"Dream Run" (California International Marathon 2018)

I decide to go for it. Can I maintain a 6:29 per mile pace and run under 2:50 (1980-1986 Boston Marathon Qualifying Time for Men 30-39)?  That would be a PR of over eight minutes and though it doesn't sound like much 18 seconds per mile faster over 26.2 is no easy feat.  If my breathing is labored or the turnover not coming easily I will abandon the goal.  It is after all, a dream goal, one you hope for but don’t expect.

As the opening miles go by things feel as they should be in the early throes of the marathon; easy and comfortable.  And with that the dangerous thought that the dream goal may be a possibility. It’s an easy trap to fall into early in the race and I do my best to suppress it, but it’s like stopping a faucet leak with your hand.

More miles click by: 6...7...8.  My pace is a little faster than I like so I partly open my palms and mutter the word “patience.”  There’s still a long way to go and I’m trying to stay balanced on the tight rope that is the dream goal and not fall into the abyss of failure.  I don't look down.

The halfway sign of 13.1 miles marks the end of the hills, or at least that’s what I remember from five years ago.  “It’s like a downhill San Vicente!” I told others. Crossing the half in 1:24:36, my ability to bury those optimistic thoughts weakens.  The proverbial small faucet leak is now anything but. I can’t let myself get ahead, however. The disappointment would be overwhelming.

Maybe my head needs to be examined.  The San V grade I remembered doesn’t seem to exist.  The hills keep rolling and I’m waiting for the long gradual downhill to the finish (I’m still waiting, by the way). No matter, I need to hold myself together until at least mile 20.  What were once miles on cruise control become more labored. The legs start to feel achy.  I have to engage my mind.  “Keep your form. Keep your pace.”  Mile 20 can’t get here soon enough. 

Much to my chagrin, what was once a race of patience turns into a need to increase effort to maintain pace.  The miles of near 6:30 somehow continue, but time seems to have slowed. The miles no longer fly by.  I spy the mile 20 banner in the distance. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. The real running is about to begin.  Every mile is going to be a battle. Every second counts. I question if I can hold on the last 10km.

My breaths increase in frequency.  One mile now feels like three and my arms start to become more engaged, imploring myself forward.  Last gel down. 

What I thought was pain was nothing compared to what 22 to the end saved for me.  Doing everything I could to maintain turnover, I start audibly grunting. I need an outlet from the inescapable pain because I know I have to go through it.  There is no other option.  As perverse as it sounds, it’s a gift to be able to. We so rarely do except in these moments.

My mile times start to drift upwards by several seconds above pace but I have no energy to worry.  I’m giving everything I have. Seconds slowly tick by. Another 6:33. My grunts now come with every exhale.  I want this bad and I don’t know if I’ll have an opportunity like this again. I can’t give in.

The crowds and cheers on the course start to increase and I try to run the tangents the best I can.  I don’t want to run one more step than I have to.  A 6:45 mile. “Come on!” I scream at my legs. But there is a reprieve.  It’s mile 26. I summon those last reserves for the final 320 meters. I have tunnel vision and all I can see is the finish line timing mat up ahead.  Both feet cross the finish line and the incredible relief of not having to run one more step washes over me.

2:49:33.  At the moment it’s just a number.  What is most satisfying is making it through the fire that is uncertainty and doubt.  Within seconds, lightheadedness and pain demand my attention. I can barely stagger over to receive my medal. “Are you okay?” a concerned volunteer asks as they keep me upright.  I lean into their body, eyes glazed over and whisper the only thought I can muster: “I had a dream run.”

Denali Expedition Recap

Summit Ridge

I won’t be writing about the day to day as that was succinctly put in the twelve “Denali Transmit” posts which you can peruse at your convenience.  What I am going to write about is the special place the Alaskan Range was for me.  Last night I finished a well put-together and riveting book called “To the Top of Denali” by Bill Sherwonit and he goes over the history of climbing Denali until present day.  One thing I took away from it and that reaffirmed my original assessment is just how damn lucky we got with the weather.  I don’t mean simply while on the mountain, but the fact we got to fly into Kahiltna International Airport a day early, and fly out within two hours of returning to Base Camp to Talkeetna, the launching point of most, if not all, Denali excursions.  Sure it snowed on the expedition, even when we were within 1000 ft (300m) of the summit, but we didn’t have to contend with major spring storms and high winds when it mattered most.  The climbers who gave it a go in late April, early-mid May were hammered and by the time we arrived at the Talkeetna Ranger Station for the mandatory 1hr plus orientation, the statistics board showed only two people had summit Denali. 

The year to year seasons on Denali vary in terms of summit percentage but the average is around 52%, with one half of climbers guided and the other independent.  This year there are 1150 registered climbers, with 381 completed climbs and 179 summits. That’s a 47% success rate (as of 6/8/18). [UPDATE: As of July 12, 2018, there were 1114 completed climbs and 496 summits for a 45% success rate.  The climbing season is over and there is no one active on the mountain.]

Ever since early March, when I started planning this expedition, I took the trip seriously, more so than usual.  Although I had been higher in altitude previously, the environment, skills required, and self-sufficiency needed would demand more of me than any other trip.  This is a place where death and injuries including frostbite are not uncommon.  After my climbing partner on this trip, Avedis Kalpaklian, signed on, I focused the next two months on reviewing and going over roped travel, crevasse rescue, creating a detailed gear list, putting together our intended itineraries (standard and aggressive), schlepping 45-55 pound loads up and down 10,066 ft Mount Baldy (in addition to my usual trail running), arranging logistics, learning about the West Buttress route, and dialing in every other small detail that a trip like this can only demand. 

That coupled with the fortunate weather made for a successful trip.  We summit the 20310 ft (6190m) mountain in twelve days and the entire expedition lasted fourteen days, about seven less than what we had planned for.  This doesn’t mean it wasn’t challenging or difficult, or that I didn’t have a low point or two, but two weeks total with all limbs and appendages intact with a summit to boot, is fortunate.  These are humbling mountains and they have my utmost respect.

With that said, there were some things I hadn’t done before.  For example, rigging and pulling a heavy sled in addition to a heavy pack to accommodate 127 pounds, consistently digging 5-6 foot caches, ascending and descending fixed lines on up to 50-60 degree snow and ice slope, and leading steep snow slopes with snow pickets as running belays.  On top of that, we were constantly assessing the weather and determining whether and when we should move.  Besides the direct sun occasionally warming up the closed tent, the living temperatures were usually between -25F and +10-20F (depending on altitude and not including wind chill).  We stayed four nights at 14200ft  and two nights at 17200ft on the way up and one night at each on the way down.  There were two nights for me that were downright miserable, with sleep and warmth hard to come by.

Now to the Alaskan Range.  Well, what can I say that the photos you’ll be seeing can’t convey any better?  Just the flights to and from the glacier are spectacular in their own rights.  The range is a desolate mystical place and I felt like a speck among giants.  It’s a place that makes you feel vulnerable starting with the hidden crevasses under your feet to the random serac falls and avalanches that come booming off mountain slopes.  It’s an environment that’s constantly in flux with the heavy, unrelenting hand of pressure and time shaping it.  From the first to the last day I had to stop several times to simply stare and wonder.  It’s an experience that gave my life enough of a nudge to point me in a slightly different direction than the course I was on.  Sometimes that happens, sometimes it doesn’t, but those are the types of experiences I cherish most.  I’ll end with an excerpt from my journal on our final day:

“It was quiet and I felt like I was the only one on the mountain with the dawn light.  Although the packs were absolutely crushing, the morning views of the Kahiltna and surrounding peaks were why I come to the mountains.  The silence sang so loudly I had to stop several times and gaze in wonder.  The descent to Camp II was a killer and with every step came a grunt.  After digging out our cache that included sleds we made our way down to Kahiltna Pass with occasional sled mishaps.  After turning south towards “Ski Hill” I was richly rewarded with stunning vistas.  With the crisp cool air and gradual descent, it was about as perfect and satisfying a time as I can have.  A smile with elation naturally came upon my face.  The unspoilt snow glistened with the shower of morning light, the snow underfoot was the perfect firmness, and the body and mind were completely relaxed as I walked through this glaciated Eden.  These mountains were showing off, though I know in the back of [my] mind they can be equally as treacherous.  However, for the moment it was bliss.  This will not be my last time in the Alaskan Range.”

You can click here for select photos and videos or the link under "Travel Photos."   

Denali Transmit #12 (Final)

June 5, 2018

I've been back in Talkeetna now for a couple of days after having finished the trek out on Sunday, June 3. We've been very fortunate with the weather and that allowed us to fly in and out without a hitch while some wait up to a week for a weather window. The descent back to Base Camp was at times splendid and other times absolutely trying. The weight of the gear, food, and excrement alone was at times torturous on the steep downhills before we got the sleds back, but the early morning views and the quiet stillness of the surrounding range was something I'll cherish. Now is a time of reflection for me. I plan on gathering notes, photos, and some video from the expedition and turn it into something, perhaps. If you enjoyed this and would like more, please don't hesitate to subscribe.

Denali Transmit #11

June 1, 2018

We knocked off the bastard, to paraphrase the late Sir Edmund Hillary.  The summit of North America was ours at 6:40 pm, Alaskan Standard Time (if that exists).  Just got back in the tent and can't move.  A very challenging and sensational day.  I am so ecstatic but I literally just want to crawl in my sleeping bag.  We're starting our descent tomorrow.  Shouldn't take more than a couple days to get back to Base Camp.

Denali Transmit #10

Back in Camp IV about 45 min ago after picking up our cache at 16,200'.  Today went a lot better on the ridge and my god the views were spectuacular and the ridge was so fun.  Sometimes on a knife edge, sometimes 3rd class scrambling on granite in crampons.  Anyway, we are eating and drinking so we can be prepared for a summit attempt tomorrow morning around 10 am.  It's too cold to start any earlier with temps being in the minus twenties.  We're excited and are focused on tomorrow.  We have our fingers crossed for the weather.  

Denali Transmit #9

Absolutely brutal but spectacular day.  We are in Camp IV after a 8 hr 15 min day.  I don't even know where to begin, but going up the headwall with a full pack, leading the technical sections on the West Buttress, and winding away on its ridge while snowing some and sunny some.  Barely ate anything all day but we are thrilled to be in our tent resting.  Did I mention we are fried?  Anyway, tomorrow we go back on ridge to pick up our cache, but it'll be a much shorter day. And then Friday, we may have a go at the summit.

Denali Transmit #8

Today we decided on a rest day here at Camp III and tomorrow we move to our final camp, Camp IV.  Then we may take an active recovery day up there on the following day, and pick up our cache a little lower before making a summit attempt Friday.  Hope the weather holds a bit.  Tomorrow there is an 80% chance of snow, but who really knows.  I'm ready to make a final push up to the summit.  I've paired down all unnecessary gear for the next few days to keep the weight lower.  

Denali Transmit #7

May 28, 2018

Got back into camp after caching at Washburn's Thumb @ 16,200', our final one.  Today was the start of the real alpine climbing.  Fixed lines up a 50 degree ice slope and descending was pretty wild with magnificent views.  The weather continues to be decent minus the sub-zero nights, but we don't know what each day brings.  I'll keep you posted on our plans.  For now, tomorrow would be a move to Camp IV at 17,200' or we could get stuck here with the weather.  Barring something crazy, we could have a summit attempt this week.

Denali Transmit #6

May 27, 2018

Nice active recovery day today.  Once the sun came out I felt a lot better.  We picked up our cache just now and are back in camp.  Tomorrow we head up the West Buttress headwall to cache food and fuel for Camp IV, our final one before our summit push.  We've been very forutnate wtih the weather though that's going to change Tuesday as we get hit with the first storm of our expedition.  So we may be in Camp III a bit before we even have a chance.  Climbers are being turned back due to cold temps and hight winds.  Camp IV has a high of -25F.  Brutally cold but I hope something positive happens perhaps late in the week.

Denali Transmit #5

Long day, phew!  Moved to Camp III at 14,200' and spent the last three hours building our campsite.  We are spent!  We finally are in the tent.  Now we need to rest before melting more snow and boilding water to make dinner.  Stunning views from camp albeit cold at times.  Digging a lot of snow does warm one up though!  Tomorrow is an active recovery day where we go back and pick up our cache at 13,600' and bring it to camp.  

Denali Transmit #4

Back in the tent, melting snow after a cache up to 13,600'.  Absolutely beautiful day though the morning was frigid.  Tomorrow if the weather holds we move to 14 camp (Camp 3 @ 14,200').  We get to ditch the sleds and snowshoes too as we move from Camp 2.  We are moving well though sometimes I'm a bit impatient as we're ascending.  Being on a roped team takes a different kind of attitude and I'm adjusting.  Go Cavs!!

Denali Transmit #4

We woke up with 1.5 feet of fresh dry powder in camp this morning.  Shoveled a lot and after a while we went back down and got our cache in a whiteout.  Then hauled it back up to Camp II.  This was our "active rest" day.  Tomorrow we cache to Camp III at 14k ft.  

Denali Transmit #3

May 23, 2018

We made it to Camp 2 at 11k feet.  We've finished setting up camp and are now melting snow and making dinner.  Tomorrow is an active rest day where we go back down a little and retrieve our cache.  My face is a little on fire even with all the protection and sunscreen, but that's to be expected.

May 22, 2018

We are back in Camp 1 after caching to 10k ft.  Great weather so far.  Tomorrow we are moving to Camp 2 at 11k feet.  Then we finally get to ditch our sleds in a couple days thank god.  Heavy loads!  

May 21, 2018

Made it to Camp 1 about an hour ago.  We got a late start as it's been a whirlwind.  Great weather but tired.  Who won the Cavs Celtics game?

Denali Transmit #2

May 21, 2018

Made it on the glacier.  Surreal experience.  This place is mystical.  Getting prepared for the day.  We may spend one more night at BC or move to C1.

Denali Transmit #1

I am in the Sheldon Air hanger re-organizing, purchasing fuel, snow wands, and weighing all gear. It's been a whirlwind so far. After landing in Anchorage this morning at 430, we shuttled two hours to Talkeetna, and got through the 1+ hour NPS orientation (shit cans included) off the standby list. All this by 1130 am. The weather these weeks has been poor and flights to and from the glacier are few and far between, with up to 6 days of waiting in either direction. Along with climbers being unfortunate with the weather, keeping most tent-bound. However we have had a break. We were told upon arriving at the hanger that a short weather window has opened and today is our opportunity. We fly tonight to Kahiltna Glacier.

Idyllwild

My good friend made his way over west from Colorado this past weekend and we headed up to Idyllwild early Friday morning.  It's not a place I've spent much time in besides passing through to climb a few times at Tahquitz rock.  My first memory of it was when I bailed on the PCT in 2009 and camped at the San Jacinto State Park reading some random Michael Crichton book I picked up along the way, though I don't know which one it was.  The PCT wasn't as exciting as I hoped it would be; the JMT spoiled me, though in hindsight I didn't give it a chance and I wasn't mentally prepared for that type of journey.  One day I will walk this long path.  Ironically it's the perfect time of year to see the herd of PCTers pass through and there was no shortage of them.
We climbed a 5.7 five-pitch route called Fingertrip on Friday, which was really fun and heady at times.  Climbing a lot more trad and outdoors this year has helped my head game tremendously and it showed on the run-out slab sections of pitch 2 and 5.  Last time we climbed out here we had an "epic" and didn't get back to the car until midnight.  This time was much different.  My plan Saturday was to run an 18.5 mile "lollipop" loop to the top of Mt. San Jacinto via Deer Springs Trail while my friend put in another day of climbing.  I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I had never summit San Jacinto and I was thrilled to be able to ascend a peak of it's stature on all new terrain.  It was a great loop.

Joel leading 3rd pitch

End of route: Final belay from top of 5th pitch

Shelter built by the CCC in 1933.  There were four bunks.

One of several USGS markers from the 1800's at the summit of San Jacinto

San Gorgonio (11, 503') from San Jacinto (10,833')

Lily Rock (Tahquitz) coming down from Wellman Divide

Zion Traverse

What took one hour and a half by vehicle took eleven hours and forty minutes on foot.  What I’m talking about is the spectacular east-west traverse of Zion National Park.  By linking fifty miles of existing trails within the park one can connect both ends of the park and complete this journey in a day, if so inclined.  That’s what Dave and I set out to do the morning of the seventh of April.  Departing a little after first light we set off on the East Rim Trail and meandered our way through unspoiled canyons and colorful mesas.  The descent into the Virgin River-carved Zion Canyon transcends time and no matter what century one happens upon it, one cannot help but deeply feel the goodness and beauty of nature.  A sense of spiritual belonging overwhelms and a deep happiness results. These are the moments I live for.
After filling up for water at the Grotto the climb resumes past the tourist infested and paved Angel’s Landing trail.  Just as quickly it becomes peaceful again and excitement abounds for the unknown territory ahead.  After climbing up to the West Rim and Telephone Canyon trail junction, the water flow at Cabin Spring was non-existent so we continued on the West Rim Trail.  After passing one or two groups of like-minded folk, though not sure if they could make it all the way (they were succulent), we soon came upon the stunning views of the Great West Canyon.    The thin partial cloud cover let in just enough light to stop me in my tracks several times.  Another perfect moment.  Sadly prying away we continued to Potato Hollow where another pathetic spring failed to materialize.  A hot and uninspiring gradual climb out of Horse Pasture Plateau found me mildly desperate for water.  A 0.3 mile side trail took us to Sawmill Spring.  What a misnomer of a name.  Cattle-trampled grass with pockets of water is what constitutes this “spring.”  But I was in need of water, unsure of how far the next reliable source was, so I filled my bladder with a mix of water and sediment using Dave’s hard plastic bottle as there was no other way to procure it.  Though I haven’t treated water in the backcountry in over ten years I was not confident with this choice, but what is one to do.  Fortunately I didn’t drink more than 10-20 ounces as a cold spring in Wildcat Canyon revealed itself and was happily devoured.  What fresh spring water can do to the psyche!  We continued with renewed vigor and made good time to the Connector Trail which offered splendid views North and South Guardian Angel.  Arriving at Hop Valley Trail we took that north through overgrazed cattle land running on beach-like sand.  That felt slow and tedious but soon we entered Hop Valley and this narrow grassy valley, surrounded by red cliffs, was a special place.  We crossed and re-crossed the same stream a dozen times working our way toward the well lit Kolob Canyon seen ahead in a narrow canyon window.  It felt like I was discovering this fairy-tale like region for the first time.  Then all at once we left this flat valley and were suddenly climbing amongst trees, with green fern-like plants everywhere.  We descended on technical trail to La Verkin Creek and Kolob Canyon.  Pleased with the way we were progressing and with the cooler weather, I drank and filled a flask of water straight from the creek (Dave doesn’t drink unfiltered water) and it was slightly mineral tasting I will admit. As I learned later, I should have actually looked for the spring next to the big creek!  With the final 6.5 miles upon us we kept a steady running pace as the clouds started to get thicker and darker.  We heard rolling thunder off to the west and soon a few drops made their presence felt.  Those few drops soon became a steady hard rain with wind.  With only several miles left, we kept running steady without wanting to stop to don jackets.  The buttes just to the east were partially shrouded in sheets of rain but the beauty of this place couldn’t be truly hidden.  I was in awe and I slightly disappointed not to have taken more photos during this section, but with the camera wet, it will have to be preserved in my minds eye.  The last mile was sloppy but soon enough arrived at Lee Pass soaked but on a high.  It felt like five days wrapped into one and it was hard to believe we started almost 11 hours and 40 minutes ago.  It’s a run I’ll never forget.

Angel's Landing

Great Western Canyon

Wild Turkeys

Hop Valley

Western Terminus

Musings 2 and New Years Tradition

I remember when I went out on my first ever solo backpacking trip in 2004.  I went alone on an improvised trip of sorts and I remember taking a break on the second day needing to rest my achy shoulders and body.  I came upon a spot looking out to an expansive view of the Merced Canyon with the Merced River roaring down below.  I looked out on the distant canyon walls, the grandeur, and suddenly a deep sense of loneliness came over me.  It was as if human civilization didn't exist and I was alone.  I had never had that feeling before, and maybe it's because I was a city boy.  It was a frightening feeling and it didn't particularly sit well at the moment.  The reality was that I was on a popular trail in Yosemite National Park and although I don't remember seeing anyone that morning there were plenty of backpackers around someplace.  Clearly, I was out of my comfort zone.

Baldy on New Years Day has become a tradition of sorts...

Mt. Harwood from Baldy