Race vid from last year: Yakima Skyline Rim – 25/50k – 2014 from Project Talaria on Vimeo.

Overall
Executed the strategy (finish and not get hurt). Ran super conservatively. But couldn’t really pick it up so late in the race (and on the last climb) to make it under 9 hours (which seems ridiculous, but the climbs and the descents were both very technical and long). This finish time was an hour faster than my 50 mile time. I really thought this one was going to break me — but it didn’t.

I took my Black Diamond z-poles and they were great on the steep climbs, but difficult to stop and put them away. I ended up using them all day – which saves the legs, but leads to a slower running pace. So making the transition to running didn’t go very well. And where I would have pushed it to run, I just walked fast and poled on. So.. no more poles in 50k’s.

I ran the course (and hiked a lot), but I did not race it. I need to remember the difference.

Hydration+nutrition
I stayed too long at the halfway aid station, but I felt terrible going in (which means nutrition probably wasn’t good on the way in) – I was extremely hungry and thirsty. I ate half a pb&j. and started to eat the nut butter from my drop bag. Felt a lot better and then shoved off. Very very hot.

From mile 16 – 25 I let myself get dehydrated. I ran out of water about 2 miles from aid. Not sure how I could have mitigated this unless I drank more water at the turnaround – but I drank nearly 40oz and then filled up with another 40. I was peeing dark urine and experienced a lot of pain – I was thinking that this must be what passing a kidney stone is like – but worse. At the 25m aid I took 3 s-caps, drank water, ate a clif shot, some potato chips and then left. The only time I hesitated was at the start of the final climb. It was extremely steep (put out your hand to touch the trail). And I began very slowly, one step at a time.

The jeep trail to final descent was very runnable, but I mostly power-hiked stopping to pee often. The last descent was steep at the top – like 30 degrees+ but then mellowed out and I ran it back to the finish.

I quickly rehydrated, ate some pizza and then changed and started the drive back to Portland.

The good
No chafing at all. Lots of body glide and zinc oxide worked well all day – as did the new no seam undies. Shorts were cool all day, no chafing with the new shirt (Salomon). Didn’t feel like I needed compression shorts or calf sleeves. Wore sun sleeves all day and didn’t get any sunburn on my arms (only my hands and lips).

The bad
Poles – never again.
I was carrying too much crap – shell, emergency blanket, phone, probably too many gels.
Lighten things up for Beacon Rock and go sub-7 hours.

New race kit
2 handheld bottles
1 waist 10oz
5 gels (replenish at aid stations)
clif blocks / nut butter
s-caps

The ugly
Slowest 50k I’ve ever run, but don’t feel so terrible about it. It’s an understatement to say the course was extremely difficult – it was brutal with 9,500ft of climbing. The conditions were hot and dry. I’m okay with the result – and I’ll be back to race next year.

I knew who Tom was before we were friends. We shared a class, “Music of the Delta blues” at Maryland, we learned about the music of John Lee Hooker, Muddy Waters and Robert Johnson. I remember Tom because he wore these big-heeled lumberjack boots. And the bike he rode, the Cramerotti track bike with the downturned handlebars. I’m not sure if he ever wore the boots and rode the bike at the same time. Maybe he did. We were all exploring our identities in those days. We would have both been about 20 years old.

A few years later Tom was hired at REI in College Park to work in the bike shop. Peter was the master tech, Fabio, Dan and I were mechanics. Days off and weekends were filled with quick drives up to Patapsco State Park or Gambrill to go mountain biking.

I used to give Tom a hard time when he would get excited and ask me, “you know that log, right before the curve at the top of that short climb after crossing the creek?” He could have been describing any trail through any forest anywhere on the planet – but most of the time I knew exactly what section of trail he was talking about.

It’s no surprise the two of us fell in together. We were both Catholic school boys from working class families with respect for authority insomuch as there is no authority.

In the bike shop, Tom earned a nickname for the doodles he used to draw on the shop benches. Little horned faces. He was good-natured and took it in stride. I realize now it was just his passion and his intensity. Tom’s passions defined him.

You know most about that Rachel.

I remember Tom walking back into the shop after talking to you once at REI. Wow did he have a grin on his face; he was quite pleased with himself. He had big plans for the two of you.

Most of us who rode together during those times were thrilled to just be on our bikes and ride through the woods. But with Tom it was something else.

When Tom bought his welding equipment and started brazing, I knew he was setting out on an entirely different path. The first time Tom showed me a tubeset and lug that he was hand filing to fit, he slowly unwrapped the pieces from their protective cloth with such care, I thought they may have been made of gold. They were gold to Tom. Making bicycle frames by hand is not for the impatient. Tom was a patient man.

Tom and I spent a lot of time together in those years, the days before we married and started families. A lot of time driving to the mountains in his Ford Tempo and talking. I remember one ride in particular when we were pushing our bikes up some mountain, carrying our backpacks, probably lost.

I’ll tell you what Tom and I talked about.

We talked about our dads. What our dads were like, what kind of men they were. Tom described your hands as two big hams, strong from holding hand tools for so many years. I can’t think of a higher compliment from a son to his father, he wanted hands like yours.

My most cherished memory is of a ride we took in late November one year. We were riding the length of Massanutten mountain in Virginia. Tom and I had been bikepacking a number of times; taking lightweight camping gear and overnighting so that we could ride further into the backcountry. We started out on a cold morning and encountered a light dusting of snow up high. We rode all day and reached an open-sided wooden shelter where we were to sleep for the night. It was cold and windy and we didn’t sleep much in our wet cycling clothes.

We were awake before dawn and sat up in our sleeping bags. Turning on our headlamps we looked out into the darkness. Heavy snow was falling illuminated by the light of our lamps. All was quiet and still and we sat and watched the snow fall together in this sublime sliver of time.

I have a picture of Tom sitting atop his mountain bike in front of Elizabeth’s Furnace. These are the old blast furnaces found in the mountains of Virginia where iron ore was extracted from the mountains and melted down to make steel during the Civil War. There is something poetic about that picture of Tom. Raw materials taken from the earth, melted down and forged into metal.

Tom and I exchanged email last December.
I asked him how his mid-life crisis was going and told him about a recent vacation our family had taken.

Tom wrote back:
“Glad to hear the girls are doing well. Time really flies. Sadie is in kindergarten now and Sam will start preschool in January. We’re going through the brother/sister battle phase right now and Sam is the quintessential terrible three’s kid.

That trip sounds pretty awesome. We have an upcoming trip to Disney World. My mom will be there so Rachel and I will get some adult time. How was flying with the kids? Any tips I should keep in mind?”

And that was Tom.

Son, husband, dad, cyclist, craftsman. My friend.

Thank you Tom. Thank you Rachel, Thank you Sadie. Thank you Sam.

I have the mental map of every twist, turn, root, tree, hill, curve of the trail on this run.

http://www.strava.com/activities/231609333

Just 1 gel and a little water.
It was drizzling at Council Crest but I didn’t linger. Very muddy.

Excellent footage, excellent topic.

In my experience, there a lot of mountain athletes who share these traits. There is the dopamine / endorphin chemistry that occurs when pursuing outdoor activity. The thrill of climbing mountains, moving fast through complex terrain, up or down.

Everyone has ups and downs in life, I’ve personally never experienced what he’s talking about – the kind of depression that keeps you in bed for days. I get antsy when I don’t get outside, when I’m not doing something physical.

There is also a stigma about depression and mental illness and I just like that he shares what it’s like. And he’s humble about it.

depressions – a few moments from 30 miles in the canyon. from the Wolpertinger on Vimeo.

Hard work today.

http://www.strava.com/activities/230648012

This is my new favorite run from bSIDE6. I love being about to get on the steep trails and and suffer a little bit during the day. Winter rains are causing the trails to become muddy and slippery. I’m still running in road shoes because of the road approach. I slid a few times descending.

It takes me most of the morning to mentally prep for a run like this one. The distance: I need to visualize every section and see myself moving quickly through each one. The weather: if it’s raining or cold – I need to prep for being cold and wet and getting muddy. I came back with mud all over my face today. Don’t know how.

I took my iPhone in a ziplock bag on my small waist pack today and took a few pictures. There is a natural desire to share experiences, especially solo experiences, but it’s so difficult to stop and take a photo. It slows me down, I get cold – I worry about capturing what I think would best describe the experience. It’s impossible. I concluded today that if someone wants to know what it’s like… they can read about it, they can ask me, or they can join me.

I’ve never lived in a place that is a perpetual state decay and growth, but that’s the best description of the PNW that I can think of – the forests are dripping with moisture, moss covers everything, decomposed organic matter everywhere, green everywhere.

Mile 8 was at a 6:44 pace… which is fast for me. I was pressing very hard coming back along the Esplanade. I think I scared a woman running as I crossed under the Hawthorne Bridge – her accoutrement was fitness chic with pearl earrings to match.

I was drooling, face caked with mud, OK if I puked, grunting my exhales LOUDLY.
I got after it today. Run happy. Perfect.

And I knew this was going to be the case but I didn’t want to believe it. All the running I’ve been doing didn’t do much for my climbing. After Sunday’s jaunt to Hood, my hip flexors are sore and my legs are tired.  Ran today and felt terrible.

Today’s run thought: There are no mutants, only people who work really really (really) hard. Harder than you think possible. And when that kind of work is put in – then it makes movement look effortless. There is no secret, only year after year of hard work.

http://www.strava.com/activities/230091592

I’m not going to run this route again. At the point on Burnside where there is no shoulder and traffic is approaching down the hill at high speed, I caught my left foot in a blackberry vine and nearly tripped into the road – tripped enough that I had my hands out to catch my fall.

I texted T on Friday and within 2 minutes we had plans for Sunday.  First day of the season, no expectations, just get out and stretch the legs a bit.

I was up at 5 making coffee and boiling water for tea to carry in the vacuum bottle. We were on the road to Govy by 6am. After signing in at the climber’s registry, we started up to Silcox hut. Windy right from the start, but the sun was shining and the horizon was clear with only a low broken cloud layer beneath us.

Right away I realized how thin the snow cover was;  the road was chewed up cat track with gravel and exposed rocks everywhere. The snow was slightly better when we reached the hut and tucked behind the east wall to have a snack before continuing up.

Right away we made the mistake of trying to stay just to the right of the run coming down Palmer glacier. I’ve made this mistake a couple of times and it turns out to extremely icy. I think the wind coming over the ridge hits this spot and blows the snow down to an icy surface. We ended up traversing right and getting on the cat track as we made our way to the top of Palmer.

The wind wasn’t gusting but was consistently in the 30-50mph range. I had a buff pulled up over my mouth and wore glasses – I should have covered up more and been wearing goggles.  The whipping ice and snow was exfoliating my face. When the wind slowly picked up I just turned my face away and down and paused until the winds calmed.

2800 meters, Hoodwand. Cold and windy.

A photo posted by Chris Rivard (@chrisrivard) on Dec 12, 2014 at 7:53pm PST

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We traversed back left and made our way to the lift house at the top of Palmer, went inside and took our skis off and decided what to do. The skinning up high would be more wind blasted ice and probably not much fun to ski down. We decided to leave the skis and don crampons and continue up. The spindrift was covering everything – if I left my pack open for half a minute, it would be filled with snow. We stashed the skis outside the lift house in case they decided to shut it down and close the door because of the wind.

After climbing up for another 35 minutes,  to about 9400 feet, we went left and got a clear view of Illumination Saddle (one possible objective for the day). Tucked behind a boulder we had a snack, dispatched the Stiegl and agreed to descend, pick up the skis and bug out.

The ski out was icy and windy. Not super ideal conditions, but it was good to finally get out and on the mountain.

A few things:

• We were a little bit lax in our morning meeting. It consisted of a couple of objectives, subject to change based on conditions. It was an okay way to plan, but we should have done it before we left over coffee. Weather planning was okay – clear skies were forecasted, but I didn’t see anything about the wind.
• One thing I always try to improve are transitions. I usually put on my climbing skis the night before I set out instead of at the trailhead. My pack could have been better organized for food. Water was good – I carried about 2.5 liters plus the 20oz vacuum bottle. I didn’t put the insulated tube on the hydration pack though, so the bite valve froze closed.
• I did’t take the handheld GPS, but used a topo app with 15m quads on my phone – but I had my phone in my pack and it quickly went outside of the operating temperatures. The message on an iPhone when that happens is that the phone needs to “cool down”, it was actually frozen and rebooted after I put it in my pants pocket to re-warm.
• We took too long at the top of Palmer. I was thinking, would we be out in these conditions if there weren’t people around and if the lift house was closed? Not sure – but I think there is a false comfort in knowing there is shelter. I think in the future I’m going to avoid going anywhere near the lift house and rest/transition without relying on it; on a summit climb (leaving the lodge by 2am) the door is shut and locked.
• Never try to skin straight up Palmer … unless there has been a big dump and low winds. It’s always more efficient to stay right on the cat track.
• No more stopping at Silcox Hut – that should just be a quick gear check before continuing up.