Lazy Man's Hardrock

In 1991 Gordon Hardman placed a notice in Ultrarunning magazine that in the summer of 1992 there would be a 100 mile run in the San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado. Thus, the Hardrock 100 was born. The Hardrock 100 is arguably the premiere 100 mile mountain race in the US. The route starts and ends in Silverton, CO, and is basically a big circle encompassing the four mining towns of Silverton, Telluride, Ouray, and Lake City. The actual course goes through all of these towns with the exception of Lake City.

The Hardrock 100 has always held a certain appeal. I found out about it in 1995, when Doug and I met Rick Trujillo and Ricky Denesik during one of their speed attempts on the 14ers. They decided to climb the 14ers because the Hardrock 100 had been cancelled that year due to snow.

The are several challenges with running Hardrock. First, the qualification process requires one to complete another 100 mile race. Barring a major change in lifestyle and motivation, I just don't see myself training for any 100 mile race. The 2nd issue is that Hardrock can only accommodate ~150 runners each year, and because of this there is a lottery system for aspiring runners. The chances of a first timer gaining an entry via the lottery are somewhat less than 25%. Another issue is that the Hardrock 100 typically takes the winner at least 24-27 hours to complete. It takes the average person closer to 40. This means that a lot of the race is done at night, in darkness. While I'm sure this is a unique experience, I would much rather be able to enjoy the mountains during the day time.

So, in light of all these, I developed* what I call the "Lazy man's Hardrock". The basic idea is to do the Hardrock course in 4 days, spending the night in each of Silverton, Telluride, and Ouray. I'm not talking about backpacking or camping - but rather stay in real hotels with real beds and hot showers at the end of each day. The goal is to go as lightweight as possible, probably just carrying a small day pack with one change of clothes for the end of each day. (Note - this is just *one* change of clothes. Not a separate one for each day). With this, and some minimal gear (waterproof jacket, first aid, food, water, etc), I think each person would be carrying about 5-7 pounds each day, hopefully less.

Of course, it's still by no means an easy trip. Going in the clockwise direction, starting at Sherman gives the following distances and elevations:

Sherman - Silverton: 28 miles, 9020 / 9350 ft of climb / descent

Silverton - Telluride: 27.9 miles, 9943 / 7983 ft

Telluride - Ouray: 16.2 miles, 4390 / 5460 ft

Ouray - Sherman: 27.9 miles, 9609 / 10169 ft

Note that I took these distances from the 2011 course description. However, I think they are backwards as listed there. For example, they give the leg from Ouray - Telluride as having 4390 feet of elevation gain and 5460 feet of descent. But this is backwards - Telluride is about 1,000 feet higher in elevation than Ouray. So I think the way I have it is correct.

Of course this doesn't exactly split the distance equally for each day, but I think a shorter 3rd day would be nice, especially ending in Ouray with the hot springs.

One problem with this route is that Handies Peak is the very last climb on the last day, just before dropping back to Sherman. This would subject us to potential storms late in the day. If we were to go the opposite direction (Sherman to Ouray, Ouray to Telluride, etc) Handies would be the very first climb of the trip.

A brief description of each day:

Day 1. Starting at Sherman (9,600 ft) climb up to Cataract Lake at about 12,000 ft, and then descent to Pole Creek (11,300 ft). Then climb Maggie Pole Pass (12,500), Buffalo Boy Ridge (13,000+) and Green Mountain. Descent to Cunningham (10,500), then climb Dives-Little Grant pass, (13,000) then descend to Silverton.

Day 2. Another early start. From Silverton, climb up to Putnam-Cataract Ridge, then Cataract-Porcupine Pass (each higher than 12,000ft). Descent to to KT (10,700), then climb Grant Swamp Pass (12,900). Descend to Chapman Gulch. Then climb Oscar's Pass (13,000+) and descend into Telluride. Proceed to the Fat Alley BBQ for Mitch Morgans.

Day 3. After a leisurely breakfast in Telluride, climb directly up Virginius Pass (13,000+) , then descend into Ouray. Spend the afternoon relaxing in the hot springs.

Day 4. Early start. Do the ~5,000 ft climb up Engineer (close to 13,000), then descend into Grouse Gulch. Climb up to Grouse-American Pass, then Handies (14,000+). Descend to Sherman. Drive home.

Here is some more insight into my thinking, in the form of Q&A:

Why not just backpack instead of staying in the towns? Wouldn't this give a more wilderness experience? My main motivation is to cover large distances each day, unencumbered by a heavy pack. Even a lightweight pack with everything needed for backpacking would still come in at 20+ pounds, which would be quite a challenge given all of the vertical. As I get older, my body really appreciates the recovery that comes from a nice shower and a comfortable bed.

Why do it in just 4 days? Why not take more time? Well, as a husband / father it's tough to get away for more than a few days. Of course I would love to spend a couple of weeks exploring the San Juans, but it's not that feasible. And as I stated above, my main motivation is to cover large distances each day, and the three towns split the route very nicely into four days.

Why go clockwise? This is a legitimate question, and I could possibly be persuaded to go counter clockwise. Going clockwise is described as going up the "steeps" and down the "ramps" (e.g. going up Virginius Pass is pretty steep from Telluride, going down Camp Bird Mine Road into Ouray is a much gentler "ramp"). I think this is probably easier on the body. It also puts one in Ouray (arguably the most enjoyable of the three towns) on the 3rd day, when ~75% of the route has been surpassed.

So that's the basic idea. The best time of the year is probably mid July - mid August.

Thoughts?

*Certainly I'm not the first person to think of this concept. But I haven't read any firsthand accounts. If you've heard of this before, please drop me a note.

Pikes Peak Marathon 2011 race report

Wow...it's been nearly 2 years since I posted anything. Not that there haven't been things to write about - it just always seems to be a challenge to find the time / motivation.

WARNING! What follows is a very long and self indulgent race report. I write these things mostly for self reflection, so that when I do something like this again I can look back and it helps me remember the experience.

After running the Imogene Pass Race four times (okay - 3.5 times since we were there in 2006), and the Pikes Peak Ascent once (2009), I decided it was time to step it up to the big boy race - the Pikes Peak Marathon. I qualified on the merits of my previous Ascent (4:09), and set a goal of sub 6 hours, based mostly on my performance at Imogene last year (3:54). I knew this would be a huge stretch, but it was March, I was feeling optimistic (5+ months to train, right?), and I figured I should put something out there to shoot for.

Training went reasonably well. I was pretty consistent in getting out the door, felt like I established a good base, did some speed work, some hill work (mostly on the treadmill), tried to squeeze in some long runs and trail runs where I could...but given the way life is (2 kids, work, remodeling, moving) and my previous running experience it was quite a challenge just to get in 5-6 hours per week. Multiply that by the pace I run, and that put my weekly mileage somewhere in the range of 25 - 35 miles. I had originally hoped to get in some high altitude work, a 14er trip with coworkers and a 3-2-1 session on Pikes, but that never materialized due to a variety of reasons. Oh well - I didn't stress it too much.

Race day seemed to come all too quick, and it was quite surreal to be standing in the middle of Manitou Ave on Sunday morning, just before 7:00am, looking up at Pikes Peak. I felt pretty good, not really nervous, just excited to get on with things. The gun went off, followed by a huge cannon, which I think took a lot of people by surprise.

I positioned myself in the middle-front of the pack, and focused on getting out smooth. I was passed by a lot of people on Manitou Ave, but I just kept reminding myself "there will be plenty of time to expend energy". I hit Ruxton in just over 4 minutes, and still just focused on keeping an even pace. Somewhere near the cog railway I switched to a fast walk, mostly keeping up or passing those around me. I looked back at one point, and I estimated I was pretty squarely in the middle of everyone. I knew this would make the Ws quite crowded, but I did not want to be one of those people who goes out to fast, only to slow down as soon as they hit the Ws. The Ws were crowded, but I was able to pass a lot of people without much of a perceived effort, and I passed the top in ~47:30. At this point I was feeling great, happy to be racing and sharing the day with those around me. The No Name aid station seemed to come quite abruptly, to the point where I had to double check with a volunteer that it was actually No Name. I was still feeling great at this point. I was running pretty much everything except for a few steep switchbacks, and generally found a good group that was going at about the same pace.

At some point after the Bob's Road aid station, I began to contemplate the enormity of the effort that I had yet to complete. The marathon is a total mind-f&%^ compared to the Ascent. At Barr Camp, instead of 6 miles to go you have 19. At A-frame you have 16 instead of 3. In retrospect, I wasn't prepared for this. But as I approached Barr Camp, I purposefully watched my effort, trying to move as efficiently as possible yet expend as little energy as possible. Normally this isn't really a problem, as I can power hike terrain at 10%-12% at around a 15 minute / mile pace without too much problem. On this day, however, it wasn't meant to be. 20:00 minute / mile pace seemed more reasonable, as my legs just had no power. After reaching the Bottomless Pit turn off, I began to lie to my self, a lot. "OK - just make it to A-frame, and you can have a break." closer to A-frame, it was "you can make it 2 to go, then a break", near 2 to go "just make it to the Cirque aid station", and so it went.

Somewhere below the A-frame, Matt C came flying by on the descent. Seriously - I'm can't actually verify that his feet were touching the ground as he passed us. We were on one of the more technical sections, in a veritable conga line of people going up, and he was running probably 6-7 min / mile pace going down. amazing. And for those who don't know, he's 47 years old. And for most of the summer he went fishing and ate ice cream with his daughter. A few minutes later Daryn Parker passed. He was no less impressive. The speed at which these guys run is almost unbelievable.

OK - so where were we? That's right...I was on the so called death march from Barr Camp to the summit. The 20 minute miles turned into 25 minute miles, which turned into 30+ minute miles close to the top. The last mile I didn't even look up until we made the final traverse that is right beneath the turnaround. And before I knew...I was there. 4:37+. ouch. 28 minutes slower than my previous ascent, and almost all of it between Barr Camp and the last mile (in 2009 I bonked pretty hard the last mile and it took 30+ minutes). I was actually feeling pretty good (probably because I was going so slow), so I grabbed a handful of grapes, and was out of there. At least, tried to be out of there. I would guess that people who summit between ~4:15 and 4:45 probably encounter the most people in the last mile. As opposed to people who are summiting in 3:00 - 3:30, who are encountering most people between 1 to go and A-frame. Passing is tough given the technical nature of the trail, but it is what it is, and next time I'll just try to be faster.

Somewhere above the A-frame it started to rain a little. Once we were in the trees it became pretty consistent. This made the footing somewhat better, somewhat worse. Somewhat better because I think it helped with a lot of the loose gravel, somewhat worse because of the slick rocks and tree roots. I got into a pretty good groove on the downhill, taking about 30 seconds to drink / eat at each aid station, and just cruising along at what was a sustainable pace. Somewhere below Barr Camp I came to the realization that I was actually going to finish this thing. I kept focusing on getting to the next aid station, and on the Ws I even counted the switchbacks (I knew there were 13 total), and this really helped keep me focused. "Okay - #7...can I get a 7? where are you 7? alright...7! can I get a 6?" silly, but it helped. I finally hit the pavement, and while the effort was tough, my body was in good shape, and I knew I would finish strong. Although I did have a flashback to the epic Julie Moss video.

I passed the Miramont Castle, saw the sign for the roundabout at Ruxton Ave and Manitou Ave, a minute later saw Molly and the girls, and then I was in the finishing chute. The volunteers asked if I was OK, and handed me some ice and the world's smallest water bottle.

Final time was 7:30:31. It was a humbling experience, and I'm proud to have finished. I learned a lot that is tough to put into words. Even though I didn't come close to meeting my goal, it was a fantastic day, and there is nothing to complain about spending all day running / walking up and down a spectacular mountain.

Some final thoughts:

Seeing Molly and the girls at the finish was definitely the highlight of the day. It's not easy hauling around a 4 year old and a 1 year old, much less waiting around for Daddy to finish when he's a lot later than he said he would be (I told them 6-7 hours). Chasing Audrey and Sydney around continues to be the best post run recovery. Although Sydney was more my speed. Whenever I was supposed to be playing with Audrey I would turn around and she would be gone.

The volunteers and staff for this race are incredible. They wait around for hours at the aid stations and the finish, stand in the rain and deal with sweat encrusted runners yelling at the them for this, that, and the other. And they do it all with a smile on their face. I received a ton of encouraging words from people at the aid stations, and it really does make a difference. And thanks to Search and Rescue as well. They're less visible than the people at the aid stations, but they are hugely important to the safety of the runners.

I'm not exactly sure what happened on the ascent. I could point to the lack of altitude training, but I was barely above 10,000 feet when I started to feel the lack of power in my legs. I could also point to the lack of a truly long "run" (the longest continous run I had was ~ 12 miles / 2 hours.) Although I had done longer trail runs / walks up to nearly 4 hours in length. And neither of these were issues last year at Imogene. Oh well - I won't dwell on it too much, but a little something to ponder for next time.

Along those lines, it's definitely a challenge as to how to spend the all important training buck. i.e., with only about an average of an hour or less of time to train each day, what's the best thing to do? I tried to loosely follow the training plan that Carpenter and Freim put together - which is roughly - run 5-7 times / week. Build up the long run. Add intervals and tempo runs. Add altitude. I have everyday access to a treadmill (at work) and reasonable access to the foothills of Denver / Boulder, but it's tough to make it there more than once every couple of weeks. I need to be more disciplined, but it's easy to fall into the habit of workouts that I do well, and avoid the tougher ones. I'm also still learning just how hard I should / need to push myself on the intervals and tempo runs so that I can still recover in time. ditto on the long run.

I was somewhat dismayed to see people still ascending into what was obviously a growing storm. I've done dozens and dozens of climbs to 14ers and 13ers, and whenever the weather is like that, it's time to get down! I guess based on my background and experience I'm just not willing to take certain chances. And I also find it pretty difficult to run myself into the ground, despite the fact that there are aid stations, SAR is out there, etc. There is something about the mountaineering ethos that says each person should be able to take care of themselves safely, and not rely on the others. With the exception of using the aid stations for water and food, it's very tough for me to deviate from this. i.e. I'm just not going to run myself into the ground.

It's now two days after the race, and my body feels pretty good. I didn't realize have any physical issues during the race. One small blister that I never noticed until after I was finished. Food and hydration was good. I ate a total of 3 gels, some m&m's a few grapes, goldfish, and 1/2 of a clif bar on the way up. On the way down I hit the gatorade a little harder, along with 2 gels, and some grapes at Barr Camp. I carried a handheld water bottle throughout the day and was pretty good about drinking.

I'm sure the inevitable questions are coming. What's next? Will you do it again? For the latter - yes - I'll definitely be back. It's an amazing race, and I would love to come back better prepared. As for what's next, I'm not sure yet. I usually like to put at least one mountain race on the calendar as a focus point - and I think next year might be a good year to do the Kendall Mountain race in Silverton.

That's all for now. Thanks for reading!