Run happy.

It sounds simple enough, although runners of all distances know it can be far more difficult to put into action than those two little words indicate.

My only running goal for 2015 was to run happy.

Monthly mileage chart from DailyMile.

It echoed the theme of 2014, when I sought to disconnect my brain from constantly being in training mode and taking my middle-of-the-pack abilities far too seriously. In 2013, I became far too wrapped up in the races I’d signed up for and overvalued the significance of each one from a racing perspective. I was constantly “training” for something, and that stole my focus away from simply valuing the day and the opportunity to let my legs take me on an adventure.

In 2014, I cut back the racing schedule to only a handful of events, and I refused to make a single training plan. The result was peace of mind on the trails, and fulfillment from most of my runs. Why not keep that mojo rolling in 2015?

What unfolded in 2015 was almost surreal. A combination of not having any goal races or training plans, an unusually wet spring and early summer in Kansas City (which caused most local trails to be closed for weeks), and a move to Massachusetts in August all contributed to me having fewer long runs this year than in any of the previous three years that I’ve been running ultras. I had just four runs of 20 miles or longer in all of 2015 – and three of them were races.

Even so, I started and finished three ultramarathons in 2015, posted personal records at both the 10-kilometer and 50-mile distances, and ran more miles this year (1,404 miles) than I ever have.

Ultimately, those successes come down to running happy, meaning that my goal for the year was fulfilled. Not once did I feel bad about not having a training plan. Not once did I feel guilty if I skipped a run or cut it short if my head wasn’t in it. It requires a lot of time to run 1,404 miles in a year. I enjoyed almost every one of those miles, meaning it was time well spent.

A few races have piqued my interest for 2016, and they will require a bit more focused preparation than what I’ve been willing to do during the past two years. More strength work and hill repeats will be necessary; perhaps even a training plan will need to be drafted. We’ll see. Whatever comes of those races, as well as any others that find their way onto my calendar next year, I’m going to stick with what’s working and only have one running goal again next year: Run happy.

When the plan was hatched a few weeks ago, nobody knew what to expect from the weather on Mount Greylock.

Sheri, Josh, Jonathan, Anna, Adrian, Su, Alex, me, and Fernando – dressed in orange to shield us from the hunters.

Su had organized groups to go to Mount Greylock State Reservation during the two previous Decembers, and each time they’d encountered varying depths of snow. Having lived in Massachusetts for barely four months, this was my first year joining the group. We were prepared for whatever the elements had in store for us, but as the weekend approached it became clear that snow would not be an issue.

The forecast was dry with temperatures in the 50s, making for a difficult decision between short sleeves and long sleeves.

Su mapped out a roughly 11-mile round-trip route for us, taking us along various interconnected trails on our way up to the summit of Mount Greylock, and then a brief stint on the Appalachian Trail on our way back down.

There were no time goals, other than to be back to the cars before dusk. We wanted to have fun, keep the group of nine together, and make it to the summit and back in one piece.

It took us a few hours to reach the top, thanks to multiple breaks to regroup, and a wrong turn that took us about a half-mile in the wrong direction. We crossed numerous wooden bridges, passed multiple waterfalls, and took in a few panoramic views before reaching the summit, which is the highest point in Massachusetts at 3,491 feet. A sign at the Visitor’s Center said views of 60-90 miles can be seen from the top, and it sure seemed like it on Saturday. We might have been able to see even farther if the Veterans War Memorial tower hadn’t been closed for renovations.

Alex and me, at the vista lookout, not far from the summit.

The trip back down included a 3/4-mile stretch on the Appalachian Trail, as well as some time on a rocky jeep road that wound back down to the parking lot.

In all, we covered about 11.2 miles and gained approximately 2,800 feet.

It was a fantastic day with friends, and a much-appreciated introduction to a reservation that has so many more trails in need of exploring.

Looking up at the Mount Greylock summit from the parking lot.

Dodging puddles along the way up Mount Greylock.

The warm weather meant the waterfalls were flowing on Mount Greylock.

The fall leaves hid plenty of loose rocks on the trail.

The summit of Mount Greylock offers views for miles.

Intense planning went into those missions in 2006, 2007, 2008 and 2009. Early trips to scope out the route and determine precise strategies to maximize speed and efficiency were critical. Success hinged on following the plan to perfection.

Black Friday at the Middlesex Fells.

Yes, Black Friday was a beast, and I got caught up in the madness for a few years. I hate both traffic and massive crowds in general, and Black Friday is the worst of both worlds. The few bucks I’d save by battling the crowds and rapidly knocking out my Christmas shopping seemed worth it, though. I bought gifts for others, but the greater allure of Black Friday was plenty selfish. My mom believed in spending the exact same amount for Christmas gifts my sister, brother-in-law and me – down to the penny. Mom told me the dollar amount for the year, and asked me to pick out what I wanted, and then she would reimburse me for what I bought. That made Black Friday a golden opportunity, and my intricate planning would allow me to get discounts deeper than door-buster pricing on everything from new hiking boots, to sweaters and gloves.

I calculated when stores would open their doors and, as a result, what order I should visit them. I knew which stores allowed you to check out in the electronics section in the back to avoid the long lines at the front of the store. I knew there were repercussions for taking an extra minute to browse for deals on Black Friday, so I’d grab my item and dart to the checkout line to slip ahead of those who hadn’t done their homework.

Most years I executed my plan flawlessly, was done shopping and back home in bed by 7 a.m.

The Skyline Trail leads to Wright’s Tower.

It’s been a few years since I’ve been part of the Black Friday madness. The past few years I’ve spent the day on the trails instead, opting for the calm tranquility of the woods, the adrenaline rush of my heart beating harder while digging into a hill climb, and savoring the satisfaction of a job well done rather than more purchases made.

I was always happy to see so many friendly faces from my Kansas City and Lawrence trail-running friends who I’d encounter on Black Friday in the woods, usually at Shawnee Mission Park.

Today, now in my fourth month living just outside of Boston, I spent the morning on my neighborhood trails at the Middlesex Fells. It was 60 degrees and sunny – absolutely perfect conditions to cruise along the leaf-covered trails, hopping over rocks and charging up steep, technical climbs. Twice I made the climb up to my favorite spot in the Fells – the lookout near Wright’s Tower – to catch my breath and enjoy the panoramic view of downtown Boston in the distance. There were probably a dozen families at the top each time, and I encountered dozens more as I wound my way along the Skyline and Crossfells trails during the course of my run.

Wright’s Tower at the Middlesex Fells.

I assume there were thousands of people down in the city at their favorite shopping destinations, forking over large sums of cash and fighting for deals. I was happy to not be a part of the rush, instead spending the day in the woods and enjoying the fresh air.

I’m glad to see REI launched its #OptOutside campaign to encourage its employees, customers, and the rest of American society to prioritize outdoor enjoyment over commercial desires, and I was delighted to see so many parents who elected to introduce to their children to the magic of the trails today.

I’ve been a part of both worlds on Black Friday, and I understand the temptations that both present. For me, the reward of the trails always is far more fulfilling.

The view of the Boston skyline from the lookout point next to Wright’s Tower on the Skyline Trail at the Middlesex Fells.

BROWNSVILLE, VT – A maze of smooth, dirt singletrack wound through the northern hardwood forest with sugar maple and birch trees in the early stages of their fall transformation. It was a recipe for sensory overload, and my mind was in a state of absolute bliss – save for the distraction of searing pain in my quads and the occasional annoyance of a stumbled-upon rock or tree root.

“Just keep running for as long as you can,” I told myself. “Run until your legs won’t go anymore, and then you can hike it in. Until then, just keep running.”

The Vermont 50 finish chute, seen the day before the race. It’s a long drop down the mountain to the finish.

Standing at the starting line of the Vermont 50 nine hours earlier, I had no idea what to expect of the day. I wasn’t appropriately trained, I had two bum ankles, and the 12-hour time limit with strict cutoffs along the way gave me plenty of cause for concern. Then there was the 8,900 feet of vertical gain to deal with, plus the punishing downhills that naturally come along with all of that climbing. I planned to run and hike until the cutoffs caught up to me. Then, my race would be done, and I was ok with that.

But there I was at Mile 44, just six miles from the finish line. My legs were still churning at a steady trot, and I was on pace for a personal-best time.

This didn’t make any sense.

Actually, it made perfect sense.

CHECKING OUT

My last 50-mile race ended with a trip to the emergency room. In hindsight, it was appropriate given the way I’d mistreated my body during the 2013 racing season.

I overscheduled events that year and created a race calendar that I took way too seriously. I overthought my training schedule, treated each event as though it was an “A Race,” and didn’t allow myself much time for recovery.

Ultramarathons in Texas and Kansas and three-day stage races in Arkansas and Tennessee took a collective toll. Then I paced at the Leadville Trail 100 in Colorado two weeks before heading to Whistler, British Columbia, for the appropriately named Meet Your Maker 50 on Sept. 1, 2013. By the time I arrived at the starting line, my brain was burned out and my system was run down due to months of fatigue.

I finished the race, but the aftermath was inevitable.

After my release from the hospital in Vancouver, I returned to the United States knowing that I needed to get my body right. I needed to give it some long-overdue rest. More than that, though, I needed to get my mind right. I was running for the wrong reasons, thinking too much about things that didn’t matter, and putting unnecessary pressure on myself.

I’d gotten away from what I loved most about trail running: the simple pleasure of being outside, out in the woods, trotting down the trail while forgetting about the trivialities of the day.

I needed to check out for a while.

A HEALTHY HIATUS

Hitting the reset button on my brain has been a two-year process, but it has been fulfilling in more ways than I could have imagined.

I’ve volunteered at quite a few races, helped build and repair trails, and done a bit of writing. I’ve barely raced, and none of it has been serious.

I’ve winged it at a few ultramarathons – Rock Bridge Revenge 50K (2014), the Night Hawk 50K (2015) and the Moosalamoo 36-Mile Ultra (2015) – as well as the Rockin’ K Trail Marathon (2014), and I’ve sprinkled in a few 5Ks and 10Ks just for fun. I haven’t developed a single training schedule during the two years since the Meet Your Maker 50, and I haven’t much cared how I did at the races that I’ve done. I’ve gone to starting lines with no plan, and haven’t been afraid to DNF. I truly have focused on just having fun, enjoying the trails and the camaraderie with my fellow runners, and trying to make the best of each day.

That said, I’ve run as much – if not more – during the past two years as I did prior to the Meet Your Maker 50; I’ve simply taken my brain out of the equation. There has been no plan. I run if I feel like it; if I don’t, I don’t; as long as it makes me happy.

The past two years have brought me back to my roots with trail running, and it has been refreshing. My mind is clear, my motivation is back, and I’m finally ready to actually train again – this time with my priorities straight.

CHECKING BACK IN

Alex and I at the starting line of the Vermont 50.

I planned to develop a short-term training schedule for the Vermont 50 after signing up for the race back in May. No such schedule ever came to fruition, however, as more pressing life matters took precedence including a job search, traveling, and a move to the Boston area. As a result, I headed to the starting line Sunday with just three runs of 20 miles or more total this year (a 21-miler in July, as well as the Night Hawk and Moosalamoo races).

Undertrained, and with a pair of gimpy ankles from a lingering sprain (left ankle) and a recent nasty twist (right ankle), I went to the starting line with no plan, no expectations, and felt no pressure. I was going to enjoy my time on the trails until I missed a cutoff and got pulled. I didn’t expect to finish, and that was strangely exciting.

My mind was completely at ease.

The temperature was in the upper 30s as the race began, so the chill in the air put some extra spring in my legs for the early miles. I set out at a relaxed pace and coasted through the first mile of gradual downhill, using it as a warmup before beginning to climb. Most of the first 18 miles of the course were a mixture of dirt and gravel roads, with some sections of singletrack sprinkled in. It was a nice variety of terrain, and it afforded ample opportunity to look around and enjoy the scenery at sunrise without face-planting. The roads made for quick hiking on the uphill sections as well as swift descents. I took full advantage of those design benefits, hiking with purpose and blazing down the hills with no worry about stumbling.

I rolled through the second aid station (Mile 8.1) with a 32-minute cushion on the cutoff, and by Mile 18 I was 75 minutes ahead of being pulled. I’d been running for more than three hours and barely noticed. I’d spent most of that time gawking at the gorgeous Vermont scenery – the fog rising from the valleys, the sunrise peeking through the trees, and the leaves of the sugar maples beginning to change colors.

The trail wound through multiple maple syrup farms, easily identifiable by the dozens of trees being tapped with blue plastic tubing that carries syrup to a collection space. It was my first time seeing a maple syrup farm, and it was fascinating to see where my favorite oatmeal topping originates. Occasionally, the trail popped of the woods and through large clearings, opening up to panoramic scenes of the surrounding forest-covered mountains. These were hard-earned views that few people – save for the runners in the race and the property owners sharing their land for just this day – would ever experience.

What a treat.

Feeling good while arriving at Mile 31.3.

The temperature rose into the 60s by the time I reached Greenall’s Aid Station at Mile 31.3. I was 90 minutes ahead of the cutoff and in excellent shape to finish. The biggest climbs were behind me, and my legs felt surprisingly sturdy for having just knocked out a 6:10 50K. I hydrated well with my two handheld bottles – Gatorade in the left and water in the right – and I snacked on half a turkey and Swiss sandwich and some chips and pretzels at each aid station, so my stomach was in good shape, too.

Given my lack of training and minimal long mileage days this year, I expected my legs to crash at any moment. It had been a remarkable race so far, but I assumed the final 19 miles would be a long hike to the finish line.

Instead, my finest race day as a trail runner was unfolding.

I wasn’t overthinking anything. I was just running; just savoring; just – to quote the event’s slogan – “living the experience.”

My legs began to tighten up shortly after departing the aid station, and my instinct was to take a hiking break. I dismissed that option, however, recognizing that the gradual climbs and descents and winding switchbacks were a favorable opportunity to run if my legs would allow it. This race had gone beyond my wildest expectations so far, so why not push a little bit more and see what happens?

“Just keep running,” I told myself. “Just keep running.”

I forced my legs into a slow but steady trot, keeping my breathing and heart rate in check, and took hiking breaks only for the steepest climbs. Each time my legs grew weary and wanted to walk, a timely downhill appeared and allowed me to continue running. Soon, I shuffled down a shade-covered dirt road into the Mile 40 aid station, 8:09 expired – well ahead of my personal-best time for 40 miles (8:28 at the 2013 Free State 40).

My undertrained legs kept chugging along, and they still had more to give. The seven-mile stretch between aid stations at Mile 40 and Mile 47 consisted mostly of rolling singletrack through the woods, twisting and turning around trees and rocks. There were lots of quick ups and downs, usually requiring only three or four strides. This was the stuff that always shut me down late in races when fatigue was at its worst, but this time was different. The miles had passed so easily, so joyfully, up to this point. Now it was time to suffer, and I was mentally prepared to push through it. I’d done enough races, endured enough late-race discomfort, so I knew the pain in my ravaged quads and wasted calves was only temporary. Besides, I expected this stuff to hit much earlier in the race; for it to hold off until the final 10 miles was a gift.

“Accept the low points, and move on,” as Geoff Roes once said.

And so I did, pushing my legs to continue running through the winding singletrack and then out onto the road that led to the aid station at Mile 47. Brian Nephew, a fellow runner from Connecticut, credited me with pulling him along through a few miles of that section. As we departed the final aid station and headed for the finish line, however, it was Brian’s turn to do the pulling. My legs begged to walk, but Brian told me to stay with him. I did the best I could, hiking the uphills hard, shuffling along the flatter sections and opening my stride on the downhills. Brian eventually pulled away, but I kept plodding along, forcing my legs to run.

“Just keep running,” I told myself. “The finish line is getting close.”

I finally saw a sign proclaiming there were only 2 miles to the finish, then 1.5 miles, then 1 mile, then … BAM. My toe caught a rock, and I sprawled through the air and crashed to the ground on my right hip and shoulder. I cursed myself, dusted myself off, and started running again. The final mile was downhill all the way. Grassy switchbacks provided an enticing view of the finish line that inspired me to go faster. My right hamstring wailed and my quads howled as I took the final strides downhill and into the finish chute.

Done.

10:17:33.

It was a 50-mile personal record by 96 minutes; the best race of my life.

In the minutes following the race, I couldn’t grasp what had just happened. I wasn’t properly trained; I had two cranky ankles; I had no real plan for the race; and I hadn’t expected to even finish.

Reflecting during the drive home and in the days that followed, however, what happened became much more clear. Sure, near-perfect race conditions had plenty to do with it, and the course layout was favorable for fast times, but this was about more than that.

The Vermont 50 was validation of the past two years. It was about racing with a clear mind, valuing the opportunity and the environment, and running for the right reasons. It all made sense.

I needed to check out for a while, and Sunday was the right time to check back in.

The truck shook as the engine clattered and roared to life.

Alex and I waved to my sister, brother-in-law and niece who stood in the driveway. Then, I shifted the gear into drive and the truck lurched forward.

We pulled onto the interstate a few minutes later. Soon, Kansas was in the rearview mirror.

Arriving at our new home!

It was August 16, and my 35 1/3 years of Kansas residency were over.

Two days earlier, I completed my final day of work at an engineering firm in Kansas City, wrapping up a whirlwind two weeks of long days and late nights to get a major proposal out the door. Now, behind the wheel of a 15-foot U-Haul box truck with my Honda Civic in tow on a trailer, a 3 1/2-day, 1,451-mile journey to Boston was under way.

Alex and I rolled into town on a Wednesday, Aug. 19. During the next few days we set up our home, visited Fenway Park to watch the Kansas City Royals play the Boston Red Sox, and explored the new neighborhood trails at the Middlesex Fells Reservation.

On Monday, Aug. 24 – just nine days after wrapping up work in Kansas City and packing up to move – the new daily grind commenced. I rolled out of bed and started my new routine with a one-mile walk to the Davis Square T Station, a 20-minute ride on the Red Line train, and then a short walk to my new job at my new office near Boston Harbor.

Life was crazy while packing up in Kansas City, and it hasn’t slowed down since arriving in Massachusetts. Each weekend has been packed with pre-scheduled activities, keeping us constantly on the run – both literally and figuratively.

Royals vs. Red Sox at Fenway Park!

We spent the final weekend of August in Vermont running on the Appalachian Trail for a friend’s bachelor party.

Labor Day weekend included doing mountain repeats on Mt. Watatic, celebrating two years together with dinner at Monotomy in Arlington, and then I took a trip to Lowell to visit old friends.

On Sept. 12, we supported our friend Dan at his first 50-mile trail race, and then drove to Rhode Island the following day for a baptism.

Finally, last weekend allowed us to have a bit of calm and quiet. We did a short trail run at the Blue Hills Reservation and met friends for dinner, but otherwise the weekend was spent resting and relaxing.

The Royals followed us from Kansas City to Boston for the weekend.

As Month #2 in town kicks off, the whirlwind begins anew. We are headed back to Vermont on Saturday morning to prepare for Sunday’s running of the Vermont 50. Then, we’ll roll into October with back-to-back wedding weekends, one in Medford and the other in Miami.

After that … a calm and quiet schedule, at least for a short while.

My new neighborhood trails at the Middlesex Fells Reservation.

Exploring the Appalachian Trail near Jamaica, Vermont.

Alex and I on the Appalachian Trail in Vermont!

The rumors, it turns out, were true.

Everything I’d heard about the Moosalamoo Ultra Run – the challenging early climb up Moosalamoo Mountain; the seemingly constant uphill grade after that; the slick and twisted tree roots; the stinging nettles; the shoe-sucking mud – all of it was precisely as advertised by folks naïve enough to do it once and masochistic enough to tackle the course multiple times.

Less of a trail run, more of a mountain hike and bog slog, this was 36 miles of beautiful cruelty in the heart of the lush Green Mountains of Vermont.

What an introduction to ultrarunning in the Northeast.

Moosalamoo is the brainchild of race director John Izzo. An accomplished ultrarunner with three Vermont 100-Mile and five Vermont 50-Mile finishes to his credit, Izzo is no stranger to grueling races, which I can only assume helped inspire his rugged creation in remote Goshen, VT.

Prior to Moosalamoo, I’d completed 10 ultramarathons in five other states (Kansas, Missouri, Colorado, Arkansas, Texas) plus Canada (Whistler, British Columbia), and also completed a three-day stage race in Tennessee, and I’d never encountered a course quite like this.

The course started out easy enough, suckering runners in with 2.1 miles along a rolling gravel road, followed by a half-mile down an access road. Those miles clicked by easy enough, but I wasn’t fooled. I was holding back and conserving my energy. I’d heard the stories of previous years, so I was pretty sure I knew what lurked right around the corner.

The nastiness set in quickly once we reached the Mt. Moosalamoo Trailhead.

A 2 1/2-mile stretch of technical single-track littered with and abundance of lichen-covered rocks, twisted tree roots, and nettles wound its way up the 1,000-foot ascent to the top of Moosalamoo Mountain where the reward was a panoramic view of Lake Dunmore while standing along the edge of a cliff. That was followed by a steep and speedy two-mile, 1600-foot descent to the first aid station.

From there, it was three more miles of constant uphill, including a steep 600-foot march immediately after departing the aid station.

One of the more loathed portions of the course in previous years, the rolling hills of the out-and-back section from Mile 10.1 to Mile 14.1, actually was one of the most runnable parts for me. There were numerous shoe-sucking mud holes that brought me to a standstill (I lost a shoe on the outbound portion), as well as occasional patches of nettles, but it wass mostly easy running. In fact, my legs recovered during this section from the early climbing and I picked up the pace for a while. After passing back through the aid station, however, the fatigue from the early climbing returned to my legs and my calves began to cramp. I spent most of the next three miles – all gradual uphill – hiking to fend off the cramps, before coasting two miles downhill to the 19-mile aid station.

Truth be told, my legs were done at this point. I was well hydrated and did a decent job of taking in calories – mostly cups of Coke, chips and pretzels at the aid stations, and Honey Stinger chews – but the constant climbing was more than my legs were trained for. Izzo’s detailed race instructions suggested that this would be a good spot to bail – “If you are toast at this point you may head back 1.25 miles on Ripton Road and return to the Inn (start/finish).” I didn’t come to Vermont to quit, though, and I was mentally prepared for a long day.

On with the show.

The next seven miles would have been a real gift if my legs hadn’t been so beat. Smooth dirt, switchbacks and quick climbs and descents composed most of this span through the Chandler Ridge Trail.

After hitting the unmanned aid station at mile 27.5, it was uphill until the final mile of the course. The climb began on the Leicester Hollow Trail. Had it come earlier in the race, Leicester Hollow would’ve been the easiest running on the course for me, despite its constant uphill grade. Instead, I was reduced to a steady power hike.

I looked at my Garmin as I neared Mile 32, and at that point I realized I could squeeze in a sub-9-hour finish if I could get my legs to kick into gear and let me push through the final four miles. It’s little goals like that serve as motivation late in ultras.

Those ambitions were dashed promptly, however, when the course bailed into the brush through a seemingly endless stretch of boggy, ankle-deep mud and eroding treefall. I sensed that Izzo must have designed this part of the course to ensure nobody would finish strong. My left shoe got sucked off twice during this stretch, and numerous branches stabbed into the toe-box of my shoes while lifting my feet, each time jerking my leg backward and causing my calf muscles to cramp.

After slogging uphill through what seemed more like a drainage area than trail, I stepped back onto the gravel road and headed a few tenths of a mile uphill to the final aid station. From there, it was three tenths of a mile more on the gravel road, and then back onto the trail for the final two miles to the finish. Most of this section consisted of rolling hills interspersed with muddy pools that broke up my running rhythm as I tried to finish strong. Finally, the course leveled out a half-mile from the finish and I was able to open up my stride. A clearing in the woods emerged as I rounded the final turn in the mountains and began gliding downhill. The roof of the Blueberry Hill Inn came into view, followed by the open field where cars were parked and tents were set up. The 225-foot descent went quickly as I let momentum carry me down the hill, back onto the gravel, across the road and down the finish chute.

The first 2 1/2 miles of the race had come easily, as did the final half-mile. The 33 miles in between, however, were a tremendous test of my legs and mind. I was relieved to be done.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I’m really curious to see how I would have run with sufficient training. We’ve had such a wet spring and summer in Kansas City that most of the local trails have been closed, relegating most training mileage onto pavement. That, in effect, led to far less mileage than would have been desirable. It also meant far less vertical training on hilly trail systems such as the Wyandotte County Lake Scout Trails. That would have helped tremendously.

Even so, the muddy, boggy sections are what took the biggest toll. It’s impossible to go fast on that terrain without risking injury, and the suction effect of the mud sapped the strength from my undertrained legs pretty quickly.

Regardless of pace, I really enjoyed the family-style atmosphere of this event. Izzo’s family and a few friends run the aid stations and organize the post-race feast. Their presence definitely is felt, and their positive attitudes made a challenging day much more enjoyable.

Also, since I was going slower than planned, I took time to look around and really appreciate my surroundings – and my surroundings were absolutely gorgeous. This was my first time in Vermont, and it’s a truly beautiful place. It reminded me a bit of Chattanooga, Tennessee, but different in its own right.

Moosalamoo was an eye-opening introduction to trail running in Vermont, and that’s a good thing. It showed me that I have a lot of work to do before returning to the Green Mountain State in late September to run the Vermont 50.

RESULTS

Place: 20th place/42 official finishers

Time: 9:17:04

I’m a bit late posting a status update from Sunday’s trail repair work at Clinton State Park, but a little bit of work was accomplished despite a false alarm about rain.

Lawrence Trail Hawks president Bill Loats looks for more overgrowth to lop on the Lake Henry Loop.

Light rain fell early Sunday morning, July 26, at Clinton Lake, making it 56 out of 98 days that the city of Lawrence, Kansas, has received precipitation. Additional rain was in the forecast, so Gary Henry briefly canceled the trail maintenance day that the Lawrence Trail Hawks had planned. After a weather update, however, the cancellation was lifted, and the plan went forth as scheduled.

Gary, Trail Hawks president Bill Loats, Josh McVey and myself met with Kansas Trails Council steward Neil Taylor at the Corps of Engineers parking lot at 9 a.m. and discussed our plan. Gary, Bill, Josh and I trimmed back overgrowth on the Lake Henry Loop, picked up trash – including a car tire that had made its way deep into the woods – and sawed a few fallen trees. Meanwhile, Neil headed deeper into the park to deal with fallen trees and assess additional damage.

Later that morning, Colinda Thompson and Mike Warner brought a chainsaw to the park to take care of a fallen tree.

Collectively, about 3.6 miles of trail had overgrowth trimmed and trash removed, however the ground was too wet to repair very extensive damage – much of it that appeared to be very recent from bike traffic.

The portion of Blue Trail that has collapsed into the lake will need to be re-routed, and Bill and I identified what should be an easy re-route option pending KTC approval.

There is a TON of work that is still needed to repair the trails at Clinton State Park, but it was nice to have the weather cooperate just enough to allow us to spend three hours in the woods making slight improvements.

Gary Henry lops branches over the North Shore Trails.

Josh McVey creates a drainage spot on the Lake Henry Loop to allow water to flow off the trail in a sustainable manner.

The collapsing section of Blue Trail.

More than three months have passed since approximately 20 miles of the North Shore Trails at Clinton State Park were damaged April 18 during the Free State Trail Runs.

Ninety-seven days later, the trails remain in a state of disrepair, albeit not for a lack of trying.

Part of the Blue Trail has collapsed. Photos by Tesa Green.

The Kansas City Trail Nerds, who put on the Free State event, worked with the Kansas Trails Council to coordinate trail maintenance training days so trail-runners could learn the skills necessary to repair the damage (as well as to volunteer at other trails in the area).

The Lawrence Trail Hawks, whose home trails are at Clinton State Park, also organized a trail maintenance course with the Kansas Trails Council. The Trail Hawks also have moved their two most recent races – the Shoreline Shuffle and the Night Hawk 50K – to alternate courses to avoid creating additional damage.

Both groups, whose membership largely overlaps, have organized numerous official trail repair days to try to repair the damage. Almost every single one of those work days has been canceled due to rain.

Few folks have had more success than Danny Loental, who has organized multiple trail repair days that have been rained out, but who also has organized a few small groups mid-week who have made valuable improvements to the trail. Westar Energy’s “green teams” have had multiple work days, too, and repaired portions of the trail.

Clearly, efforts to repair the damage have been made, and every little bit counts. The rain has simply been relentless, though, and it has hijacked the good intentions of many folks in our community.

Where’d the Red Trail go? Photo by Lisa Ball.

According to research on Weather Underground, Lawrence has received rain on nine of 14 weekends beginning with race day at Free State. Of those five dry weekends, four experienced trail-drenching rain on the preceding Friday.

Thunderstorms are approaching the area as I type this, which will move the count to 10 rainy weekends out of 15 if the clouds unleash their fury.

Putting it another way, Lawrence has experienced precipitation on 55 of the 97 days going back to Free State.

And now, the worst damage to the North Shore Trails is not from trail-runners; it’s from the oversaturation of the ground. The Red Trail was completely submerged at one point, and when the water subsided a good portion of the trail had washed away.

There’s even a portion of the Blue Trail that literally collapsed into the lake when the saturated ground gave way.

In addition, the nearly constant rainfall has turned the woods into a jungle of overgrowth.

There’s a lot of work to be done, but we haven’t forgotten about it.

Lisa Ball, Mike Grose and Gary Henry of the Trail Hawks trimmed back the overgrowth on Sanders Mound on Thursday, freeing it up for runners to do hill repeats.

Sanders Mound has been trimmed back and is ready for runners. Photos by Lisa Ball.

Weather permitting, a trail maintenance day will take place tomorrow – Sunday, July 26.

Gary Henry is the official organizer, and he is rounding up volunteers to meet at the Corps of Engineers trail head parking lot at 8:30 a.m. Sunday. The group will carpool into the state park and repair the trail from 9 a.m. to noon.

There will be two work crews. Gary will take a crew on the White Trail, and I will take a crew on the Blue Trail. Neil Taylor, trail steward for the Kansas Trails Council, will be on hand to provide guidance and ensure the trail repairs meet expectations. Overgrowth will be trimmed back from the trail. Mike Warner and Colinda Thompson will lead the effort to saw and remove fallen trees.

A well organized, team effort is planned for Sunday that will hopefully bring some healing to a large portion of the North Shore Trails.

If only the rain will stay away tonight …

Two months of relentless rain forced myself and most other trail-runners in the Kansas City area off of the dirt and onto the pavement.

Photo by Mile 90 Photography

It also forced the Lawrence Trail Hawks to shift the inaugural running of the Night Hawk 50K off of the trails at Clinton State Park and onto an alternate course. That course, a blend of 70 percent paved park roads and 30 percent cross-country terrain – would offset its lack of technicality with additional pain.

I entered Saturday’s race like most others in that I was undertrained for the distance due to the considerable amount of time being trapped on pavement as a result of so much rain. Like most others, pavement = less miles for me. In keeping with the trend, race day marked the seventh weekend in the previous eight that heavy rains soaked the area.

Given that my longest run leading up to race day had been 16 miles in 3 hours, I expected it to be a long night at the Night Hawk. Still, it turned out to be even more grueling than I’d imagined. The pavement had plenty to do with it, but – no surprise – so did the weather.

The sun popped out shortly before the 6 p.m. start time, and the temperature quickly shot up into the 80s. The humidity rose right along with it. I didn’t notice the effects too much during the early going, but then a light drizzle began falling an hour into the race. It didn’t last long, but as soon as it cleared the humidity skyrocketed.

Photo by Mile 90 Photography

I was well hydrated going into the race, and I downed 20 ounces of Gatorade during that first hour, so I thought my hydration should be fine. By the time I’d completed the Bunker Hill and Goodwin Loops, returned to the aid station, and covered the final 2 1/2 miles of park road back to the start/finish to complete my first of three loops on the course, however, my legs were feeling the effects of the heat, humidity and pavement.

I finished the first loop in 1:40 sharp, but the final two trips around the course would be quite a bit slower.

A second wave of rain – this time much heavier – rolled in during the second loop and thoroughly soaked everyone. It also made the grassy portion of the course much slicker. It did, however, cool down the temperature and give way to a gorgeous sunset.

My calves began trying to cramp early in the second loop, and by mile 14 I couldn’t run more than three or four strides without them cramping. My hydration – a mixture of Gatorade and water – was good throughout, so I believe the considerable pavement was the primary culprit. Regardless, the death march began much earlier than I’d anticipated.

I spent much of the next 10 miles putting my head down and power-hiking with the constant mantra to “hike with purpose.” At some point, I hoped, my legs would kick back into gear. Until then, I wanted to cover ground as quickly as possible.

I focused on keeping my mind in a good place, and that was critical during the long, slow miles. While on the pavement, I frequently shut off my headlamp and ran by moonlight, looking up at the stars and being thankful for the opportunity to be out there enjoying it. The other runners and the incredible race volunteers also kept me feeling upbeat.

Photo by Mile 90 Photography

Finally, around mile 24, my legs returned to the point where I could run a quarter mile at a time before the cramps would return. I took advantage of what my legs would allow, blending spurts of running and hiking the rest of the way. I was at my strongest during the final trip through the grassy section, past the noisy frog pond, across the creek, and back to the aid station.

I spotted Nick Panda on the park road heading inbound to the finish line as I neared the final aid station. He barked out encouragement to me, as he had done a few other times during the race. It was a great pick-me-up, and reminded me that the finish line was just a few miles away.

The final 2 1/2 paved miles went quickly. I ran as much as I could, cruised the two main downhills and hiked the up-hill spots. As I neared the park Visitor’s Center, I heard the cowbells clanging and cheers whooping out as Nick was crossing the finish line. I couldn’t wait to hear it about four minutes later, and the sound put a little extra spring in my step to trot that final half-mile to the finish line.

I finished in 10^th overall in 6:09:01 – a bit slower than I’d hoped for prior to the race, but much faster than I thought I’d be when I was forced to power-hike for so long.

The Night Hawk marked my 10^th ultramarathon finish line and third-fastest 50K. It was a great wake-up call for my legs as I turn my focus to preparing for the Vermont 50M in September. It will be the first race I’ve seriously trained for since 2013, and have a long way to go to get ready for that one.

Photo by Mile 90 Photography

Photo by Mile 90 Photography

One of the rainiest Mays in Kansas City history is close to its conclusion – the National Weather Service says only four days have been without rain this month – and it will leave many marks on the local community – mostly in the form of events canceled due to wet conditions.

Included in that category are the trail repair days at Clinton State Park’s North Shore Trails. Wet weather leading up to this weekend again soaked the North Shore Trails and forced cancellations of repair days both Friday and Saturday, May 29 and 30.

About 200 yards from Lands End eastbound on the Blue Trail, the rock ends and dirt resumes. It’s at this point that the trail quickly turns into a pool of standing water.

Saturday’s scheduled trail repair day, which was organized by Danny Loental, originally had been scheduled for Saturday, May 23, before rain forced it to be pushed back a week. Even with the rescheduled date, however, the rain refused to accommodate.

The trend extends even further as the trails have been soaked for five of the six weekends since approximately 20 miles of the trail system were damaged during the Free State Trail Runs on April 18.

The lone dry weekend during that time was the first weekend of May when the Kansas Trails Council trained volunteers on proper techniques, tools and safety to repair the damage.

Volunteer groups from Westar Energy have done a few repair days on the trails during the week since then, and a small group of runners – organized by Loental – put in a few hours on Tuesday, May 19, during a narrow window that the weather cooperated.

A brief look at parts of the trail on Wednesday revealed that some parts of the trail are in good shape, but many others are not. Lands End is smooth again, and it was dry with dirt cracking in the sun on Wednesday afternoon. Just a little way down the Blue Trail eastbound, however, evidence still exists of dirt chewed up from footprints during the race, even though the rain has filled in the holes a bit. On down the hill, the trail quickly transforms into a stream with water pooled in the middle of it with nowhere to go.

The shadows help mask a lot of ruts that remain from foot damage during the Free State Trail Runs on the Blue Trail near Lands End. This area receives quite a bit of sunlight, so the water had evaporated by the time this photo was taken on Wednesday, May 27, 2015.

On the Blue Trail near Lake Henry, there are stretches of smooth, tacky dirt that look largely unscathed, but there also are soggy spots with considerable evidence of damage caused by feet and mountain bike tires.

Photos taken by others on Wednesday showed the Red Trail completely under water. In addition, park features such as the swim beach are completely submerged by the lake, as are parts of the boat ramp parking lots.

Currently, no trail repair days are scheduled for next weekend, May 6-7. The forecast calls for dry weather this week.

This blog will continue to be updated with information as new trail repair days are scheduled.

The Lands End area was dry and mostly smooth on Wednesday, May 27.

Bike tires and feet have torn up some of the muddy Blue Trail near Lake Henry. As seen on Wednesday, May 27, 2015.