Rocks, Ice, Dirt and Angels

Vippasana Experiences

2011-02-22T06:52:00.000-08:00

A man is told that his eyes are blue when he knows they’re brown. He should know, he’s seen through them for 40 years. Just to prove it he looks in the mirror and sees that, in fact, they are blue. At first there’s a sort of shock and bewilderment but that quickly gives way to the calming knowing, perhaps remembrance, that they have always been that way. They didn’t just change. “That’s right…that makes sense. I guess I knew that, somehow. Fascinating, nearly overwhelming but ‘normal’ and anticlimactic and the same time.”

This is the best way I can describe the experiences I have been feeling as my Vipassana meditation practice has been maturing over the past year. The hard work of sitting each day with Right Effort, Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration has provided many initial benefits but, lately, over the past few months, clear deeper insights are beginning to come. I’m certain they’ve always been there, but were not clear, covered up in layers upon layers of delusion that a being’s life inevitably amasses to make life ‘easier.’ Studying Buddhist lessons via multiple authors and traditions provides the base of understanding, surely, but to actually experience first-hand these truths is truly wonderful and vital to really knowing their meanings – intense and quiet at the same time.

1. Annata (not-self) – while sitting before a 4-day meditation retreat, I experienced a deep and powerful focusing of mind yet unattained in previous sits over the past year. The effort and mindfulness worked together allowing my concentration to become as sharp as a knife, cutting through the fetters of my mental habits. A cascade of awareness, like an energy expansion from my core, radiated outwards, expanding physical elements of my body outwards, in concert with the universe in its constant expansion. My body, my concept of solidity, began to lose its definition in my mind. There was no longer skin, hair, organs, bones. Each was experienced not as a concept of a whole, but as aggregate parts. Tissues disappeared and were felt as cells with intercellular void space between them. Their fatty-lipid bilayer holding the nucleus, ancient, primordial mitochondria and all of the cell’s components, along with the massive space between them, was experienced simply as expansion, space and energy. This expansion was realized, then, as a concept for my mind to grasp and deal with the experience, so it too then fell away leaving only direct experience. Now the nucleus and all of its chromosomes, DNA, was experienced as mostly space…seemingly infinite space between physical sub-parts. All that remained of my ‘body’ was subatomic particles interacting via the physical laws of energy and the same immense space that defines, in inverse terms, our universe. One in the same. Always there and never experienced through our five senses, only via our sixth. For an unknown period of time, I was able to experience what I believe to be Samahdi – the pure, focus of attention, undeluded by concept, motivation, or habit thought so that only the experience is known thereby allowing insight to flow. This was a taste of a level of meditation that I can only hope to achieve with more regularity in this lifetime, but don’t expect to. How it came to be during this sit is as of yet unknown to me.

2. Consciousness – During a sit last week, a subtler level of Samahdi, one without the nearly overwhelming experience of energy, expansion, space and dissolution of the body into its aggregates, led to the direct experience of multiple-layered streams of thought and possibly an independent partnering consciousness of them. To better explain this, consider the ocean in its tremendous dark depths. Life exists at all depths but is not directly known by us through our five senses as most all of that life does not emit sound or light enough for our eyes and ears to detect them, yet they are all there moving, interacting, reacting, pushing, pulling, consuming, living, dying, rotting and their aggregate parts being assimilated into new life forms and the ocean floor to become limestone. During this particular sit, my awareness grew and dove to similar depths in my mind which I have not yet experienced in my 40 years. At least 2 deeper layers of thought exist below my daily conscious mind and I doubt that there is a limit to the total number of layers, or depth of the mind. As I maintained the role of a quiet witness, or observer, I watched as random streams of thought floated through the darkness and my mindfulness follow behind it, separate, unattached. These deeper thoughts did not dissolve and lose their power as easily as the more surficial mind habits but, eventually, they fell away. I suspect these depths are more powerful given that the unfocused mind typically allows them to run amuck unchecked. I am hopeful that by witnessing these deeper levels I can uncover habit energies that have affected my existence and gain some form of understanding, acceptance, of what they truly are, which is as of yet to be determined by future insight.

3. No Birth, No Death – Last night, my sit provided me the insight, via direct experience beyond the academic paper pages of Buddhist writings, of all that apparently challenges most Western religious devotees. Mind you, this insight and the academic descriptions of it are not intended to contradict or challenge Western religious teachings, they are simply realizations of existence that stand separate from those Western teachings and are not meant to take their place. For what I believe to have been approximately 10 minutes of somewhat on-again-off-again focus, I experienced the constant flow of change without beginning and end. Each moment was observed as infinitely small and constantly rising and falling in and out of existence. In fact, there was no one true moment to grasp onto, so complete release of grasping habits fell away. When this was clearly understood via experience, Annata was again realized.

An easy mod for winter running

2010-12-17T15:29:00.000-08:00

I recently grew tired of chilled feet and having to resort to my road shoes or boardy Goretex trail rigs that are too stiff for road running. I also didn't want to have to spend $125 for a winter shoe that I only use 2-3 months out of the year. I couldn't find a nice running overshoe to fit my ultralight trail runners. So, I purchased the Pearl Izuumi Barrier Shoe Cover for bikers and made some very simple modifications and am able to put them on any of my 6 or 7 other running shoes as I see the need. COST : $50. Cut underfoot/midfoot webbing to separate sides.

Cut out about half of the rubber under the toe to reserve enough to just wrap underfoot.
Wrap to toe rubber under the shoe and pull the overboot tightly back towards the heel.

Fold under the flaps left from slicing the underfoot webbing and insert 2 or so pins through all material. I used a butter knife's flat face to push the pins all the way flush insto the midsole.
I started with the arch, then pinned on the outside edge. For my wife's shoes, I needed to put in about one more pin on each side between the midpoint and te toe to ensure that rig doesn't get lifted of the side of the shoe by snow.
The Pearl Izumi Barriers have a velcro closure on the heel allowing you to access the shoe and finish affixing the rig to your warm feet. It's easy to pul the pins shown with a breadknife and switch to another pair of shoes.

Aspirations

2010-11-28T08:30:00.000-08:00

As I exit my 1.5 month "off season" and begin setting up various training schedules, I have decided to write down some aspirations for the next 10 months (thereby making me more accountable):

1. Further develop my Buddhist path of practice with diligence, effort and mindfulness.
2. Continue to work on being a better father, husband, son and friend.
3. Reinvigorate my career and continue developing additional ways to enhance the TC Metro area's natural resource conservationist's skill set and efficiency; do the same for myself.
4. Enter several running races and complete a 26.2-mile road race in under 3:30, a 50-mile trail race in under 10:00 and a 100-mile trail race in under 24:00.
5. Trad-lead 5.11c or better, sport climb 5.12c or better.
6. Climb the Casual Route on Long Peak's Diamond (east face), or similar alpine rock route.

Of course, each one of these bullets would require a short essay to fully describe what each of these aspirations entails (the means at which they will be achieved), but that is better done in future blog entries or discussed in person over a nice meal and a beer.

Four Days

2010-11-17T06:44:00.000-08:00

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to be granted the privilege, via lottery entry and my wife's and mom's tag-team care for the kids, to sit, walk and eat in complete silent meditation with 30 others for a four day weekend. It's literally impossible to articulate the personal experience, or course, but, in short, it was a truly beautiful, productive, challenging and powerful way to spend four days. I so look forward to having the opportunity to do it again, except for much longer, in the future.

Common Ground Meditation hosted the retreat and several noble volunteers supported us Yogis during the four days by cooking, organizing and otherwise keeping as many distractions at bay. Mark, as usual, was an absolutely insightful, supportive and brilliant teacher and guide for the entirety of the retreat. His morning guided meditations, his evening Dhamma talks (especially), the small group meetings and the private meeting all lending a grounding effect on the weekend, providing motivation and guidance that was invaluable.

We arrived on Thursday evening for a meal and briefing including some last minute chat time before and during dinner. At the end of dinner came the beginning of Noble Silence, to be observed until Sunday afternoon. We spent the evening meditating and listening to the first of Mark's Dhamma talks. I spent the later evening meditating, looking out into the dark night across the lake from the warmth of the retreat center and though its windows.

We awoke the next morning, as we did the following mornings, to the sound of the wake up bell; a small chime struck every few seconds by a Yogi walking the hallways. What a peaceful and effortless way to wake. So much better and easier than my obnoxious alarm clock back home. By 6:15, earlier for those brave enough, we began our 15 hours of meditation that was spent either in sitting, walking or during meals (the food was incredible).

(photo by Kim Klisch)

On Saturday morning, we walked into the meditation hall and spent our first 45 minutes of the day in meditation. Before entering the hall it was still dark outside. As we exited the hall the sun had come up, shedding light on a glorious new world covered in fresh, huge-flakes of snow. It was gathering in nice pillows on the boughs of the trees, layering thick blankets over the ground and obscuring the complete view of the lake in that magical way that is so alluring to the eye. Although this was a silent retreat, I'm certain I wasn't the only one to accidentally let loose a gasp of joy in response. It was so difficult not to make eye contact with the other Yogis and share the experience beyond what we could, in that silence.

My mind started to finally settle and I was getting the clarity I needed to work on my meditation more productively. That day and the first half of Sunday provided amazing challenges and some rewards for my efforts; the perfect amount for me for my first retreat. Overall, I'd say that the the combination of the four day length, the tremendous effort of the volunteers on our behalf, the food and the guidance of Mark made for just the right experience for me; and I'm certain several others.

I'm so very grateful to have had the support and opportunity to have those four days and look forward to helping other Yogis on future retreats.

A Meeting of Two Masters

2010-10-08T05:37:00.000-07:00

Sometime in the early 1970’s, two Buddhist masters met in Cambridge, Massachusetts. One of them, Kalu Rinpoche, was a renowned Tibetan meditation master who had spent many years in solitary retreat in the remote mountain caves of Tibet. The other was Seung Sahn, a Korean Zen master who had recently come to the United States and was supporting himself by working in a Province, Rhode Island, Laundromat, slowly planting the seeds of Zen in the minds of those coming to wash their clothes. At this now famous meeting on enlightened minds, Seung Sahn held up an orange and, in classic Zen dharma combat fashion, demanded, “What is this?”

Kalu Rinpoche just looked at him, wonderingly.

Again Master Seung Sahn asked, “What is this?”

Finally, Rinpoche turned to his translator and asked, “Don’t they have oranges in Korea?”

--Joseph Goldstein, One Dharma, The Emerging Western Buddhism

Battle Creek Single Track

2010-08-26T21:28:00.000-07:00

SINGLE TRACK ROUTE OVERVIEW (Note: follow single track through the XX Ski trail area into the woods)

I love Battle Creek. I run Battle Creek. I keep running Battle Creek. I never see other runners at Battle Creek. I'd love to run Battle Creek with others and share my experience. Therefore, I've slapped together a mini-guide to the lovely, technical, hilly single track (NOTE: avoiding the wide ski trails, which are also very nice) of the county park I hold so dear. When I can't get away to Afton or the North Shore. When I want something like the Snowshoe loop of Afton's 25k course, but want more of it. When I want to get ready for moderate length, steep, technical hills akin to the north shore (sans excessive rocks and roots and more realistically runnable), I head to Battle Creek.

ELEVATION PROFILE (Note: data from Garmin 305; +/- 50 ft)

Sure the elevation gain/loss is half that of Afton. But it still provides ample opportunity for ass-whooping good times on its steep hill after hill vector. Think of this course as a condensed Afton, both horizontally and vertically; a step up in grade from Hyland, to be sure, but still runnable in entirety. That is, until you start stacking loops such as what I affectionately refer to as the Dukkha Loop.

The course I have grown to love starts at the visitor's center parking lot. It snobbishly avoids the wide ski trail leaving the lot and takes the nice multi-user single track mountain bike/hiking course 50 feet from the car. Stay on that delicious sinew as it winds through Big Blue Stem and Indian Grass and a small patch of trees until it joins a major ski course. Jeer left for 50 feet and look for a "Do Not Enter" mountain bike sign. Mountain bikers follow a distinct direction on their loops. Since this is a multi-user course, it's best to run against bike traffic (the course here-in described). That being said, I only occasionally need to jump off to the side to allow the passage of our bi-wheeled friends, so don't be too amped up on needing to dive off into the ground cover; the track is under-utilized.

The single track drops down and left via a moderately technical stretch to a nice meander through the ferns and woods. It crosses another major ski track, up and over a log and follows Lower Afton for a jaunt where it veers up and right just short of South Battle Creek Road. Surmount a short hill, drop down the other side and look for your single track through the woods as it winds up a hill on the other side of the major ski trail you'll need to cross. This is is a great warm up hill with some nicely placed stones (thanks mountain bikers) to fortify the slope in one short stretch. Avoid taking a faint track left down a ridge/spine that would lead back to the ski trail. Top out onto another major ski tack and take a left, downhill. Follow this major artery for 0.15 miles to a somewhat inobvious abrupt left jaunt down single track towards South Battle Creek Road. If you miss this, continung on the ski trail brings you to Battle Creek Elementary and more Hyland Park-esk ski trail.

Cross South Battle Creek Road and head to the right for 75 feet to a chained off trail head and jump it (don't worry, the chain droops nearly to the ground - even my 40 yr old butt can leap this obstacle). Veer left at the immediate Y. This path takes you around the souhteast side of "Hole in the Prairie." Follow this track to a T-intersection and go left. I like to then opt for the nice little technical footing track that drops off to the right within about 50 feet of the T. This brings you to the top of the "Garnet Canyon Primer" (a much, oh so severely, reduced switchback trail of the approach to the Lower Saddle of the Grand Teton's infamous 26, or so, major switchbacks, but hey, I like grand descriptions). Drop down this fun section sticking to the major trails (avoid short circuits that cause erosion - don't be lazy). Touch the "Blarney Stone" (a nylon post at the trail's junction with Point Douglas Road south) and turn around. Go back up hill. Do not collect $200.

GARNET CANYON PRIMER - Northern perspective (note: at places in these photo overlays, the GPS data shows two tracks; that's an artifact of the innacuracy of the GPS not lining up the return or second lap I ran in that area)

Gallivant back to the T and go left, this time. This whole area is currently under ecological restoration. In another 10 years, this will be, hopefully, a terrific example of Oak Savanna...be patient and, in the mean time, watch out for 1-2 inch dia. stumps. The track fades into woodland now and switches back, then drops to the top of a major switch back mountain bike track that looks way too fun. Consider taking up mountain biking as you express your best discipline by staying center, then right on all possible tacks. Exit the roller coaster at a nice boulder as you spill out onto pavement (road runners: this pavement trail is an EXCELLENT running course that starts at the Point Douglas Rd parking lot and goes up through the park along the Battle Creek itself all the way to the water park and picnic grounds. It then joins nice, easy trail running through areas including a dog park - check it out).

DUKKHA LOOP - Northeast perspective. North Shore Primer descends/ascends slope on left of view

OK, now that we're warmed up, run across the parking lot and catch the sandy single track right of the biking path's tunnel under Hwy 61. Perform a graceful switchback back uphill, to right, to catch the main hiking trail avoiding a faint mountain bike trail off left and a rock step; also left. Shortly after the trail veers left, away from the parking lot, catch a lesser groomed trail to the left. You've missed it if you hit stairs uphill. This neat mountain bike trail (signed) contours languidly, at first, up the west side of the bluff. You'll do one rising slope, a switchback to the right, then one to the left, rise up a slope and then catch a left at the next switchback. Instead of taking the switchback to the right, jaunt fearlessly to the left. Your legs are massive.

Follow this track to a crossing with another single track. Continue through this, straight. Don't go right. Don't go left. Right takes you backwards towards the stairs I mentioned earlier. Left dead-ends at an overlook (nice photo opp). Drop down the eroded track/gully wash down, down, despairingly down, ducking under and jumping over possible dead fall, until you bottom out on an abandoned asphalt road that nature is successfully reclaiming; albeit by primary colonizing weeds (avert your eyes Jason and Amy). Sternly let loose a gruff vocalization and head back up the North Shore Primer.

When you return to the intersection of single tracks described earlier, take a left to join the main track. You'll need to take one more immediate left to avoid returning to the parking lot at the end of Point Douglas Rd. Diligently follow this track up short, steep, loose, root-bound trails, keeping right at all times for full flavor. Summit at an old concrete foundation for what was once, I imagine, a look out tower or ski jump. Keep right and drop down steep sand (watch for poison ivy especially late in the summer). Avoid any paths to left. One or two less frequented trails drop down prematurely to the asphalt bike/walking path on the right, so stay on the main trail following a beautiful, casual single track down a nice rib and contour until you spill out onto the asphalt.

DUKKHA LOOP - Southwest perspective

Immediately across from you, on the other side of the asphalt path, you'll see a tempting, sandy single track rising through the Smooth Brome (Jason, Amy, settle now - in good time) grass....avoid temptation. Instead, take a right on the asphalt. Begrudgingly follow it until it crosses the Creek (0.15 miles) where you'll see signage for the mountain bike path at the edge of the woods. Take a left into the woods here and cross an immediate single track, then left to catch the main trail up and out of the last major hill of the Dukkha Loop. Run, or power walk, up this nice hill to its summit at a Y.

If you want another 2 mile repeat of the Dukkha Loop take a right. Follow it, keeping to the right, a short distance to reach the point where you started dropping down the Mountain Bike Switchback trail you already descended earlier. Repeat the loop. Way to go! Repeat as necessary until you feel your father would be proud of you.

When you're done with the Dukkha loop, take the exit pitch Y to the left to escape the perils. Follow this back to South Battle Creek Road and reverse the warm up section described earlier.

The running at Battle Creek is more technical than most trail running within 45 minutes drive of the Twin Cities. If you you stick to the single track and avoid the ski trails you'll enjoy the flavor of Afton's Snowshoe loop. The hills a steeper than Hyland but shorter than Afton so it fits nicely between the two somewhat polar opposites of trail running styles. I love the combo of technicality, steep yet not insane hills and proximity to home. It is not the place to log major log days, hoverer, unless you're needing the mental training of repeating loops such as the Dukkha Loop. For really long days, I'd recommend doing the route as described with one repeat of the Dukkha loop per lap. Maybe adding a second or third go at the Garnet Canyon or North Shore Primer would be beneficial for those heading to the Superior Trail Races or other gnarly races. Probably too steeply hilly for Leadville, or similar, training.

I sincerely hope this posting provides you an experience close to what I keep having at Battle Creek. Contact me any time for a run.

Louisville Swamp WMA 13-14 miler

2010-07-26T06:20:00.000-07:00

My proposed 13-14 mile running loop at Louisville Swamp WMA. See Blog entry below ("Misty Morning Hop") for a run report and photos.

Misty Morning Hop (shuffle)

2010-07-26T05:34:00.000-07:00

(morning mist on the wetlands of Louisville Swamp Wildlife Management Area, S. Tracy)

This past weekend was my first of several training weekends geared towards Peter Grimes and my up and coming fall running trip: the Maah Taah Hey 100 mile trail run - Badlands, North Dakota. We're taking three days of at least 33 miles each to make the distance. To get ready, I decided to start stringing together 3 longer days from Friday through Sunday and slowly add miles to those weekends until I get to about 2/3 the expected daily distances we expect on our trip.

This weekend, to wrap things up, I decided to revisit a favorite location of mine to run 13 miles: Louisville Swamp Wildlife Management Area, nestled in the Minnesota River Valley just south of Shakopee. There are about 17 miles of trails and 2500 acres of savanna, oak woodlands, floodplain forest and wetlands with abundant birds to look for in each habitat. There's an historic farmstead with stone buildings standing in an old field part way through the trail loop and even a huge glacial eratic (boulder), popular for years with climbers, to run past.

(the main wetland complex of Louisville Swamps WMA as seen from the savanna)

I was very happy to have been accompanied on the run by rockstars Arah B. and Adam S. I picked Arah up at 5:40 am then we swung by and grabbed Adam and it was off to the races (so to speak). The WMA welcomed us with a beautiful mist, blanketting the lowlands of the rolling countryside, and cool temps. I had pieced together a 13-14 mile circuit that includes both Louisville Swamp WMA trails and the State Cooridor system, which runs through the preserve, but the tremendously muddy and flooded lowlands foiled that plan so we stuck to the preserve's main trail system.

(plant geeks: please ignore the predominant Mullen in this pic...focus on the landscape!)

Although portions of the trail system were muddy and slick, the majority of the running was pleasant over easy terrain with only an occassional hill, nothing major. Running here would probably be best in late summer, fall and early winter, with the fall colors likely being the best time. Running at this time of year includes mosquitos; a real challenge when stopping for potty breaks on the woods. Regardless of this fact, however, the views and the abundant wildlife make running here at any time of the year a welcoming proposition.

My first long weekend caught up to my legs around mile 10, unfortunately right about when the trail brought us back to the car. So, somewhat apprehensively, I set off with the still strong Arah and Adam to run another 3+ miles on the State Cooridor Trail. A little over a mile later and I needed a 3 minute walking break, so I cut the other two loose and enjoyed the stillness of the woods. The day had warmed up substantially as well, so my water consumption had nearly doubled since morning. After the short break I resumed running only to find the others turning around at a flooded section of trail under a railroad bridge. I was able to force out the last 1.5 miles back, fighting the urge to stop and let my smoked things and calves relax. Turns out the previous day's bike workout on my monocog 29-er, trailing Rowan in the Chariot for 16 miles, did me in. On the other hand, I think the fact that I was bonking really close to the end meant that my running/biking plan intensity level was nearly perfectly planned out. Always try to look on the bright side, right?

Arah and Adam finished far stronger than I and Adam took off to finish his goal of 14 miles for the day to find that the horse and/or deer flies had awoken. He returned to the car no worse for wear and we called it a day.

Running with the Devil

2010-07-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

It started out responsible enough. I waited for the end of the tornado watch to head out for a 12 mile run knowing that I'd get pretty wet, but welcoming it given the heat of the day. I love running in the rain after being in the sweltering heat of a summer day.

A nice quick trot down the steep Isabel St and up the long shallow gradient of Wabasha Bridge with downtown St. Paul as a backdrop. So far so great, in part due to Fleet Foxes playing over my Ipod! Hit Kellogg, take a right and get my first and last significant downhill for the next 4 miles. I pass the wonderful Lowertown area of St. Paul and start the long rise of Kellogg Bridge as I put downtown running behind me.

And it begins...

Midway on the exposed, long, high Kellogg bridge Fleet Foxes add the rising and alarming sound of sirens to their otherwise extraodinarily mellowing style. Hmmmm. I look to the west and see the tell-tail ominously dark and otherwordly colors of a tornado-potential skyscape. So much for waiting for the tornado watch to pass before running. The rest of the run includes forecasting ahead, every few moments, to the nearest culvert, bridge, cave, or underpass...just in case I decide to integrate some sprints into the run. Thoughts of Dorothy and flying, stiff, mooing cows come to mind.

I turn off the end of Kellogg and catch the continuing rise up along the cliffline to the top of Indian Mounds. What a glorious place to be buried! The Sioux of the area chose this spot to bury their kin given its tremendous position in the landscape. As I run past these mounds I am again amazed at just how wonderful and fortunate St. Paul really is. And just how fortunate I am.

I reach a high point and meander down the path to the Highway 61 crossing and catch Upper Afton as it negins to sprinkle. Another long, steady rise to the top of another high point along the Mississippi River bluffline...man I'm feeling surprisingly well on this run! I crest the last hill just as all Hell begins to break loose. The rain intensifies, the wind swirls the vegetation into chaos and lightning is going off all over the damned place...exactly half way through the run. Perfect! No easy way out. I remove the headphones to enjoy the concert of sound.

I drop down onto the path leading through Battle Creek Park that follows the creek on a steady, dark descent into the gorge where two Indian Nations faught a historical, epic battle seemingly forever ago. The rain now ramps up to an intensity that forces me to buckle under the stinging of its drops threatening to peel my skin off at times. I can barely keep my eyes open to watch my foot placements and give up on looking straight ahead. Branches have fallen off trees onto the path in places demanding instant hurdling and side-stepping skills to develop spontaneously. I mentally locate the up-coming cave and estimate my foot speed downhill, over the creek and dive-time into the caave should a tornado suddenly jump over the top of the gorge ridge high above me.

I escape the volitile, impossing gorge and cross under Highway 61 to catch the footpath back home along the Mississippi River. I run through streamlets sometimes deep enough to overtop my shoes, dodge fallen limbs and two boulevard trees that were uprooted and bear down through the pulses of intensity in the storm. As I reach the barge docks just east of downtown, tug boat captains amplified voices cut through the storm in unclear, deformed tones and their spotlights move around through the darkness and hit the shoreline where I run. I make my turn back up the second to last hill, a good one, back to Kellogg and up to the Wabasha Bridge.

Still going strong! This is wonderful! The rain slows to a nice rate as I run down the beautiful bridge and catch, interestingly enough, Water Street. I head away from home, so I can get that extra mile in, to catch the mother of all hills in St. Paul: Ohio. Fortunately, I only need to do a portion of it, to Isabel, the first street off it from the bottom, but definately feel every stride. The rain picks back up in intensity one last time as if to say "you're not home yet...I still have you for another 3/4 mile!" As if to punctuate the point, a piece of hail finds its mark in the exact center of the top of my head. The wind ramps back up to gail force and the rain goes back to droplets too big to be real. I follow cliffline overlooking downtown back to my home and decide that the 2 block cool down walk will have to be run at what feels like breakneck speed.

I open the door and walk into the house with the biggest smile I've had on my face in quite some time and my wife doesn't need to ask why. She just lights up and smiles knowingly and with joy.

Battle Creek Sunrise

2010-07-15T06:55:00.000-07:00

The alarm goes off at 4:15 and I rub deep slumber from my eyes and try to focus them on the floor as my reluctant body struggles to get upright. By the time we make it to the trailhead at Battle Creek for our morning run, both Alicia and I are awake and, amazingly, excited. The day's first rays of sunlight are illuminating the sky, shedding the darkness of night as well as our drowsieness.

Running at Battle Creek is fun. Flat out fun. Although there's only about 8 or so miles of single track, there's also another 3-5 of ski trails, if you like. To have it's kind of hills and trail so close to home is nice for those times when going off to Afton or other hot-spots doesn't fit into my schedule. To experience it's trails this early in the morning, once you're awake and moving, is heavenly.

We do our 6 miles or so feeling like we're two kids having gotten away with something, snickering all the way home and throughout the day (in-between moments of nearly falling asleep at our desk that is).

Getting Re-Acquainted

2010-06-24T06:28:00.000-07:00

There have been several months, actually more than I care to admit, where I have set aside climbing for other responsibilities and pursuits that fill up my current life. That's not necessarily a bad thing, just unusual. After a nice break from climbing, I found myself, for the second time in two weeks, at the dramatically overhanging cliff-come-cave of Willow River State Park, WI. I can't think of a more beautiful, fun and challenging place to get back into the mental and physical groove of climbing.

As I pulled and body torqued off of deep, positive pockets, move after move after glorious move, my center was found, again. Clip the rope into the quickdraw and an audible "click" provides the mental biscuit this dog craves for reward (read: security) after the last stretch of pumpy climbing; and a metaphor for the mind grasping, understanding in an instant why I love this practice of centering so much. "Ah, this is how it is. I remember this place. This is the physical side of my meditation practice that has gotten me to places deep in my Psyche and heart that all but sitting practice cannot touch."

The endless, consistent roar of the waterfalls below me, nothing but clear air to fall into, the coarse texture of positive juggy hold after hold, the breeze and sun all work together to carry me upwards. And this day, the mind doesn't limit my body. Although my body is now better suited for running than pursuing higher end climbing, it performs surprisingly well; a welcome, encouraging shock, to say the least. The bug has found and bitten me again. My sights are now set on routes I've not touched, or contemplated even while in peak climbing shape of yesteryear. And why not?

Two Rivers Shuffle fun run report

2010-05-19T12:20:00.000-07:00

Do people post "fun run" reports instead of "race" reports? Why not? Then again, do must people do 30-50 mile “fun runs” without the support an organized race provides? Be it stupid, or otherwise, I seem to have a few twisted friends that do, so here goes.

First off, see the nice video of pictures of the run taken by participant Joel Button on the posting after (below) this one.

Several folks couldn't make the inaugural event this year due to various reasons ranging from injury, bad timing with training schedules and all the way up to a sudden case of pregnancy (congratulations Katie!). The three of us that did make it to the "starting line" (Joel Button, Peter Grimes and myself) were admittedly not quite far enough along in our training schedules to feel too comfortable with the 30 mile plan. None-the-less, we decided to simply see what happens and take things as they come. We parked the car at the old historic Fort Snelling site, fueled up, talked about stretching a bit and I complained about what seemed like early stages of a stomach virus.

We sauntered down the initial steep hill to the warm up section for the day: Pike Island, a flat, gravel and sand run around the perimeter of the island bound on each side by rivers; the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers. Peter is on a “run as fast as I can go at that moment” binge as of late so that meant 8-8:30/mile “warm-ups” for the start of our 30 mile day…Joel and I complained under our breaths, then a bit more loudly, far too early in the day. Peter just smirked.

We rounded the island then headed off on ½-mile of asphalt below the Fort, under the Highway 5 bridge, then caught the start of the best section of trail for the day: single track, technical, hilly hiking paths along the proudest lines of ridge and river bed you can find at the Minnehaha dog park/Minnehaha Falls Park. This section is a real jewel located in the Twin Cities. It’s moderately tough and very beautiful. Joel nearly started to cry with joy and I fought off my morning’s nausea effectively as this is the type of terrain I live for; a perfect distraction. We ran up and down, over and under, left and right, scrambled up and under sandstone cliffs. Peter mentioned something about having already peaked on the island once we got onto the more friendly trails along the Minnehaha Creek. Payback is a B@*$#. I couldn’t help but feel like I was peaking at that moment, however, and knew that it was FAR too early to feel that way.

We took a nice quick break at the outlet of a major stormwater outlet at the confluence of the Creek and River where we admired the first of several popular graffiti sites. We then turned up the Creek and chased a Heron up river, passed a painted turtle and a couple stone bridges and crossed over to the other side just below the Falls. The trail moved from fun, moderate single-track to easy, wide terra firma as we headed back towards the river, looking forward to repeating the “North Shore Primer” as I call it: super rocky, rooty, dodgy running. On the second pass through the dog park we avoided the ridge line we took on the way in and stuck to the floodplain. We meandered through the Maple/Cottonwood forest and caught a nice single track below another sandstone cliff face and what I have dubbed Luka’s Couloir and Nancy’s Falls. The first is a cleft breaking the cliff face that Luka (my dog) and his deceased BFF, Toady, used to scramble up in winter with Kiri and I over the years. The second is a nice little waterfall spilling down its gully through the face. This pleasant track follows a narrow shelf 10 feet above the river. It always reminds me of the much grander scene from Last of the Mohicans where the 3 heroes chase the rival tribe up the mountain (“baldy”) pass to save their women in the climax of the film. OK, so I tend to glamorize a bit. Curse of the romantic.

We sauntered back to the car after 9.5 miles of really fun running where we took a 10 minute break to re-fuel. I switched out to road-running shoes for next section as Joel taped and lubed his toes. Peter just shook his head and laughed at our busy behavior, but, secretly, I think it was nervous laughter. Our next section was 15 miles (out and back) and the day was really warming up. We all felt as if we could easily un out of water for this next section so we downed a bunch first, then filled up; Pete and with two hand-helds and Joel with a Joel with his hydration pack. Pete and I were experimenting with Hammer’s Peperpeteum Ultra Endurance drink and, so far, were very pleased.

The second section took us from the parking lot across the Mendota Bridge, and exposed 1-mile long, noisy expanse over the Minnesota River where we picked up the paved river trail to the quaint hamlet of Mendota. We crossed the road downtown and ran below the historic Sibley house to pick up the gravel, flat Minnesota Flats Trail on the Minnesota River’s east bank. This typically easy, gravel trail is wide enough for 2-3 runners abreast and is flat. It travels from Mendota, under the Mendota bridge, through floodplain forest and along expansive wetland complexes. It also travels under the 494 bridge (unreal graffiti and views of the bridges underbelly architecture) all the way to the Cedar Ave bridge where you turn around and head back. This year, after the spring flood, however, sections of the trail were soggy, overfilled with sand and heavily rutted by rogue 4-wheelers making it a little more challenging than typical. Pete seemed to have gotten a bit of a second wind here and exclaimed that running was less painful than walking (we were starting to take short walking breaks from time to time in the heat). Joel and I hung back a bit, but then I started to feel the same way as Pete, so I broke off from Joel and left him to his wise game plan. I caught up with Peter 1 mile short of the Cedar bridge massaging his calves and knees and expressing concern over his knee. I sat with him to take a break and we rested until Joel caught us. We all took inventory of our water supply, the beginnings of cramping, level of fatigue and decided to cut this section short and head back to avoid being without water for 2+ miles should we continue forward. Joel caught his second wind end moved on down the trail ahead of Peter and I as we alternated between running (read: jogging) and walking during the heavily rutted sections. Peter caught up with Joe and then I eventually caught them just as I got a major 2nd wind. I had taken a Gu a downed my last gulp of water 2 miles from the car and was feeling Really good so I ran off at 8 minute pace for ¾ of a mile or so.

We all regrouped at the Mendota bridge for the last stretch back to the car and again excused myself for another mile of 8-8:15 minute pace running. We regrouped at the other side of the river and jog/walked back to the car. We immediately downed water and ultimately decided that the pull of Sea Salt, a restaurant back over in Minnehaha Falls Park, was too great. So we formulated our recovery drinks, changed shirts, drank the drinks and loaded up the car abandoning the last 6 miles for another day (what was to be a crossing over the Highway 5 Bridge to access Crosby Farm for its sweet trail running).

Sea Salt’s fish tacos and Surley beer, courtesy of Peter, were as good as I remembered. We enjoyed hanging there enjoying the recollections of the run, 24 miles and change, feeling very pleased and not overly remorseful of falling short of 30.

2 Rivers Shuffle

2010-05-19T12:16:00.001-07:00

Click here to view these pictures larger

2 Rivers Shuffle

2010-05-19T12:14:00.001-07:00

Click here to view these pictures larger

Home Trails

2010-04-15T06:09:00.001-07:00

BATTLE CREEK PARK, St. Paul:

Why it's taken me so long to "discover" Battle Creek as a running resource eludes me completely. Thirteen or so years ago I was struggling on my hands and knees with a chain saw for months, 10-hr days, cutting and removing invasive shrub and tree species in this park as part of a restoration effort. The bluffs were challenging then and they remain so. Only now, the challenge is linking the while mountain bike trail section with no walking on the hills. After two runs, a 12 and an 8 miler, I'm not there yet, but I figure 3-4 more trips should get me there.
This a a wonderful area and a nice primer for attemtping to run the entirety (all hills) at Afton SP's 25K loop. It's track is mostly single width and you can add on as much wide, casual, yet still plenty hilly, cross country ski trail to add distance. It's difficulty is somewhere between Afton and Highland park, making it challenging, but doable.
I LOVE having such resources right in my back yard (oK, 10 minutes away)! I once read that the best trails are those right at home. I'm beginning to see why.

Facebook | Shawn Tracy

2010-01-23T08:16:00.000-08:00

soshin-to-satori

Two Rivers Shuffle

2010-01-05T19:06:00.000-08:00

Come one come all to the first, hopefully not the last, "Two Rivers shuffle"

I have put together a fun-run with several distance options from 3 to 50 miles. Of course, for those joining the 50-milers later in the day you'll have to suffer the slow pace and the moaning and complaining and likley have to hang at the "drop-station" van until we make it back from one of several, different loops...but hey, maybe that's incentive to go for the long run?

This is a "mixed" ultra consisting of both trail running and asphalt paths in the urban setting, but don't let that fool you! The trails I've linked together are possibly the best the twin cities has to offer in one continuous circuit linking both cities. Home base, and the support van, is located at Forst Snelling SP and several loops branch out and back from there, so no crew people needed that would have to sacrifice an entire day to help us. The longest ssection without aid is the first 20 miles of the day, so packs may be required for that section depending on conditions and your needs. All trails stick to the two rivers' cooridors and offer fun, highly variable running with beautiful vistas.

For more information, see my Facebook site or contact me directly at 651-278-4047

The Last Step

2009-10-16T06:49:00.000-07:00

My first 50-mile ultra marathon event couldn't have been a better experience even if the world's most celebrated race directors spent years of planning to put on the event. There were no crowds, no cutoff times to meet and no expectations to fret over. There were just a hand full of folks who met at Cafe Wren, Luck, Wisconsin, to go out for a day of touring the Ice Age Trail on a beautiful early fall day. The 50 miles of rolling, forested countryside was mostly moderate to casual trail running in terms of difficulty and glorious in its scenery, making the miles flow by. The true tests of the days challenges lay not in the physical demands, but in that place where the hardest adversaries dwell and the most violent, drawn out battles rage: in the mind.

The morning of the run started at a 4 am alarm and followed with a nice egg, bacon, cheese, Tabasco, English muffin sandwich, a banana and a home brewed latte. Shit. It's official. I'm an urban professional. So be it. Surprisingly, I got a very solid night's sleep and wasn't feeling nervous about the day. That all started to fall apart en route, however. I drove and drank 1 quart of Accelerade to keep my mind off the imminent pain that would ensue after the 1.5 hour drive and half hour pre-run meeting. As we crossed the MN/WI border, the nerves were in full blown alarm status. I've never run further than 26 miles before, let alone 30, 35, 40, 45 or anywhere near 50. Thoughts of shoes, blisters, the cold, wet weather, upset stomach, nutrition and the inevitable wall(s) that I was about to deal with circled through my mind, now nearly completely unchecked.My crew for the day, my wife Nancy and boy, Rowan, were already supporting me during this pre-run limbo I was confined to. Nancy kept talking and Rowan cooed and slumbered in his carrier seat sending me as much comfort as a 5 and half month can. Even so, my head was beginning to swim and my stomach was getting sea sick as a result.

We made it to Cafe Wren in the nick of time: I think if there were another 15 minutes of travel time I would've blown chunks. I didn't even recognize Peter with his newly-shaved head and everyone else gathered around the tables in the cafe were complete strangers to me. I was to be the day's newbie and was feeling very much so as I looked at the shear amount of sinew per linear foot of muscle gathered around the table. This was a different crowd than the somewhat heftier muscled climbing crowd I've grown accustomed to over the past decade and I suddenly felt heavy in spite of the 20 pounds I dropped in the past 9 months of training leading up to this day. After a debriefing by our illustrious leader of the day, Pete, we loaded up the vehicles with loads of mobile drop bags/bins to be delivered to us by Pete, Nancy and Rowan every 6-8 miles or so at road crossing aid stations.

I didn't know exactly what I was expecting for the start of the run but what happened was probably an indication of the mood for the entire day. Some casual banter between stretches and last-minute carb/water intake, some review of the initial leg's route finding and then, without warning, overt signal or anything suggesting we were about to do something highly unusual and demanding, everyone just began sauntering off into the woods ever so nonchalantly. To most people, I would guess this would be seen as somewhat anticlimactic. To us, even me, the greenie, it was perfect. The conversation began at mile 0 and didn't end until nearly 13 hours later.

I glanced down at my Garmin wrist computer's GPS-driven data to see that, yes, we were moving at 9-minute mile pace for the first 3 miles. I thought Pete said we'd be slower than molasses, topping out at 12 minute miles most of the time with bursts into the 10 minute range? Didn't the leaders of our pack get the memo? I was fine at this pace, for now, but doubted that 50 miles of it was anywhere near my abilities. Soon after that first 3 miles of likely excited energy-driven pace, we backed off to a more reasonable pace through rolling hills and then into a beautiful beaver pond. We crossed along the beaver's 100-ft long dam and on into some of the most beautiful woodland and wetland habitats I've seen in some time. We rolled through aid stations joking, laughing and sharing stories of other outdoor adventures: other long runs, adventure racing, climbing, canyoneering, biking to name a few. This band of 8 runners was starting to get to know each other and their running personalities, which would serve us well later in the run.

Somewhere around 18 miles my knees started to get a little sore. I had taken the 2 weeks leading up to the run off to fully recover from a 27-mile run at Afton State Park. When I take more than 2 days off from running, my knees and left hip start acting up on me, so I was glad things were going so well as to not have suffered any pains up to this point. But somewhere around 20-25 I began hitting a wall. Expressed physically, the mind so often sets walls for us. On the drive it was the nervous stomach. Now it was the thought of surpassing 26 miles into the unknown. I limped into the aid station at around 25 looking and feeling poor, to say the least. I was down and out, just a bit shaken and uncertain about the up and coming "part 2." We had covered nearly half the distance and my knees where stiff and sore, my energy starting to fade...far too early in the run for this to be happening. I downed 2 Pop Tarts and drank up, stretched a bit, then played with Rowan a bit. His playfulness and energy, along with the Pop Tarts, began to charge a new energy source within me. I mentioned to Nancy the the rest of the run was going to be a stout challenge and was likely going to be very painful. We set off for the beginning of the way way home, now stepping into the second half of the run. All down hill from here as they say. Never have those particular words been so loaded as in this moment.

I stiffly gimped off down the road out of the Aid station and I heard Peter yell out to me "you're limping, Shawn" and all I could think to say was "I know." Not profound to the casual bystander, or maybe even to Peter, but to me, at the time, those words that fell from my lips had weight. The acknowledgement of the failing body and the resulting pain followed by continuing on without any more discussion somehow lifted my spirits a bit and my legs began to loosen up again. The pain started to dampen as I moved from walking to running again, and we veered off into the woods just as we reached the 26.2 mile Marathon distance. I was now truly stepping into another world where everything was new to me.

The next 8 or so miles were supposed to be the crux of the day given the steeper, longer, more frequent hills. However, I was now high on pushing into a running distance that was new to me PLUS running over terrain that I love and train on with some regularity. But perhaps the greatest influence on my mood and energy level at that point was the infusion of sugar from the luscious Pop Tarts. I moved to the front of the pack of now 5 that headed off into committing to the full 50 miles.

I was in absolute heaven, regardless of the sore knees. Old growth pine forests growing over steep hills were run on exquisite single-track; the best I've ever seen (which isn't saying much given my lack of experience, but trust me, it was top-notch). As I pushed through my favorite running environment I noticed that the conversation that permeated the day up to this point had completely disappeared and it was dead quiet other than my soft foot strikes in the dirt. I looked back to everyone to see a group stone-faced. I took this as a cue that my inexperience had allowed me to lose track of my ultra pace and I was now regressing back to my solo training run pace; a pace that would probably jeopardize our chances at gracefully, or otherwise, reaching the true end of the trail back at Cafe Wren. A quick inquiry back to the very elegant and strong runner/guide for the day, Joel, produced the reply I fully expected: slow down a touch and stop running the uphills. Damn. I had lost myself in my surroundings and had fallen into my playful mode of running rather than keeping the long run in mind. I quietly chastised myself and adjusted the pace to an appropriate rate of travel.

Towards the end of the hilly section of trail, my knees came back alive with pain as we climbed over barb-wire fences and up onto elevated bridges over trout streams. When we finally came into the aid station 12-15 miles from the end of the run, I was beginning to enter that part of the run that my stomach was anticipating on the drive to the Wren that morning. That part of the run which was what I came here for. Where the muscles, tendons, nerves, even the bone marrow began to experience the task at hand in earnest. It was the real wall that needed surmounting when every handicap I have was brought to the surface. The point where the "rat" was being fed and its ravenous feeding fenzy threatened to destroy my chances of reaching the end unless I handled him with the kind of fortitude I could only hope to one day achieve. That was why I was here. That is what I came here to experience. Could I push through this horrendous, glorious task in spite of the pain and soon-to-be-profound suffering?

I knew I could. And not in a superficial, talk-yourself-into it sort of way. I knew it to be truth. I didn't doubt it but for one brief moment back around 20-25 miles. Even now, as darkness fell and my ability to want to talk or stay awake faded and my myopic vision focused to a point defined by my headlamp, my belief that I would make it did not fail. I began suffering and hurting more, but I was truly loving the experience. All that being said, I dreaded transitioning to walking and then back to running again. I wished I had the energy to run the rest of the way, to not have to experience the jolts of pain that came when my muscles were forced to loosen back up into running mode from walking; where they had nearly locked themselves into tight ropes. When we finally hit the last 4 mile stretch, a horridly flat, even, straight and level bike trail built on an old railroad bed, the whole day fell away and everything avalanched, emotionally and physically, down to this last bit. The entire day leading up to this point served as the means to which I was now about to meet the real challenge.

One would think that moving into such casual running terrain after all the hills and uneven footing would be a relief, but it was pure and utter hell. Even in the dark one could see forever. At least in the rolling, meandering, hilly terrain you could only see 100-200 feet in front of you most of the time. We were now forced to look off into the infinite, towards a finish line that might as well have been another 50 miles away. I resigned myself to running 1 mile and then walking, so I checked my watch and then starting running. After what I thought was about a mile, or 15 minutes, I looked down to see that I had covered 0.20 miles. I was was absolutely dumbfounded. I confirmed the distance with others and was heart broken. The next 4 miles consisted of what seemed to be a Twilight Zone existence where time did not exist and the miles felt, honestly, much more like 20 road miles on a training day at 10K pace. Only I was averaging 20 minutes per mile, including running and hobbling. Whenever I started running again after a walking break, my knees, quads, calves and hamstrings protested with sharp pain as they tried to loosen back up again.

I turned off my headlamp, put my head down, and turned inward, deeper down than I can remember. Deeper that my first climb of the Grand Teton where we spent 3 days on the climb (from the climbers ranch and back) and got severely dehydrated. Deeper than last year's ascent of Mount Moran when Sue and I were forced to bivy overnight on the top of the route in response to the impending lightning storm and darkness. We slept on top of our flaked ropes in the gravel of a ledge with only space blankets to keep the night cold and wind off us. We slept after climbing for 12 continuous hours on 1.5 liters of water, three energy gels and two power bars each. We spent the next day doing 12-15 rappels into the unknown without water or food and were forced into a Zen trance needed to keep composure in such a hostile environment and after the exposure and energy drains required of the classic route. We got to the base of the mountain and still had the second half of the day to bushwhack out to the Lake and canoe and portage back to the car. We were spent, drained, tired, sore and very, deeply satisfied; albeit potentially a little irritable and smelly, but otherwise overjoyed with our coup. On this 50-mile run I had to dig deeper than our attempt of Edith Cavell in the Canadian Rockies in piss-pore conditions, neither summer or winter conditions, just crap. We bailed at the midpoint shoulder of the massive mountain and spent the rest of the 24 hour continuous climbing day rappelling, down climbing, sliding, and eventually walking back to the hut.

On this 50-mile run I was forced into a new depth within. This is why I came here, for that final step and all that it had to offer me.

POST SCRIPT:
The last step of the run came and with it too came an immediate release. The pain stopped, the continuous movement that the13 hour day demanded (we spent 22 hours moving and 2 hours at aid stations since it wasn't a race) all immediately and profoundly came to an end. So to did the immense struggle for the last leg of the run. And then the realization that a significant portion of the suffering was derived from my mind, not the physical demands. Certainly, the rigors of the day were great, but not so great that I didn't immediately start wondering when I could run 50 again; when would it be beyond the "too soon to be safe" period? How much more training would be required to do 100 miles at altitude in the mountains? I didn't reach my ultimate wall of suffering on this run, so what will it take; howmany miles and what kind of terrain? When, where, with who, how, but never did I ask myself why. That part has always been known to me since I was a child. I've never suffered trying to determine why I challenge myself in these ways in the wilderness. I'm fortunate, very gifted and grateful for that.

The shower back at Pete and Jen's place was likely the best, most amazing shower ever had by anyone in modern history. Of that, I have no doubt. I went in looking, and feeling, like my essence was drained from my body leaving a wrinkled raisin of a human, only to emerge full of joy, life and energy; well, at least much more than I could have expected given the day's demands. We all enjoyed a tremendous spread of food and even managed a beer. The smiles were plentiful even though most of us, except Joel, walked as if our Achilles tendons had been calcified and needles were injected into our soles. I probably looked like a really old man as I moved, but I felt so very alive and full of joy and good fortune. What a privilege to have the opportunity to train and then run an ultra marathon. If I had the ability to provide this experience for everyone in the world, I would drop everything and make it happen.

A Mountain, Revisited

2009-10-01T15:46:00.000-07:00

The feelings and emotions I'm experiencing leading up to my first 50-mile trail run are not new. Sure, doing 50 miles certainly is for me, but the upwelling, primordial charge of anxiousness is pure electricity. It courses through my nerves, spreading through my body with a relentlessness I can only hope be harnessed this Saturday.

The first time I went to Devil's Tower I arrived after sun down. We were on a 2-week road trip to climb in several places. This was my first time to this landmark of the rock climbing world and I was now sitting below it under the stars. I could swear I felt its gravitational pull as I tried to ascertain whether the seemingly impossible black mass in the sky was made of rock or anti-matter. The feeling I had there reawakened the feelings of my first days of climbing. Nervous energy fed from that which creates all fear: the unknown.

Contemplating running 50 miles for the first time has now given me that gift another time and I'm pleased to the core. I'm so looking forward to tackling this new mountain and continuing to experience that old one, the overcoming of nerves, fear and uncertainty.

Now if I can just ward off this damned looming cold virus before Saturday...

Growing Wings

2009-08-17T19:02:00.000-07:00

Watching your children find their center in nature is a wonderful, no, overwhelmingly rewarding privilege. Maya (5 yrs old this month) has been exposed to some magnificent vistas, has been shown the merits of expelling uncomfortable physical effort towards some distant point in the challenging landscape, been privy to such rich and varied aural and culinary experiences that many adults I know seldom take the time to enjoy, and is coming to understand the significance of it all. Watching my 4 month old boy, Rowan, open his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth to his environment and his hands and skin take in all of the fascinating textures in our world is only surpassed by watching his cognitive powers explode in their growing capacity like ever increasingly powerful super novas.

OK, maybe I'm romanticizing a bit about the abilities of my children, but the feeling I get watching them develop and respond so positively to nature's gifts is nothing short of pure joy. If humanity could simply focus their meditative efforts onto children for half the time they spend fretting about the bottom line our collective intellectual and spiritual trajectories would surely far surpass our limited imaginations.

Day of Firsts

2009-08-03T09:54:00.000-07:00

I'd like to hear about a memorable "Day of Firsts" that you've had. Share with us a day when you surpassed your expectations and what it felt like.

Here's one to start things off:

I wasn't intending on sending hard at the local sport crag yesterday, I simply wanted to just get out and get a few choice routes done, metering out my efforts so as not to negatively affect my scheduled 18 mile run later in the day. But my plan started to fall apart shortly after the warm up route. I intended to simply put the draws up on a pseudo-project of mine, Advanced Birding, 5.12b, so as to work out the moves for some other day's Red Point attempt. After needing to hang at the lock off crux I realized my upper body strength has diminished recently due to the demanding volume of running and lack of protracted climbing sessions of the summer. However, after that hang's recovery period I went on to finish the route clean meaning, perhaps, if all went well and with a bit of luck, I might be able to actually go for the Red Point next try rather than next week.

So, after some recovery belaying Ruben on another route, and some refueling, I retied in and began climbing the project. A nice rest for 2 minutes before the meat of the climb allowed me to clear my head and then something wonderful happened. My belayer, then several on-lookers, unknown to me, started shouting up words of encouragement. A young climbing enthusiast named Jack, maybe 9 and sending 10's that day, started shouting up "come on, Shawn! Come on!" Something about the unsolicited encouragement from a complete stranger, especially a youngster, provided me the little extra sustaining power I needed to clear that demanding lock off, bring my lower extremities up and over that first roof pull, then through the second and to the chains, thereby completing my first lead of a sport 5.12b. My exhaling relief was apparently audible 50 feet lower and under the two roofs by Katie and her comment about its wonderful quality, one of deep satisfaction, was rewarding as well.

I then moved on to one of my favorite 5.1o trad routes (No Whippin' Boys) and one of my favorite sport 5.11b/c's (Doctor Limit) and sent both without too much effort sealing off a wonderful, albeit somewhat abbreviated, day at Red Wing.

The day's rewards were not too soon over. After a bit of refueling back home, the Asics road running shoes were tied on and water bottles filled and off I went for the longest proposed continuous run I've done. Suffice it to say, that after the day's climbing my legs were a bit fatigued from the get-go and my reserves were pretty drawn down. All but maybe 2 miles of the 18 that I then ran were fought for. Even at mile 5 I was beginning to think that maybe 18, after climbing, was too ambitious. Part way through the run I had an opportunity to bow out and take another bridge across the river and back home, thereby cutting the run to 13 miles, but, regardless of the doubt of completion and the prospect of unknown quantities of assured suffering, I decided to forgo that bridge and pressed on. I made it to the midway point, the intended bridge, and crossed the river. Its viewshed provided my a glimpse into the next 4-5 miles of running back towards home and my heart sank at the distance knowing that there was another 4-5 to do even after that seemingly endless, visible distance. From that point on, every half mile felt heavy, slow and too much like a drudgery. The negative voices started flowing in earnest. I heard myself beginning a vocalized dialogue against the voices around mile 12 and wondered how long I had been talking out loud and how many passers-by heard me. In the end, I completed the full 18 miles through the suffering and negative voices to accomplish my longest run to-date. Most often, after I do this, there is some elation and sense of joy, even a longing for the next run. This time, it was nowhere to be found.

Regardless, I learned plenty about what I can overcome yesterday. I learned, again, that one's initial assessment of ability in the face of challenge, pain, suffering, or fear is almost never 100% accurate. In both my climbing day and my running experience that day I remember saying to myself that the challenge was not going to be met on that occasion; that I would need to simply get a day's worth of practice in and then come back and do it again when I'm fit enough. In both instances, I was far off the mark. Sometimes, it's great to be wrong.

Your Favorite Running Area

2009-07-20T05:12:00.000-07:00

My Garmin GPS wrist computer's data on my PC screen provides all I need to explain why, as I try to hobble my way down the stairs this morning, my back is so sore, my achilles tendons are taut like steel cables and my arches are tender. Afton's 25K course, and my few off-track wrong turns, provide more gnarly hills per linear mile than most any other place I frequent (barring the north shore). That's terrific, since I love hills. Granted, to make the full 16 miles I walked most each and every one of them except all but the tamest. Afton has tremendous single-track, beautiful, diverse plant communities to run through (ranging from floodplain forest, through hardwoods forest and into the high and dry savana) and several stream courses to follow and cross in its web of trail options. The views of the St. Croix from several vistas are magnificent and the trails never seem overly busy. The real treat is that all of this beauty makes the challenging running all worth while. It propels me to push and meet, or even surpass, what I think I can do in a way similar to the mountains or a paticularly aestheic rock or ice climb. This time it meant finishing 16 miles of its trails in 2:58:13, 11:08 min/mile with 3500 ft of elevation gain...peanuts for accomplished runners, but this pace is faster than what my 3 mile, paved and flat urban running pace was last January, so I'm lovin' life right now...I doubt that my pace would have been as fast in any other trail I run with lesser beauty.

So here's a call out to all you trail runners: let's hear about your favorite trail runs and why they are so special.

The Ultimate Cross-Training Weekend

2009-07-13T11:00:00.001-07:00

There comes a time in every wannabe athelete's carrier where it all comes together. The penultimate point in space and time where all of sports academia meets execution. This weekend was no such marriage.

The following outlines a highly designed, researched and effective method for cross-training as peformed by one amatuer, not to mention any names, this past weekend. Optimal target goals for maltodextrin, fructose, electrolyte, amino acids and maximum water uptake were calculated versus the execution of three forms of exercise prescribed over specific durations and intensity. The expected outcome for the participant's body was expected to be complete draw-down, without the experience of too much pain, suffering and otherwise unglamorous, outward physical, and apprently mental, appearance.

Day One: Start the day off right with a nice fried agg and cheese sandwich, washing down the wholesome goodness with a latte, as any urbanite would do on any given day. Follow this with a nice quart of water to rehydrate and prepare for the day ahead. Next, shovel out 1.25 yards (1.75 tons) of soil in your backyard and spread across new tiered landscaped area nearby. Be sure to stay on a steady, moderately-paced effort with no breaks. Next, trim an overgrown Lilac hedgerow, remove all of the existing landscaping and plants in the new yard area and load all the biomass into a truck and unload it at a local compost/mulch yard. Follow this, with no more than a 10 minute rest (best taken in-transit) by getting 1.25 yards of sand loaded into the truck. Bring truck back to the house. Next, build, in 2 hours or less, a cedar sand-box permimeter around the previously excavated hole. Quickly ingest a sandwich, 2-3 cookies and more water being sure not to rest for more than 15 minutes. Next, transfer the entire 1.25 yards (1.75 tons) of sand from the truck, via two 5-gallon buckets (60 lbs each) each trip, into the sandbox. Be sure to not move the pallet of new landscaping materials that are in your way, making the 25 foot distance awkward and mentally-challenging. The entire day should take about 10 hours with two quick breaks that should simulate an Ultramarathon's aid station maximum time commitment. Congratulations, you are now ready for a quick shower, dinner and sleep.

Day Two: Sleep in, you desreve it. Casually saunter to your local sport climbing crag alone and hook up with friends for a short day of intense climbing. Start out by leading an 11a for warmup. Then move on to an 11d...feel free to fall once. After completing the route, lower to the ground, belay a friend on it, then Red Point the route on what should be your 3rd try overall. Cool down on a 10b and eat a banana, some gel and finish off your quart of water. Mix a new quart of water with Electrolyte sports drink and drink this while driving home. Get home, eat one small piece of frozen pizza (cooking it is optional) and head out for a 14 mile run with 2 quarts of water in your backpack. Never mind the fact that your legs are so stiff and tired from the earth moving portion of your workout that you have a hard time getting out of the car. Make it to the 7 mile turnaround point and put your head down and keep moving. Get to mile 10 and start counting down by half miles to keep yourself motivated. Get to 2 miles from the finish and listen for someone groaning behind you...NOTE: you may come to realize its actually you. Get to the end being sure to leave yourself 1.5 miles short of your 14 mile goal. This will be the mental coping training portion of your weekend. Turn around and head 0.75 miles back up the trail again and turn around and head back to the finish. At this point you may want to count down in 0.10 mile increments to keep your legs moving. Be sure to have a few windfallen trees to try and get over as your legs will appreciate the extra effort of having to be lifted, by hand, over them.

Complete your weekend's efforts with a quart of recovery drink followed by popcorn or anything else your body will actually accept at this point.

NOTE: It is recommended that you take the day off from work the following day.

Interstitial Spaces

2009-07-05T21:14:00.000-07:00

My back bent, thighs screamed and mind faltered as I trudged my 60 lb, external frame Kelty backpack up the seemingly never-ending switchbacks. My footfalls were carefully selected to avoid the jutting rocks and loose soil to avoid any turned ankles or trip-ups. The trail rose in switchbacks between false summits that made the ice fields I sought to spend the night out on elusive. It was only going to be 3 miles, or so, but the mountain slopes rising from the Ocean rose abruptly and unforgiving. The Alaskan coast also enabled thick temperate rainforest vegetation to grow rampant and wild. It clawed at the damned exposed backpack frame, threatening to toss me ass-over-tea-kettle down the trail, or worse yet, off the trail and down the glacier. I vowed to buy one of those new, sleek internal frame jobbies when I got back home. When I was a child, my parents called me their “little mountain goat” due to my uncanny ability to bound over 3rd class terrain (talus and boulders) with ease and confidence. What happened? My protesting knees, aching from another backpacking excursion earlier in the trip, were beginning to question all of this damned abuse, so I stopped for a rest over my trekking poles. I envisioned looking something like a Salvador Dali figure at this point; a thin, transparent, damned apparition being help upright by grotesque crutches. It was at this point a thunderous report of kinetic energy rushed down from above. Being bear (read: enormous) country, I was immediately panicked, but to my surprise and bewilderment it wasn’t a Brown Bear rushing me. Instead something far more absurd seemed to fly down the trail. Three young men free falling—no, running—down the mountain, while laughing, blazed past me completely unencumbered. They had run up the Exit Glacier trail I was crawling up, turned around, and then headed back down for home. Running this trail seemed completely out of the realm of possibility to my close-minded 1980’s backpacking mindset. It was the era of heavy, slow and over-armored clothing and heavy boots, not “light is right.” At least not for the contemporary backpacking world. I set my ridiculous backpack down and began re-evaluating my approach to movement in the mountains right there.

Setting out to run a 13.3-mile section of the Superior Hiking Trail (SHT) is really no big deal for accomplished trail runners. Apparently, I’m not accomplished, yet. I have set my feet down on the majority of its segments, some sections several times, so am much acquainted with its rigorous nature. Its vertical relief isn’t as impressive as the Coastal Ranges, the Rockies, the Alaskan Range or even the Appalachians. That is, if you were to look at it via a coarsely-scaled topo map. Its verticality is measured, as far as the hiker or trail runner is concerned, in a finer scale of nearly continuous, repeated, steep, ups and downs. Most of its single-track is littered with uneven footing; the result of a tremendous amount of rocks and roots jutting through the soil. My hiking experiences on trails throughout North America, especially the SHT, taught me how to move effortlessly through this sort of terrain at around 3 mph throughout the day. I was about to learn that none of this mattered when the hiking shoes are replaced by running shoes. Neither was my level of fitness and confidence related to the urban trails and paved runs of the Twin Cities.

I had a tremendous few weeks leading up to this weekend. Trail runs at Afton SP, Fort Snelling SP and my road runs were getting faster and easier by the run. In fact, my 10-mile pace at the demandingly hilly Afton were breaking 10 minutes (I felt great for a beginner like me) and my hills and speed workouts on the pavement were really improving. My urban exploits were tough efforts and very productive. Since I was planning on going to spend time with my Father, Step Mother and family at the cabin on the North Shore, I was excited test my fitness on the familiar, challenging ground of the SHT. Of course, I have heard from other trail runners that the SHT is a monster and considered to be very technical and physical, but hey, it’s an old friend of mine and I was feeling pretty good about my progress.

Shit! I left that extra 20 oz’s of Electrolyte/Carb/Amino Acid drink mix in dad’s truck and he’s already pulled off through the woods leaving me at the trail head with my measly 12 oz’s of mix, 3 shots of Hammer Gel and 2 liter water bladder. OK. It’ll be tougher in this 80+ heat, but it’s training, so this extra suffering will serve well at some point. Some nervous, token stretching, some excited pacing and then I’m off down the nearly hidden trail towards the Temperance river 13+ miles distant. That first 1.5 miles is always a little tough for me as my body slowly relaxes and softens up to the effort. This time, however, the heart rate doesn’t seem to want to taper back down to its distance pace after the “warm up.” Probably due to needing to concentrate my whole body on preparing for each chuck and jive around the roots and rocks I’m encountering. Man, this section’s track is really narrow. The sedges and grasses sometimes completely cover my view of the running surface…gotta slow down a bit, no, a lot or I’m taking a header, for sure. Running on this terrain is NOTHING like hiking. The trail is a completely new animal now. I dug deeply for that little mountain goat deep inside me as I focused my attention to reacting within a split second to the consistently variable running surface (no, that’s not an oxymoron).

I picked this section of the SHT because it supposedly started out high, eased over some terrain, crossed the Cross River Valley, then rose up and over the ridge down into the Temperance River Gorge. It was supposed to be relatively casual for SHT, but I must have forgotten about how convoluted this trail is. It was designed to bring you through terrifically varied terrain and up to as many vistas of the landscapes as seen from high as possible. That frequently means a whole lot of up and down action and I was being reminded of this fact over and over again. Ah yes, training. Find those spaces between the obstacles and avoid tripping up. Get over the fact that it’s too damned hot to be doing this and the electrolyte levels in your blood stream are too low to help you assimilate water that you need to run the Kreb’s cyle that will enable you to get to the end of the run. Ignore the burning thighs and calves on the steep uphills…oh yeah…I should be walking these! Try to will your rubbery legs to support your controlled falling on the downhill runs. Drink, Gel, drink, gel….there goes the last of the electrolyte mix. There goes mile 10 and finally the Cross River. Now suck it up and work up the slopes of the gorge to get to the top of the next ridge overlook. How the hell did a friend of mine just do the entire 205 miles in a little over 4 days? That’s an average of 50 miles/day for 4 days over this horrendously rocky, rooty, narrow and steep up and down brutality! She must be superhuman. But I’ve seen her fail at things just like us mortals…either way, superhuman or just really gifted and fit, I’m blown away by what she’s done on this track.

I'm suffering now and it’s not an unusually long run for me. It is, however, the hardest run I’ve ever done. I remind myself to enjoy scenery and to relax by trying out some mantras on in and out breaths. I try to say out loud “focus on the fun, not the negative” knowing well that this part of my training is likely 200% more important that the physical side. In doing so, I’m avoiding the pitfalls of mental rocks and roots poised in my path to topple me or hut me down. I need to find that firm, welcoming footing between the mental obstacles. It’s working again and my body physically rewards me with a little more energy and less intense revolts from dehydration; although the water deficit is becoming almost alarmingly apparent. I am reminded of my first trip the Tetons where a slower partner set our summit day at 24 hours of effort resulting in severe dehydration by the time I got back to the climbers ranch the next morning. Shit, I don’t want that to happen again…get a move on and get over this ridge so you can get down the slopes to the Temperance and the van.

Now the long, steep, loose descent to the Temperance was even demanding. I hoped for things to ease off a bit as I was about to run out of water and I wasn’t feeling so well, but this was one long descent on rubber legs. I watched my Garmin report the news like an ongoing news flash. My 10 minute pace, long gone, was slipping past 12. Crap! I haven’t been this slow in over a year. Now it’s approaching 13 min/mile…is there anything I can do to salvage my pace? Nope. By the time I reach the Temperance I’ve slowed to 13.3 min’s/mile and it’s all I can do to run the bedrock trail downstream to the van. I run past sun bathers and swimmers along the river. Tourists and families, out for a beautiful day hike off Highway 61 up to the deeply cut channel of the Temperance, either nervously smile or reluctantly step aside as I make a desperate attempt at salvaging my pace and composure. I was really salty. I wondered about my face and how wretched it must have appeared.

I resolved myself to picking my tired body up and shouldered that damned heavy load up and over the last bluff leading to the ocean of ice that formed the ice fields hanging above Seward, Alaska. I worked a ways out onto its expanse and marveled at the surrounding peaks whose summits rose out of the sea of ice. I drove 12-inch barn nails into the ice and cracks in the rock so I could fasten tarps over my crappy little tent as I expected some unstable weather ahead. For the next twelve hours, I held that tent together in a storm that ravaged with near hurricane-force winds and sleet. I came here for the experience. I prepared for it. Perhaps a bit naïve, but seasoned enough to withstand the demands of the situation. I had to force my mind to look for those places where there was firm footing and to focus on the experience without attaching good or bad connotation in order to see clearly and persevere.

It seems that the most important accomplishments are not those measured by the obvious trophy (e.g., the summit, the finish line, the big contract), but, rather, those little moments of pure clarity where the footsteps and efforts fall with precision when they could have either led to falling or were simply not taken at all due to the arduous effort. Choosing to do something then finding those choice footfalls between the dangerous obstacles may lead to a seemingly big goal, but each of those instants is the real reward. The SHT redefined what “hard” running is and adjusted my reference for what effort really means. I’m grateful the experience came at this phase of my training as everything from this point on will be measured against it and be that much easier, or drive me to push that much harder.

The Dirt Behind Me

2009-06-04T07:20:00.000-07:00

The miles are slowly, but consistently, accumulating behind my heels. It's funny how lofty goals make the preparation's magnitude change. A friend of mine did the first ascent of an ice climb in Canada and named the route "Einstein Said It Best," presumably in response to a partner's exclamation of its difficulty. I couldn't agree more. The relative difficulty of a task is surely defined, almost entirely, by the relative perception of the person who's charge it is to complete it. Perceive the task as enormous, intimidating and beyond our mortal capabilities and it will be. Leave behind perceptions altogether and instantly accept the whole pie, savoring each smaller piece one bite at a time and eventually you're rewarded with an empty pie tin. The job is done, there's no trophy or parade; just the empty pie tin and a satisfied hunger after the "doing" is done.

As I careen my body's inertia towards my first ultra marathon this coming fall, I find the greatest challenge not being the physical demands set forth in training and for the eventual 50 miles of effort, but, rather, the training of the mind. It's far too easy to let that 50 miles seem almost Himalayan in magnitude. Who am I to be so audacious as to think I can do that? B.S. I've already done similar things in the mountains and many of my friends have as well; for that matter, so have many other folks, and several far further and over more difficult terrain and conditions than I can expect for my first experience. I'm not them, but my psyche is very similar. Perhaps that's one reason they're my friends..."birds-of-a-feather."

So as the dust builds up on my calves and the single-track throws roots, rocks and branches at me through the rolling hills of Minnesota and Wisconsin, I let my body build and focus my biggest effort on controlling the mind's nay-say tendencies. Perhaps that's the real Himalayan task and the dirt that needs to be set behind me.

Angels

2009-06-01T19:21:00.000-07:00

Oh, how I envy their awareness, their purity and their vast reservoirs waiting, yearning to be filled by the world's experiences. The awestruck moments when their synapses spuriously erupt causing that humming buzz of epiphany that I seldom feel any more; that I almost have forgotten. Their soft joy of unprejudiced sensation! Could there have been a time in my own life where observations of my environment were so uncluttered by preconceived notions - a point where reality wasn't rendered down to, rather, an interpretation for my convenience or comfort? Now, the real trick isn't enabling envy to take hold or for sorrow to immobilize me for the sake of lost aptitude or, heaven forbid, capacity. The challenge is drawing from this, these effortless, natural born abilities, to re-pioneer into that state of being that permits unencumbered absorption of what truly is and matters in that moment. Then, maybe, I will feel again what it is to truly have wings.