill after Chinscraper? Stupid mountain. After the uphill I stumbled out onto the road, ran past a father and son enjoying the mountain air. Judging from the look of terror on their face I must have seemed like I just climbed out of my own ill-timed grave. At this point I knew that all that stood between me and sweet handcrafted mug victory was to sack up and do something I generally save for special occasions when I want to impress the ladies: run the downhills quickly. Thats a joke, I can’t run downhill quickly. I can run downhill, it will not be quick. After the first 12ker flew by me wearing a pair of Nikes older than me I told myself I was not going to get passed by another no matter what. So I only got beat by one more guy in a final sprint. I was comforted by the fact that I had believed on my best day I could run 2:30. If I was on fire like a banker’s pants, maybe 2:28. I flew across the finish line completely spent in 2:24. I thought the clock had to be wrong, that no way did I just run a 2:24 on that section. Did I? Holy flaming bankers pants, Batman!!! I had little energy to celebrate so instead I drank a beer and sunbathed.
*****
Two days later, I went on vacation. A college friend of mine decided to set up a long road trip through national parks and invite me along as his running/hiking buddy, seeing an opportunity to go to 6-10k ft and live for 10 days I jumped at the opportunity, the only catch is that the day before the Cougar 13 miler I would need to drive 12 hours to get home. Sure, I’ll take that downside. Lining up at Sky Country I really had no idea what the hell my fitness was like. I’d basically had 2 weeks of super low mileage, super long time spent on feet, and super little oxygen. Seeing Uli there is nerve-wracking, however he was tethered to his dog (or is it the other way around?) so my worries were eased. Eddie Strickler was there (10 miler CR holder), as was “ol’ Mikey Smith” (my nickname, no one else call him that), and Keegan Symmes (thankfully this wasn’t another 5k, I can’t stand losing another one to that kid) the field was stacked. I figured I needed to get some serious distance on them before Wilderness otherwise they were going to see me on the switchbacks and realize my downhill weakness. Eddie already knows it, and Mikey Smith does too, but Keegan is young and he has high school things to remember, so maybe he didn’t know my achilles heel. By the mile 3 aid station I’d blasted through the flatter miles and lept out to a minute lead on the field. I ran with reckless abandon over the flats and when I topped out on Wilderness was feeling good. Hell maybe that thin air cleaned me out, I was just on it. Until the trail did the downhill thing it likes to do, then…it started going south. Coming back up Wilderness Creek I prepared myself for the power hiking I would endure, and stomached the humiliation I knew my co-worker Trey would inflict on me if he caught me walking those switchbacks he knows so well. I hit the aid station, took a cup of water, found my guts, and made out down to De Leo fixin’ for a comeback. As I hit De Leo, I really hit De Leo Wall. It just crushed me. My lungs were just burning, I swear I’d swallowed a sandpaper lozenge climbing up that godawful mess. Speaking of godawful mess, my ungraceful withered frame slunked into the final aid station, grabbed two cups of water, doused the flaming glutes, wasted the rest on my head and general face area, and whipped off down the trail. I saw the impending blow up on Quarry coming, I was primed like a North Korean rocket launch. Two minutes up it and I was looking for discarded trekking poles to magically appear on the wayside. I felt like I had the race in the bag going up De Leo, I had seen no one on switchbacks and I was emotionally prepared for the Enron-sized failure I was going to be on Quarry. Even once I’d crested the hellish unending nightmare that is Quarry-don’t-ever-run-me-I’m-no-fun Trail, I couldn’t muster anything more than a scant jog in comparison to my early race pace. As it usually does, the pace gradually sped back up and I burst out of the trees finding myself with a huge 3 minute improvement over my 2009 time, and another win notched into my belt.
******
Overall it’s been a great comeback. I’ve run some times that really make me step back and rethink what I’m capable of, and make me excited to test myself against faster runners and tougher course records. I can’t wait to return to Langley next year for a shot at it, and I’m eagerly chomping at the bit to get after the 25k CR at Cle Elum.
Greg Crowther, former SRC president and one of the rare sub-7:00 finishers (only 16 ever), 
Lance Thompson (in white shirt) at the Cougar Mountain 5-mile race. Photo courtesy of The Balanced Athlete.
Trisha Steidl (#470) at the start of the Cougar Mountain 8-mile race. Photo courtesy of Northwest Trail Runs.
