Chris Wristen

The Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race is in the books. A recovery week is in the books.

It’s time to get to work.

As I type this, I’m fully conscious that exactly 10 weeks from this moment I will be about 35 percent of the way through my second 50-miler and second 50-mile mountain trail race – the Meet Your Maker 50 in Whistler, British Columbia.

Last year’s 50-miler – the Leadville Silver Rush 50 in Colorado – was a resounding success in that I finished within the time limit and loved almost every bit of the race (the last 13, not so much, but the first 37 were incredible).

Also critical to my success – and overall enjoyment of Silver Rush – was the fact that I truly enjoyed every bit of the training process. The up-before-the-sun Saturday mornings, the five-, six-, and seven-hour days on the trail, the mid-week group runs, the strength training, everything was fun. To me, that’s the most important part of this sport anyway, especially when taking on such long distances that require a considerable time investment to prepare.

My hope is that I can replicate as much of that success this time while running a race that I expect to be considerably more difficult.

While Silver Rush took place entirely above 10,000 feet with four climbs above 12,000, Meet Your Maker will only reach a high of about 7,000 feet above sea level. That said, Silver Rush had about 7,400 feet of climbing while Meet Your Maker checks in at 12,200 feet of vertical gain.

Race day is exactly 10 weeks away, which essentially gives me eight weeks of hard training to get ready before taking two weeks to taper. I mapped out a rough training plan on Friday, and I think it should be sufficient.

The plan is pretty loose during the week, allowing me plenty of flexibility to respect whatever my body is telling me so I can focus more on quality and health than on the specific mileage count. The strictest part of the plan is my Saturdays, which just like last year will focus on time on feet rather than a specific mileage total.

WEEKLY AGENDA

Monday/Wednesday – Run (5-8 miles, depending on how the body is feeling)

Tuesday/Thursday – Weights and core work, plus an easy spin on the bike

Friday – Rest

Saturday – Time on feet long run

Sunday – Rest/easy spin

LONG RUN SCHEDULE

June 29 – 15 miles

July 6 – 3-4 hours (Will be flexible with this since I’m running Koach Karl’s Hardest Half on July 4)

July 13 – 5-6 hours

July 20 – 4-5 hours

July 27 – 5-6 hours

August 3 – 7 hours

August 10 – 5-6 hours

August 17 – Pacing for Sherrie at Leadville 100 (20-25 miles)

August 24 – 10 miles

August 31 – None. Rest for race day.

September 1 – 50 miles!

I’m ready to get started. The time will go by quickly.

My heart was both happy and heavy as the engine on my rental Dodge revved and I pulled out of the Crash Pad parking lot and headed for the highway.

With Luigi, Mary, and Laura at the start of Day 3.

Four days earlier, I wondered if coming to Tennessee and attempting to run the Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race was a good idea given the dubious condition of my left knee and two weeks of barely existent running. Maybe I should cancel the trip, save a few bucks, and just give it a shot next year, I thought.

Now on Sunday, with three days of running, three mountains and 60 miles of trail conquered – and a flashy silver and Tennessee Orange finisher’s jacket to show for it – I didn’t want to go home. I first learned of this event 14 months ago and immediately added it to my 2013 schedule. I signed up Jan. 1 with high hopes that this would be a top-notch event, and every one of my expectations was surpassed. Everything about it was superior, from the organization of the stage race, to the people involved, to the trails themselves.

I left a piece of my heart in Chattanooga, and it’s rewarding to be able to say that after dreaming about an event for so long.

THE ORGANIZATION

Do yourself a favor and browse the Rock/Creek race schedule. Find one that fits your schedule, and sign up. While almost all trail races offer their own particular buzz, Rock/Creek Outfitters and the good folks at Wild Trails made this the first out-of-town race I’ve run where I’ve felt like a local. Extra credit for that goes to stage race co-founder Kris Whorton who I met and packet pick-up and was then greeted with a warm smile and on a first-name basis daily for the rest of the weekend. Others received that same treatment no matter how far they traveled for the race – and the sold-out event was capped at 250 runners. That’s a lot of names to know!

All of the volunteers were incredibly friendly and supportive, the aid stations were well organized and efficient, and post race beverages and ice baths were abundant. The schwag was classy, too. Who wants a boxy-cut tech-T when you can get one with an athletic cut and a sharp design? I hope I don’t wear the shirt out, because it’s already a favorite. The finisher’s jacket was a nice touch, too. Both functional, packable, light and sharp!

Digging deeper into the details that were well thought out: the race organizers are tight with the owners of The Crash Pad, the best hostel outside of the Swiss Alps that I’ve crashed in. The hostel was the hub of post-race activity, with free beer in the evenings, slide shows from the day’s race, free breakfast, and nearly every bunk occupied by a runner. Stage races are as much about bringing people together as they are about running, and that detail clearly was prioritized.

THE PEOPLE

Speaking of people, that’s what made the weekend the most memorable. I’ve come to expect that trail folks will be friendly, accommodating and supportive no matter where I run. That’s the nature of the sport, it seems, and I’ve never been disappointed in that regard. That said, of the races I’ve traveled to, the folks at the Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race are at the top of my list.

Justin was one of the first people I met upon checking into the Crash Pad. Can’t wait to share the trail with him again.

Austin, Texas, sweethearts Laura and Mary – the only runners at Chattanooga who I’d met prior to the trip – adopted me for the weekend. When they weren’t kicking my butt on the trails, they were wonderful lunch and dinner companions, sight-seeing tour guides, and a supply of endless enjoyment. Plus, there were the generous race directors and volunteers (mentioned in the above section); fantastic folks like Luigi, Justin, Jason, Tobey, AD, Molly, Lisa and Lael that I met at the Crash Pad; and all of the other great people who shared conversation and encouragement on the trails throughout the course of three tough days of running.

The greatest thing about stage races, as opposed to individual races, is the fact that when people finish running they don’t just get in the car and go home. Everyone is getting back up and running again the next day and the day after that, so there is a deeper opportunity to not just meet other runners, but to really get to know them, to share with them, and to care about them. That fact was embraced in Chattanooga. Bonds were strengthened, new friendships were made, and there are a lot of folks I’m excited to share the trails with again soon.

THE RACE

Friday – Raccoon Mountain – 18 miles – 1,564 feet of climbing

Clouds on the river on the drive to the Day 1 starting line.

Day One was the only day I was certain I’d run at Chattanooga given the uncertain condition of my left knee. My doctor gave a vote of confidence after checking it out on Wednesday, telling me to run on it but listen to it. Pain along the upper tibia and tenderness on the inside of the knee had limited me to just 6.5 miles of running in the two weeks leading up to race day. That allowed the pain and soreness to subside, but only running would really let me know how much the knee could handle.

We’re off! Day One!

Fortunately, the knee wasn’t a problem. It gave me some discomfort during miles 2 and 4 but then returned to normal. The Raccoon Mountain trails reminded me a lot of my home trails at Clinton State Park in Lawrence, Kansas. They were mostly smooth dirt, totally runnable, with lots of switchbacks that allow you to see the other runners in the woods. The climbs were short and quick, and aid stations were no farther than 6 miles apart. It was nice, easy running to start off the stage race.

My only trouble on Day One was that my calves began cramping at mile 11. That forced me to hike quite a bit during the final 7 to try to prevent any serious issues that might linger for the rest of the weekend.

I finished the 18 miles in 3:17:20, good for 158^th out of 205 who beat the 4-hour cutoff. David Riddle was the day’s winner in a course-record time of 1:52:51. Chattanooga has a survive-and-advance format that requires you to beat the cutoff to run the final days. I was happy to advance.

A post-race ice bath, followed by a lunch consisting of cold beer and salmon were exactly what I needed to recover and refuel so I could return to the trail for Day Two.

Saturday – Lookout Mountain – 22 miles – 2,506 feet of climbing

The start/finish line of Day 2.

Lookout Mountain was the most fun of the three days. It presented more technicality than day one, but was mostly runnable – unlike Day Three. It also offered the most miles, the coldest ice baths, a rope climb, popsicles at an aid station, and one glorious water crossing.

The race began with a mile-long dash down a gravel road before veering onto a trail that immediately log-jammed as runners fell single-file into a 200-foot climb so steep that a rope was necessary to make the ascent. That was followed by another mile-and-a-half of gradual climbing and 200 more feet of gain before a fast, mostly downhill, three-mile dash brought us back to where we’d started.

Heading up to the rope on Day 2.

I finished that early loop in just under an hour, hit the aid station and headed out – and up – for the next 5.5 miles to the Covenant College aid station. The final two miles to the station required 500 feet of climbing to a sun-baked lookout point that at 2,000 feet was the highest vantage point of the day.

Most of the next five miles were downhill and should have been easy running. I didn’t manage my nutrition well early in the day, however, and I bonked hard at mile 12 as my energy levels crashed. Even hiking was slow despite being on track that should have been fast. I spent most of miles 13 and 14 hiking while forcing down two gels and a full package of Honey Stinger chews before my system reloaded and I was able to settle back into a trot and I was feeling OK by the time I returned to the main aid station to repeat the early loop in reverse.

Most of the loop was the same as before, with the exception of the last part. After descending the rope and running about a half-mile down the road, we veered back into the woods and up the hillside, weaving our way along the bank of Rock Creek. Finally, just 0.3-mile from the finish line, the trail crossed the knee-deep waters of the ice-cold creek. That rejuvenating dip jolted life back into my legs and lifted my spirits to run the final stretch to the finish line.

Savoring the water crossing.

I finished Day Two in 4:19:00, good for 166^th out of 196 who beat the 5-hour cutoff. Riddle again was the day’s champion in 2:16:30.

The coldest ice bath of the weekend awaited as the baby pools were situated on the edge of Rock Creek. Cold beers were plentiful, too, although I admit I wish I’d seen the cooler of PBR before grabbing a still refreshing can of Hazed and Confused.

My body was understandably sore after completing two stages and 40 miles. My knee cooperated again, and two days were in the books. Still, the hardest miles remained.

Soaking in the ice bath with Laura and Luigi after finishing Day 2.

Sunday – Signal Mountain – 20 miles – 2,696 feet of climbing

The anxiety was palpable in the parking lot as runners picked up their bib numbers, snapped pictures near the starting line and awaited final instructions. Race veterans knew the rugged obstacles that awaited; newbies were eager to scope out some new trail; all hoped to navigate the stage in under the 5-hour time limit and complete the race we began two days earlier.

Adrenaline masked fatigue for the moment, but it didn’t take long for the brutally technical trails of Signal Mountain to delve out punishment.

About 9 miles through Day 3.

For me, the pain began a half-mile in. We hadn’t yet hit the first downhill, a 450-foot drop to the bridge across Suck Creek, when the pounding of the first two days caused my knees to scream. The pain was tolerable initially, but it grew steadily worse as the day progressed.

Three miles into the race, after we’d climbed back up 450 feet and were dropping another 400 feet to the Suck Creek Road aid station, I rolled my right ankle hard. Ouch! Moments later, while being overly cautious on the tender ankle, I banged my left shin on a fallen tree. Double-ouch!

This was going to be a long day.

After the early climbs and drops on the out-and-back to Suck Creek Road, the course leveled off in terms of vertical gain. What it lost in terms of elevation gain/loss, it made up for in technicality. Large rocks and drastically uneven footing covered most of the trail that wound along the slopes of Signal Mountain, and thick roots and more rocks covered the shoreline when the trail dipped along Middle Creek.

Among the perks of the first 16 miles was that the aid stations at Edwards Point (mile 9.4) and Signal Point (mile 11.8) were located at ideal vantage points that offered panoramic views of the surrounding forest and river below, so it was even easier to pause at the aid stations, refill water bottles and graze on snacks while soaking in some of Tennessee’s most beautiful scenery.

Jason taking care of the runners at the 11.8-mile aid station.

The greatest challenge to the tricky footing was that the pace was so slow – and Garmins weren’t accurately registering distance – that I became in danger of missing the 5-hour cutoff. I didn’t cover this many miles to miss the cutoff by a few minutes.

Trouble was, there was a half-mile of pavement between the Signal Point aid station and returning to the trail. The pounding from that stretch of asphalt sent my knees’ shrieking to a soprano pitch. I wanted to run and needed to make up some time, but each running step was more excruciating than the last.

I was close to panicking about my pace as my Garmin crept along, taking its sweet time ticking over miles 12 and 13 while I knew I was much farther along the trail. There were 75 minutes until cutoff when my Garmin rolled over 14 miles. I continued to march forward, trusting that the distance was wrong. The final aid station had to be somewhere … had to be close … had to be … THERE! Through the tree cover, I spotted the yellow Smartwool pop-up tent for the aid station at mile 16.4. I refilled the bottles on my Ultimate Direction AK Vest, poured a cup of trail mix down my throat, grabbed a potato in salt, and headed down the trail. We were on a dirt jeep road – something runnable! – and I had 66 minutes to go the final 3.6.

3 Days + 3 Mountains + 60 Miles = 4 Finishers!

The clock was ticking, but I knew I’d make it.

Each running step felt like a knife twisting into the tops of my kneecaps, so the final miles were a mixture of 30-second runs and minute-long hikes. Smooth and steady. Relentless forward progress. The dirt led to a paved road that we crossed, and that gave way to a gravel path. I could see a high school track through the trees. I crossed another road. My spirit lifted. A mile remained.

Pain be damned, I opened up my stride on a long downhill and rode the momentum part way back up the other side. The trail wound through the trees and across another bridge. I took one last hiking break to give the knees a break so I could run across the finish line. Then I heard a loud whoop echo out behind me. It was Justin. He’d suffered some nasty cramping the day before and then powered through day three. He was running. He was smiling. He gave me a fist bump and hollered out “YEAH KANSAS!” as he ran by.

Post-race soak.

A few seconds later another runner came along. He’d fought through a broken toe to come this far. It was time to go. He and I trotted together, weaved through the woods and soon saw the sun reflecting off of cars in the parking lot. This was it. He pulled ahead, and I followed about 20 yards behind. Out of the trees, across the street, and onto the grassy home stretch we ran to the finish line.

Volunteers, spectators, and the other runners who’d finished cheered. Laura – who’d had another solid day on the trails of the city where she grew up – greeted me with a big smile. Justin was waiting there, too, ready with a high-five. Luigi had been done for more than an hour, and he came over to offer congratulations. I grabbed my finisher’s jacket.

Post-race soak … with dry ice.

My time of 4:37:33 was good for 135^th out of the 168 finishers, and far behind Riddle, who won again in a course-record time of 2:37:54.

Mary finished a few minutes later, and then the final runners trickled in as the clock counted up to 5:00:00.

We lingered a bit longer in the post-race ice bath, sipping on cold cans of Yuengling, snapping extra photos after dry ice had been tossed into the water, and savoring a few final minutes of what was an extraordinary weekend.

LOOKING BACK; LOOKING FORWARD

I didn’t run my best at Chattanooga, nor did I run as well as I hoped I would given the issues with my knee going into the race. Fortunately, a three-day finishing time of 12:13:53 isn’t how I’ll remember Chattanooga. In fact, time wouldn’t be the way I’d remember it had I run an hour faster – which I think might be realistic if I had a good weekend.

Instead, regardless of time, I’ll remember Chattanooga for being one of my favorite running experiences ever. I got to run some incredible new trails, I got to run in some stunningly gorgeous scenery each day, and I got to spend my time on and off the trails with wonderful, happy, inspiring people who – regardless of if they finished in the top 10 or only managed to finish one day of the stage race – made a positive impact on the weekend.

If I want to run a faster time, I’d better come back next year. If I want to have three more days of fun in the Tennessee dirt, I’d better come back next year. If I want to share the trails again with some of these glorious people, I’d better come back next year.

Chattanooga, I’ll see you again in 2014.

Pre-race shirt, three race bibs, and a finisher’s jacket.

Two marquee trail-running events captured my attention in 2012, and at the time I wasn’t ready for them – at least I didn’t think I was.

My training wasn’t ready to tackle all three days of Three Days of Syllamo (I’d planned on just running days 1 and 3) but was unable to get away from work. Another three-day stage race, the Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race, had sold out by the time I first caught wind of it.

Long ago, both events guaranteed their placement on my 2013 race schedule.

It’s turned out that both events have quite a bit more in common for me than when they captured my interest or the fact that they each last three days.

I’ll also enter both events at much less than 100 percent.

Calf issues that can be traced back to Big Bend led me to enter Syllamo with only two double-digit mileage runs in the two months leading up to the event. Not good for a 97-mile stage race with about 27,000 feet of vertical gain. Not surprisingly, I didn’t finish all three days. I survived the 50K on day one and had a great 20(ish)K on day three, but dropped 19 miles into the 50-miler on day three.

No regrets there. The weekend went better than I expected, and I went home sore and exhausted, but healthy, and with a world of great memories spent with fantastic friends – both those that I knew beforehand and those that I shared the trail with. There are folks who I got to run with who I can’t wait to share some miles with at Syllamo again next year.

Coming off of Syllamo, I began running my strongest since Leadville Silver Rush last July. I finished 10^th at the Free State 40-miler in April, and then cranked up my hill training to prepare for Chattanooga and, ultimately, the Meet Your Maker 50-Miler on Sept. 1 in Whistler.

Excessive rain made the dirt trails a sloppy mess for weeks on end, and that left me stuck doing hill training on pavement much more than I’d prefer. Two weeks ago, the repercussions began to reveal themselves as my patellar tendons became inflamed. Twelve days ago, that pain worked its way into the upper tibia just below my left knee, after another day of hill training. The same – though less prevalent – happened to the right leg. It wasn’t too noticeable at first, but after the Wednesday Night Run it couldn’t be ignored.

Since then, I’ve run just once. That was Monday, and I turned the right ankle hard on a muddy tree root. Karma.

Excessive icing and zero running since then have the right knee feeling close to 100 percent. The left knee is vastly improved, but still not ready to be run on.

Which brings me back to Chattanooga.

When I signed up I had expectations of running well. Two weeks ago, I expected to perform even better than originally envisioned – not as far as competing, or placing high, or anything like that. I just really felt good about where my legs were. I could bang out a Saturday 20-miler and feel reasonably strong and recovered the next day. I was hammering my hill training, gaining about 1,500 feet over seven miles without needing to walk.

Now, I’ll head to Chattanooga hoping to be healthy enough to run all three days and return home in one piece.

It’s tempting to back out. Maybe I should. Why take a chance on the knee?

Then again, why not give it a go? If race day arrives and the knee tells me it’s not ready, then so be it.

If I learned anything from Three Days of Syllamo, it’s that there’s a lot more to stage races than the running. Stage races have a vibe unlike any other event. By nature, they’re basically field parties with a little running thrown in on some of the most beautiful trails in America.

I can’t wait to explore a new city, see a few familiar faces, meet even more new ones both on the trail, while soaking in the creek post-race and kicking back at the Crash Pad. I can’t wait to share trail stories and let my brain be tantalized about other races around the planet that will quickly find their way onto my bucket list.

If all of that happens and my knee also cooperates and lets me run all three days, fantastic. If all of that happens and I only get to run one day, so be it. I’ll enjoy the heck out of everything else that the weekend has to offer.

Not gonna lie, it was pretty exciting to see my first submittal in the print edition of my favorite magazine this month. I had a piece make the online newsletter about 18 months ago, so to make it into the print edition was rewarding. I have two more articles – one of them a mid-length feature – currently being reviewed for publication in issues later this year.

There’s a lot of exciting stuff going on in the midwest trail scene, and I feel blessed to have the opportunity to tell some of our local stories to a national audience.

It started with a flight delay and ended with a flight delay, but everything in between was as close to perfection.

That was the overwhelming feeling of last weekend’s trip to Austin for Katie’s early birthday celebration trip to Enchanted Rock State Natural Area.

Everything went exactly as it should, which isn’t to say that there was any firm agenda or expectation other than that a wealth of fun and adventure would ensue — and that’s exactly what happened.

Peaceful bliss and plenty of firsts.

I rented a bike for the first time, and rode a non-stationary bike for the first time in about a decade.

I attended my very first yoga class and discovered why that needs to become a part of my training routine.

I was introduced to Austin’s Greenbelt Trail system and got to experience the normally bone-dry trail with actual water. Not just a small creek, either, but with about a half-dozen water crossings – one of them chest deep.

I visited Enchanted Rock for the first time.

I also got to experience the entire trip with a group of folks who – with the exception of Katie, and Erin who we had dinner with on Friday – I’d never met in person prior to the weekend. Knowing Katie’s character and ideals, I was confident I’d be in good company for this adventure with her crew, and that was certainly the case.

It was a weekend of new friends, new adventures, and new experiences that are best summed up by the beautiful sunrise photos from Enchanted Rock.

Much like the sunrise, the trip was perfect.

I woke up early to share this beautiful scene with some inspiring people Sunday morning at Enchanted Rock State Natural Area in Texas.

Sometimes you’ve gotta wake up early to see the earth at its most beautiful.

I’d forgotten how much these miles can hurt, but that was the point of signing up for the Free State 40-miler.

The focal point of my 2013 trail season is the Meet Your Maker 50-Miler on Sept. 1 in Whistler, B.C. I will have plenty of long time-on-feet training runs before race day, but I wanted to have one longer than eight hours to remind myself that no matter how much the miles can hurt, you have to keep going. I learned about that pain at the Silver Rush 50 last summer in Leadville, Colo., but the feeling — the aching arches of my feet, the grumpy knees and tightness in the lower back – had faded with time and become lost in the photographs and memories of that remarkable day.

The 50-miler at 3 Days of Syllamo would’ve provided a sufficient reminder and taken care of the time on feet that I sought, but I DNF’d after 19 miles in the wake of a hard 50K the day before. Free State provided another opportunity.

Free State did not disappoint.

The trails at Clinton Lake State Park in Lawrence provided a little bit of everything that I’ve come to expect from them – technical footing, quick climbs, fast downhills, a cool breeze off the lake, and a whole lot of wonderful singletrack wiggling its way through the woods.

But the trails also provided a serious butt-kicking that I should have expected. I know the Clinton trails well, but somehow underestimated them on this day.

The first 20-mile loop was a wonderful run through the woods. Danny Loenthal and I struck up conversation at the starting line, and that chatter carried us through the early miles as we cruised through Cactus Ridge and then onto the Blue Trail and the rocky Red Trail section right along the lakeshore to Land’s End. Dave Everhart and Emily Royal joined us at around mile three, and our group stuck together until the 10.5-mile mark when Dave and I sped up a bit. We cruised through the Nature Trail Loop, refueled at the Corps of Engineers Aid Station and then hopped onto the White Trail and picked up the pace on the numerous quick downhill sections as we made our way back to the Start/Finish.

We finished the loop in about 3:48, and my legs felt great. We’d made good time, I’d managed my nutrition by eating mostly solid foods from aid stations (something I planned to do rather than relying so much on gels).

Shortly after heading back out for the second loop, however, the effects of a quick first loop caught up with my legs. My hamstrings tightened up within the first mile, as did my lower back. A nasty stone bruise also flared up under the toes on my right foot. From that point on, the race turned into a grind.

Dave and I hiked most of Cactus Ridge and the Red Trail before we found some downhill stretches where I could open up my stride, pick up the pace, and settle into a trot. At mile 27 I told Dave to go ahead so I wouldn’t hold him back. He stuck with me anyway, which was a real blessing. In addition to providing company and conversation, he kept me moving steadily forward. That proved to be particularly helpful after leaving the Corps of Engineers Aid Station with about 8 1/2 miles to go. We didn’t see another soul in front or behind us from that point until reaching Land’s End, so Dave kept me pushing ahead during what could have been lonely miles (and much slower miles if done solo).

My motivation picked up with three miles to go when the mileage markers provided assurance that the finish line was close. Dave and I picked up the pace during that final stretch. Finally, with a half-mile to go Dave glanced at his watch and said, “You want to get in under 8:30, right? Then you’ve got about five, maybe six minutes, to get to the finish.”

We hammered the final stretch, popped out onto the gravel road and charged up the hill to the finish line with time to spare.

The second-longest run of my life was done in 8:28:05, good enough for 10^th overall.

I accomplished all three of my goals for the day — to have fun, to get a lot of time on my feet, and to finish. I also had some weaknesses exposed (hamstrings, glutes) that I need to focus on strengthening, and I got a much-needed reminder of how much the long miles can hurt on race day. The pain can be minimized with more long training runs in the coming months leading up to the Meet Your Maker 50. Ultimately, that was the point of running on Saturday. Free State reaffirmed my commitment to put in those long days on the trail so that I’ll be ready on race day.

The Free State training day was a success. Now there’s more work to do.

I’m still sorting out my thoughts on the Boston Marathon bombing, and I’m elated that they caught the bastards tonight. For now, I’m looking forward to wearing the Red Sox B cap proudly during the Free State 40 tomorrow out of respect for those who died in the bombing and in the pursuit to catch the culprits, as well as for the injured, and for those who had their race cut short.

Beyond my immediate family and some longtime friends, I’ve known few bonds as strong as those in the running community, whether it be longtime running friends or runners who meet mid-race and help pull each other to the finish line.

Love. Respect. Boston.

#RunForBoston at the Free State 40

We were a half-mile into the race and power-hiking through a 500-foot climb. It was the start of Day Three, a 20(ish)K that measured about 14 miles, and my hike matched Stu Johnson’s stride for stride.

Normally I wouldn’t be OK with this since I’ve never had any business being near Stu during a trail race. He’s one of the most experienced and accomplished trail runners in Kansas City, so in the past being near him was a sign that I’d started way too fast, and on those days the result was disaster. But, on this day I was fine with it – for the moment, anyway. I can power-hike with just about anybody, so this would work as long as we were hiking.

We began to chat, and Stu – a nine-year veteran of Three Days of Syllamo – offered a few words of wisdom.

“The thing about Day Three …” Stu said, “is that you go hard for as long as you can, and then you go hard for a few more miles after that, and then you’re done.”

It made sense. Day One of the three-day stage race in Mountain View, Ark., was a heavy 50K with more than 7,500 feet of climbing. Day Two was a 50-miler with more than 14,700 feet of gain. Survive all that, and every step of Day Three was one step closer to getting to stop, soak your legs in the cold creek, and take a week off to recover. Why not push it?

The conversation continued as we reached the top of the climb. The hiking ended. Stu began to trot, and he picked up the pace quickly. I went with him. The conversation continued…

THREE DAYS EARLIER: THE ARRIVAL

Pre-race nerves officially began Thursday morning when I pulled into the parking lot in Overland Park to meet up with Sherrie Klover and Chris Thomas for our road trip to Mountain View.

The nerves were mild at first, but they reverberated through Chris’ truck as all three of us were Syllamo newbies. Even Sherrie – who ran the 99^th fastest 100-mile time by a woman in the United States in 2012 – was on edge not knowing quite what to expect.

Nerves transitioned to full-fledged jitters when we pulled up to race headquarters late that afternoon for packet pick-up. The start/finish location for all three days was in a beautiful, open park space. Try running in any direction from there, however, and the only direction was up. Way up.

Gulp.

I knew from previous reports that Syllamo would be tough. I also knew I’d never done anything of this magnitude before. I had one 50-mile finish under my belt, but my biggest mileage week ever totaled 57 miles. This would be about 97 in three days. On top of that, I’d had just two double-digit mileage runs in the previous seven weeks while dealing with cranky calves. I knew I was undertrained but hoped I wasn’t in over my head.

Gulp.

A dreamcatcher dangled above my bed in the cabin that weekend, but there were no dreams for it to catch that first night. I didn’t sleep a minute. My eyes were closed for about six hours, but my brain was wide awake. Did I pack enough gels? Did I remember TP? How about sunscreen? Typical pre-race night. So many unnecessary thoughts to keep sleep at bay.

My goals for the weekend were simply to finish each day, stay injury free, learn how to become a better trail runner with smarter pacing and nutrition, and to have an absolute blast on the trails with my friends. Accomplishing those goals would begin the next morning.

DAY ONE: “ARE WE LOST?”

It was chilly in the valley as Race Director Steve Kirk gave the official welcome to runners and offered up some final instructions before sending us on our way for the 50K.

We were warned to hydrate early and often, and to be sure to refill our bottles at aid stations because we would go as many as nine miles between aid stations and it was supposed to be uncharacteristically hot.

Sure enough, the chills disappeared after a mile as we marched single-file up a 500-foot climb. The higher we climbed, the warmer it got. From there, no matter up or down, the day got hotter and hotter. Temperatures cracked the 80s early and took a major toll.

Adding to the challenge was the fact that there were scarce course markings – something that was made clear on the race website as well as at the pre-race meeting. A few turns were tough to spot if you weren’t looking for them, and we got off-course for a half-mile at one point due to inattentive behavior. There were a few stretches of a few miles without marking, however, that created additional stress when going as many as nine miles between aid stations in the heat with water supplies dwindling (This would have been of much less concern on a day in the 60s or low 70s as had been anticipated).

Sherrie and I stuck together for all but the final mile. We latched on with Jeremy Day and Erin Miller at about mile 10, and Jeremy served as our pace car the rest of the way. It was a tremendous benefit to have his trail experience leading the way to keep me from going too fast too early and from crashing and burning during the second half of the race. My goal was to finish, and it was achieved after 7 hours and 17 minutes. I’d paced intelligently by sticking with more veteran runners, and I’d handled my nutrition pretty well throughout the day. I was pleased with all of that.It as a very good day, but my butt was kicked.

A few minutes after finishing, I got to see Sarah Henning cross the finish line. From there, we headed to the river to join the other finishers for some quality recovery therapy.

While sitting in the river with Sarah and soaking my legs in the frigid spring water, I didn’t feel good about the Saturday 50-miler. My legs were trashed, my lower back had tightened up badly, and the heat had sapped my system.

“Are you still running tomorrow?” she inquired.

Sarah had signed up for Days One and Three, so she would be crewing on Saturday.

My body told me the answer should be “no.” Nothing felt injured or out of place, however. Fatigue was absolutely understandable and expected.  I told her I planned to show up at the starting line Saturday morning and give it a shot, but I asked her to look out for me.

DAY TWO: DOUBT AND DNF

When I rolled out of bed at 4 a.m. from another sleepless night under the dreamcatcher, the first thing I noticed was that I could stand.

My legs didn’t buckle. There were no sharp pains to go with all of that stiffness.

If I could stand, then I could walk.

If I could walk, then I could start the 50-miler.

Two hours later, I was back at the starting line to give it a shot.

The day played out as I expected it to. I hiked the first mile along with almost everyone else, then coasted on a nice long downhill section, then hiked again, coasted another downhill, and resumed hiking.

I latched on briefly with Nikki Parkhurst and Genevieve Spivey around mile 7 and stayed with them for a bit before falling back. It was my only decent running mile of the day. I saw Sarah at the 9.5-mile aid station, told her I planned to keep going, grabbed a grilled cheese sandwich that an angel working the aid station had made, and continued marching forward. My legs continued to feel worse, though, and my pace dwindled.

I caught up to Jim Sheldon at around mile 17, and he was having serious stomach issues. I already knew my chances of making the first course cutoff were minimal, and they were almost nonexistent to make the second cutoff. I decided to call it a day, so I stayed with Jim to make sure we could get him to the aid station at 19 miles so he could get more food and fluid.

Upon arrival at the aid station, Sarah was waiting with her vehicle. Genevieve had dropped with a foot injury, and Jim and I joined them in calling it a day after 19 miles.

Typically I wouldn’t be OK with dropping from a race, but this time I was absolutely fine with the decision. My calves had started acting funny again, but I was moving slow enough that they didn’t get bad. I knew my pace wasn’t getting any faster and that my energy reserves were low. I also knew that by making the decision early I had an opportunity come back on day three and finish the weekend strong.

Perhaps I let too many doubts creep into my head. Maybe I could’ve picked up the pace and ultimately finished.

Regardless, the prospect of successfully finishing two of the three days seemed a whole lot better than slogging through a few more miles on day two, doing damage to my calves, getting pulled at the cutoff anyway and then not starting day three.

No regrets. Live to run another day.

DAY THREE: RUNNING WITH A LEGEND

It didn’t take more than a minute or two after Stu picked up the pace before the thought crossed my mind that this wasn’t a good idea. I’d been down this road before; I knew how it was supposed to end. My brain kept telling me to fall back and conserve, but our conversation continued and we settled into a steady rhythm.

A light drizzle fell as we chatted about the weekend (Stu had an extra 31 miles on his legs by finishing the 50-miler the day before), about previous years’ races, the tough conditions of the first two days, and about future races as the miles clicked by.

When we reached the lone aid station at mile 8.5, I grabbed a cookie and continued on while Stu stopped to refill a water bottle and chat briefly with a runner in an Ozark Trail 100 shirt (Stu is a co-RD for that race). It was during that short separation that my brain began to think about pace and fatigue. We had gone awfully fast, it seemed, so slowing down a bit might be a good idea.

I reached a gravel road and began to hike so Stu could catch up. Maybe 30 seconds later he flew past me, smacked me on the butt and said “No walking! Let’s go!”

With that, we were cruising again.

“Go hard for as long as you can,” I remembered, “and then go hard for a few more miles after that, and then you’re done.”

Go hard. We’re almost done!

I hit the next trailhead first, and set the pace for the final miles as Stu stayed right on my heels. We power-hiked the remaining climbs, and blazed through the rest. By now the trail consisted mostly of long downhill sections covered in pine needles, leaves and dirt.

Occasionally, Stu would call out to be careful of the slick rocks that occasionally popped up, usually just in time for me to hop over them or tiptoe through them and keep going.

Those final 5.5 miles seemed to go by in a flash, and soon Stu and I popped out of the woods and back onto the road that took us to the finish line where we crossed side-by-side in 2:35 – about 15-25 minutes ahead of where I’d expected to be that morning.

“Go hard for a few more miles after that, and then you’re done.”

We were done.

Stu is one of the runners I’ve looked up to the most since I started running trails in July 2010.  Getting to share the trail and a few hours of conversation with him – and be pushed by him to run stronger and tougher – was the perfect way to close out the weekend. It was an absolute privilege.

LOOKING BACK; LOOKING FORWARD

It’s always nice to finish a race and have no regrets, and I feel that way about my inaugural trip to 3 Days of Syllamo. Other than completing the full series, I achieved all of my goals. I also put in 64.5 miles, which makes it my biggest single-week running mileage total. Can’t complain about that.

I also made some new friends on the trail and got to spend a lot of quality time with old friends on the trail, on the road to and from the races, and hanging out in our cabins.

In addition, I learned a lot of valuable lessons from my first stage race that I expect to pay major dividends at my next stage race – the Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race in June.

I already have Syllamo on my race schedule for next year and plan to sign up the day registration opens. I also expect to finish all three days in 2014.

Three days. 97 miles. More than 27,000 feet of vertical gain.

We leave in the morning. My bags are packed, but my legs aren’t ready.

At least I don’t think they’re ready.

When I toed the starting line of the Big Bend Ultra 50K back in January, my legs were pretty close to top shape. I’d had three strong months of training and was ready to fly.

Since finishing Big Bend, however, my training has been in a rut.

I’ve had just two double-digit mileage runs since the race on Jan. 20. I hit a 50K PR at Big Bend, but I had nasty calf cramps for the final 14 miles.  Calf problems have plagued me ever since.

Three Days of Syllamo is this weekend in Mountain View, Arkansas. Day 1 is a 50K with more than 7,000 feet of climbing. Day 2 is a 50-miler with more than 14,000 feet of vertical gain. Day 3 is a 20K that, I’m told, is actually a few miles longer.

If it was just a lack of mileage, I know I could still get myself to the finish line all three days. The calf problems are what have bothered me mentally, however. They’ve brought runs to an immediate halt during the past two months, and they’ve been a significant enough problem that they have me heading to Syllamo with some doubts.

I’ve never gone into a race with doubts about finishing before, so that really bothers me.

I expect to run smart, and I expect to finish. But I have to be able to count on my calves to get me through. They’ve felt good this week, in part since I haven’t run since Saturday (when they tightened up again).

I suppose each day is going to be a mystery – which really is part of the point of stage races. What will the course throw at you? What will the weather conditions be? How will your body respond each morning when you head back out for more?

I don’t think my legs are ready, but I hope they are.

Time will tell.