Mental Games, Darkness and Mountain Lions

It's been said that ultra running is 90% mental...And the other 10% is all in the head.

It's also been said that a goal isn't really a goal unless it scares you.

Now I don't want to make too much of a recent training run. But there was something different, dare I say special about this run. I felt a sense of victory that I've seldom felt even after completing a grueling 50 mile or longer ultra marathon. And it wasn't just for the mileage (a modest 15 miles), elevation gain (over 5000 feet with over 10,000 of total elevation change) or the conditions (honestly they were pretty favorable but I did spend the last 90 minutes in solitude up lonely, pitch dark, cougar infested canyons).

Rather I think it was the fact that I finished what I set out to do and faced some fears head on.

About a week prior to this training run I decided it would be a great challenge to do an over-and-back on Indian Trail and then follow it up with an ascent of Malan's Peak. Indian is about a 5 mile route if I leave from my house and has a total elevation gain of around 1500 feet. So over-and-back is 10+ miles and 3000+ feet of gain with over 6000+ feet of total change. But it's not all in one climb. It's a lot of up and down on technical, and in this case, snow packed trails through pines, scrub oak and maple, across boulder fields and has vistas of our amazing mountains. It's gorgeous. But also very tough. Following that excursion I would climb Malan's Peak. Malan's is approximately two and half miles and 2000 feet of gain. It's also strikingly beautiful, cut through cliffs and towering pines, with a final view of Ogden that's tough to beat. And then, of course, you have to come down. 

So, that was the plan. I told everyone I could about it so that I'd be accountable. Funny though how the mind works. No sooner than I started the run (OK, maybe even before leaving) I was conjuring up excuses for why I may not finish. I had gear issues. It was colder than expected. My feet were cold. I didn't sleep well the night before. And on and on. But for every excuse I would say 'No Mingo, you're going to do this! This is nothing compared to a 50 miler, or a 100 if you plan on ever pulling the trigger on that!' It was like the cartoons with the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other. I was being pulled back and forth with no certainty as to who the victor would be.

But as with any accomplished goal, as the cliché goes, you just quite literally put one foot in front of the other. I knew these trails very well having  travelled them each over a dozen times so I simply told myself to get to a certain point, then to the next, then to the next and so on.

By the time I completed the Indian trail portion of the day the sun was going down. As I made the turn to start the Malan's Peak ascent I turned on my headlight, passed the last people I would see coming down the trail, and started the slow climb. While my legs felt strong, I was getting a little tired and hungry. But more than that I was getting a little spooked. As I mentioned earlier these canyons have mountain lions that reside in them. Although I've never heard of an attack on a human, each time I'd hear a rustle in the shrubs or a shadow move down the trail, my heart would race and I'd have to calm myself. I was honestly spooked.

Once again the excuses started flooding my mind. "Why aren't you home with your wife?" "What if I'm the first person to be attacked by a cougar? Is that really worth it?" "No one will really care if I finish or not. Who cares if I finish?"

So I reverted to the 'one foot in front of the other' mental game. Or in this case, 'get to the end of the next switch-back' then 'get to the end of the next one'. I knew there were 5 segments to this trail. If I knocked one off at a time I'd be that much closer to my goal. 'Don't run the whole trail. Just take one piece at a time'. And it worked. When I summited the peak I was treated to a stunning view of a silhouette of the moon with just a slivered rim of reddish-white in the west and the beautiful flickering lights of Ogden a few thousand feet below. I took a couple pictures, texted my wife that I was on my way home, and ran like hell down the slippery, snowy trail.

When I got to the bottom of the trail and saw the paved road that took me the 1/4 mile to my home, I threw my arms up in a victorious Rocky-like way. Yes I've run a lot further. I've climbed a lot higher. I've run more distance and time in the dark. But each one of those were during races where my commitment to finishing was based on a registration and a bib number. I've never DNF'd a race and never plan on it. But I've thrown in the towel more times than I can count during training runs. This time was different. I chose to finish when no one other than myself would have cared either way. And really, who else matters? I'm doing this for me. Not giving up, not quitting early, convinces me that I can do hard things. I can take on the next challenge successfully. Whether anyone is watching or cares. This is my training. Training for races. Training for life. Mountain lions and darkness be damned. 

Punctured bladders. Dead batteries. Angels. Zion 100k

“In a sprint, if you don't have perfect form, you're doomed. The ultra distance forgives injury, fatigue, bad form, and illness. A bear with determination will defeat a dreamy gazelle every time.” ― Scott Jurek, Eat and Run: My Unlikely Journey to Ultramarathon Greatness

Bending over on the side of the trail I inspect what seems to be a leaking hydration bladder. Hoping I merely failed to secure the top of the bladder in its closed and locked postion I pull it out of my Ultraspire hydration pack. The bottom of the pack is drenched in a sticky water/Tailwind solution. But a sticky backside is the least of my concerns. I'm at mile 35 with no other options for carrying water. If my bladder has a hole in it how do I finish the race? Aid stations can be as much as 8 miles apart, a good 2 hours of running and hiking over rough terrain. Not only would it be highly uncomfortable to try and run without water and fuel for that long, it could be downright dangerous in the warm and dry desert environment. My worst fears are then realized. Somehow, somewhere, near the bottom of the bladder, one or more leaks have sprung allowing water to escape at what seems like a torrent. What am I going to do?

Race day initially started better than I could have even hoped. I had one of my best night's sleep in months. Certainly unanticipated. It's not uncommon for a racer to have a restless, even sleepless night before a race. But I woke up on time at 4 am feeling well rested. Most of my supplies and clothes were already in a pile by the door ready to be put on or put in the car for the short 20 minute drive to the starting line at a park in Virgin Utah. I brew some horrible hotel coffee to get my system started, waiting for the necessary bodily functions to hopefully kick in. (TMI for some of you, but if you run races you understand the importance of this morning event, especially pre-race.) I suppose gross but also apropos that the coffee maker is located in the bathroom. But I digress...

Things seem to be going swimmingly until I go to fill up one of two hydration bladders. I like doing long runs and races with two bladders. One for my liquid fuel, a strong concentration of Tailwind, and the other for clear water. While I love TW, the flavor over the course of 12, 14 or 16 hours can get mentally taxing. Clear water keeps me feeling clean and hydrated and can be handy for rinsing hands or putting on a bandanna then at the base of the neck for a refreshing cool down on a hot day. But for some reason as I fill one of my bladders I find it's letting the water gush out of the bottom. Upon inspection I find that a small rubber gasket at the bottom of the removable suction tube has where it connects to the bladder has gone missing. Hmmmm... Well, I guess I'm fortunate to have two bladders. I'll have to forego the luxury of having clear water. I'll just drink clear water at aid stations. At least I'll have adequate fuel and hydration. Merely a mental challenge I'll deal with successfully. I couldn't have predicted that this seemingly minor event proved to be my potential undoing at mile 35. One bladder meant no backup when needed...

The race began promptly at 6 am. A cool 45 degrees and the light of a half moon. Conditions were going to be perfect for a desert race. Temperatures would top out around 75 degrees with no wind or storms on the horizon. Perfection! A short run on the asphalt lead to a dirt road. It's always a fun sight to see hundreds of headlamps shining and bouncing off the rocks and course marking's reflective flags. Crowed together, jockeying for position is something us mid-pack runners are used to. The lead runners go out fast and are quickly separated from the bunches of slower, 'I'm just here to finish' minded racers. As we approach the first real climb, a 1000 foot ascent up a narrow single track trail that climbs just a mile to the top of a mesa, the run slows to a power hike then to what feels like a crawl as the conga line of runners attempts to navigate slippery, rocky, borderline treacherous trail conditions. Some slower runners graciously pull off the trail where able so as to not hold up those more able and eager to get to the top and hopefully start truly running. But there's always others that seem either oblivious or uncaring that they are holding up everyone else's progress. Does the lineup of 20 runners behind them but none in front not clue them into the fact they're holding up the line? This has always perplexed me. But alas, most of us we'll be out here for the better part of the day so we keep telling ourselves that we'll make up time when things open up later in the race. Ultra running is equal parts persistence, patience and positivity. Exercise patience early on and hope it pays off later in the race. 

Once on the mesa the sun begins to rise and spectacular views of the Virgin river valley gradually appear. One reason I choose to run trails is for the beauty. And the vistas throughout the entire Zion 100k course do not fail to amaze. So far, up to and across the first mesa, I'm able to maintain an average speed under a 12 minute mile. On track for a sub 12 hour finish. Yay! My projected finish time is 14 hours but I am shooting for an optimistic 12. Doesn't hurt to dream, right? After circumnavigating the first 'lollipop' loop and back down the initial treacherous climb (which even included repelling a short section with a rope) we run a few miles on rolling, sandy single track then dirt road. It's on this dirt road, ascending mesa number two, that I make my first friend of the race. It seems that in every ultra race I meet up with someone that runs the same pace as me and wants to talk. I thoroughly enjoy these interactions. This friend was Glen, a middle aged man maybe 50-55 from North Carolina. His easy southern accent was relaxing and he was a genuinely nice man. I learn that he ran the Bear 100 mile ultra in Northern Utah last year, a grueling test of will and strength, and that his son was in the middle of riding a bicycle across the US from Florida to Alaska. We talked family, running and life. And we imperceptibly pushed each other’s pace up a steady grade. We stayed together from about mile 16 to the mile 19 aid station. There we separated but played leap frog, encountering each other occasionally for the next few hours. (I've since looked for his finishing time on Ultrasignup.com but haven’t found it. Sadly I think he may have DNF’d.)

Mesa number two, interestingly named Guacamole, were miles 19 to 26 and where things first get difficult. This lollipop has a lot of sandstone 'slickrock'. Slickrock has become a famous surface for mountain bikers and for good reason. Despite its name it’s not at all slippery when dry. It is uneven, has dramatic ups and downs, quick dips and fast rises. Fun on a bike. Miserable as a runner. The biggest problem with running on this surface and one that I heard from multiple runners that were also new to this course is that it’s impossible to get in any kind of rhythm. The dips and rises and undulate surface prevent any consistent speed or cadence. And it’s as hard as concrete. The hips, knees and feet quickly provided negative feedback. By the time we looped back around to the aid station at mile 26 many of us were feeling the effects of this damn running surface. But we had a lot of miles yet to run. No time to complain. Just keep pushing. 

Going down the dirt road we had ascended earlier was nice for a while. At least a consistent rhythm was attainable and I felt I was going to be able to make up some time I had lost on Guacamole. Once down to the Dalton Wash aid station (miles 15 and 30.5) it was time to travel to the other side of the valley. 4 miles of rolling dirt road would take us to the base of the gnarliest, meanest, most sadistic climb I have ever faced. From miles 34 to 35 we would ascend another 1000 feet. But right in the middle of the climb came a grade that was barely hikeable, let alone runnable. On tired legs in the mid afternoon heat this mother was a grind. One foot in front of the other. That was all you could do. I past another runner that had to keep sitting down on the side of the trail. I asked him if he was alright. He quietly replied that he would be fine. I assume he made it to the top. I hope he did. Because at the top is where the Goosebump aid station was. And where my journey would quickly turn for the worse. 

After grabbing supplies from my drop bag, chugging a few cups of clear water and refilling my hydration bladder with Tailwind and water, I leave the aid station and head out on some decent single track. I’m tired but feel victorious after the big climb knowing that the worst climbing is over for the day. I’m over half way done and my pace is on track for a 14 hour finish. 12 hours now seems out of the picture but I’m content with 14. But about 100 yards down the trail is when I notice the moisture on my lower back. Where I find myself in a predicament without an easy solution. But here is where the Ultra running community once again set itself apart from most other groups in friendliness, charity and support. A female running I had been playing leap frog with much of the day sees me distraught on the side of the trail. She asks me if I'm all right. I tell her what seems to have happened and that I have no backup for carrying water.  Without hesitation she offers me her second handheld water bottle.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Absolutely!" She responds. "When you get back to the aid station just leave it there for me."
"Thank you SO MUCH! You've saved my life."
"Of course! I'm glad I can help."
With that, after turning my hydration bladder upside down so it doesn't continue leaking, I continue down the trail, bolstered with a new hope of finishing this race. 

Some of you may know that I listen to audio books rather than music on most of my long runs. Although I'm a big fan of music in general and will run with it from time to time especially when I need a boost, I've found that audio books, especially ones dealing with running long distances, mountain climbing, triathlon and other sports related topics, keep my mind occupied and make my own pain and discomfort seem not as bad. Reading about Scott Jurek, Dean Karnasez or Pam Reed run through Death Valley for 135 miles in the dead of summer makes what I'm doing seem like small potatoes. But for some reason I don't listen to much of anything during races. I have my headphones in and will occasionally turn on a book or even some comedy (I played some Jim Gaffigan routines at about mile 45 but his non-stop jokes about food just made me hungry for real food so I turned it off) but usually end up running in silence. People understandably ask 'What do you think about for that long?' I tell them I stay occupied thinking about what adjustment to make in my foot placement to make the hot-spot on my foot go away. When was the last time I took in water and fuel? Is the knee pain just discomfort or injury? How long was it since I last looked at my watch? Have I seen that runner before or is it just someone that looks similar? What's my pace? Can I make up time on the next downhill? Why is this race director such a bastard? Why did I decide to do this? I'm going to finish this and not do any other races this year. Where's the next trail marker? Did I miss it? What if I missed it?? Oh, there it is... And so on. 

After looping the Gooseberry mesa I arrive back at the Goosebump aid station where I had arranged to leave the water bottle so graciously lent to me. I have no other way to carry water but I'm hoping someone at the aid station will have a solution for me. Just then my angel runner that lent me the bottle arrives. 
"Do you have another bottle you can use?" She asks
"No. I'm going to ask around and see if anyone else has one." I reply
"Just keep mine" she says. "Leave it at the finish line. I'll be fine with what I have."
"I can't thank you enough. You've truly saved me."
"It's no problem. Have a great race!"
"You too."

And off she goes. She was a hundred mile racer meaning at this point she went on a different loop than I would. It would be highly unlikely for me to ever see her again. I fill up the bottle and slowly head down the steep climb I had ascended a few hours earlier. I text my wife that I'm in the home stretch, with about 14 miles to go I anticipate crossing the finish line in about 3 more hours. That was optimistic...

In my two previous ultras, both 50 mile trail races, I had hit low points. I'm certain that most ultra runners do. But I believe the low I hit during this race was worse than any I had experienced before. It wasn't so much the pain and discomfort. Sure, there was plenty of that. But you hit a point where the pain doesn't get any worse and you just kind of accept it. You just keep moving. Sometimes running, sometimes hiking. But always moving. Not once, for even a moment, did I sit down. Sitting down scares me. I prefer to keep upright. If I'm up I can keep moving forward.

The low that I experienced came in the form of anger. I started really hating the race director. Around mile 52 the course turned the opposite direction that I had anticipated. Rather than turning right towards the road that would lead to the finish it veered left. It's funny now to look back and think about how irrational my feelings were. Regardless of the direction the trail went the race was still going to be 63 miles long. But after 9 or 10 hours on the trail a runner's thoughts have a tendency to become less rational. The 55 mile aid station seemed to never come. It was like a mirage oasis. I started, for the first time in any race, having thoughts of a DNF. Again it wasn't that I was hurting too bad to finish. Instead I think I was just mentally done. For a while I wondered if I had missed a flag telling me to take a turn. I thought 'If I missed a turn, there's no way in hell I'm finishing this race.' I also started thinking about how nice it would be to fall and injure myself. Then I'd have an excuse to DNF, and have a nice story to go along with it. Mind you, I was ALONE for all but about 3 miles of the last 14. Alone with my thoughts, negativity has a way of creeping in. But alas, up ahead I saw a ribbon marking the trail, telling me I was on the right track. And I never fell and injured myself. I guess I'll be finishing this damn race.

I came into the mile 55 aid station as the sun was about to set. The gracious aid workers asked me all the right questions to make sure I was in good enough shape to finish. "Do you need any food?" "Do you want ice in your water?" "Do you have a jacket?" "Do you know where your flashlight is?" With each coherent answer, they knew I had the wherewithal to keep going. "You look great!" they said and sent me on my way. I hit the single track as the sun dropped and the desert sky turned shades of orange and red.

I don't mind running in the dark. I intentionally ran after the sun set a number of times during the winter and spring leading up to Zion 100k. The first few times it's a little spooky and occasionally I'd see a tree that looked way too much like a person and get a good dose of adrenaline and chills down the spine. But with a good headlamp it can be exhilarating. With a good headlamp...Did I mention I didn't put fresh batteries in my headlamp? Rookie move. I could tell the light was fading so I went as long as I could without supplemental light. But soon it was completely dark. And I mean COMPLETELY dark! No moon. No city lights. Nothing. Turn off the light and I could barely see my hand in front of my face let alone technical single track. And as my headlamp faded away, dimmer and dimmer, I wondered what I could do. Ah ha! My iPhone! With about 50% battery life remaining (good thing I didn't listen to music or much in the way of books or comedy) I was hopeful it would get me to the end. I had about 2 hours to go. I can do this!

My original goal time was 14 hours, 12 hours if everything went right. 16 hours later I crossed the finish line to the hug of my wife and weary smiles of my kids. I felt remarkable good. Completely coherent with no immediate desire to sit, eat or sleep. I've never been one to get emotional at the end of a race and this race was no different. No tears. No overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. Just a 'Thank God that's over with' and 'Where's the chocolate milk?'. Sometimes I wish I could experience that rush of emotion that many runners feel when they cross the finish line of an important race. But it's not me. I'll tear up watching a TV commercial that has a touching father-daughter moment. But months of training, 16 hours of running and completing a challenging race leaves me analyzing my race, not welling up with tears. Such is life. 

The next day my wife and I drove back to the starting line to retrieve my drop bag, the one I had at the Goosebump aid station. After searching high and low in the drop bag return area we concluded it hadn't yet made its way back and we'd need to come later that afternoon or the next day. As we were about to leave I see a weary runner coming through the finish line. The runner looked awfully familiar. And indeed, she was familiar. It was the kindly saint that 20 hours earlier had lent me her water bottle. After 30 hours on the course she finished her race. 100 miles of discomfort, grit and commitment. And serendipity let me see her cross under the finish-line banner. I hugged her, congratulated her on her finish and said one last 'thank you' to her for saving my race. I'm pretty sure I'll never see my ultra-running angel again. But it was nice to see her one last time. 

"Because It's There"

"If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won't see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to live. That is what life means and what life is for.” 
― George Mallory, Climbing Everest: The Complete Writings of George Mallory

This Friday I will embark on my longest run yet. 62 miles through the desert just outside Zion National Park. If you are a weekend runner, half marathoner, even someone that has accomplished the rightfully glorified 26.2 mile distance, 62 miles may seem silly if not insane. Interestingly, a race of this distance isn't even close to what may 'legitimize' someone as an ultra-runner. Sure, any distance beyond 26.2 is considered Ultra, but I sense among the Ultra community that anything short of completing a 100 mile race doesn't quite measure up. Don't get me wrong. The Ultra community is inclusive, accepting and encouraging. If you complete a 50k, 50 miler, or 100k you will be cheered on and promptly patted on the back with a sincere 'job well done!' But there still seems to be something missing from the resume of us runners that have completed those 'shorter' distances without having sacrificed our body and mind to take on, and hopefully complete, the holy grail of Ultra distance running: 100 miles.

But why? Why a marathon? Why an Ultra? Why 100 miles or 200 miles? Why run across America, through deserts, over mountains? Indeed, why?

Many have tackled this question. If the whole notion of spending more than 3-5 hours running (in reality many trail ultra runners spend a lot of time power hiking...but I digress) seems foolish, crazy, or makes you question the mental and/or emotional well being of said participant, then my explanation may not at all resonate with you. Or maybe it will. Hear me out and then pass judgement.

First let me say I WILL complete a 100 mile race. Not this year. My racing schedule is full for the season with this upcoming 100k, a 28 miler, a 50 miler and a 26.2, all on trails. But the 100 will happen. Likely next year. But again, why?

Each person will give a different answer but many will land on a similar theme: To be a better person. If running a stupid-long time doesn't translate to becoming a better person in your mind I can't really blame you. But you'll find among ultra runners a pretty high (no pun intended) concentration of former drug addicts, alcoholics, depressed souls and anxiety ridden minds. We battle demons from many sources and to varying degrees. And in running we have found a way to prove to ourselves that we are better and stronger than our demons. We can choose a better way. There's a certain clarity that comes with pushing your body to do things that you never thought possible. But even more than pushing the body is harnessing the mind to do what most will never even contemplate. And when we can do that, when we can make ourselves go beyond our previously held mental and physical limits...Well, it means we can be better people. We can kick bad habits. We can be better husbands, wives, children and parents. No, no, no. Not we can. We will. Because the only ones that complete ultra races don't go in to the race with a 'can-do' attitude. We go in with a 'will-do' attitude. WE WILL DO THIS DAMMIT! And we will be better people for it.

George Mallory famously responded, when asked why men climb Mt Everest, "Because it's there." And while this terse response isn't inaccurate, he knew there was more to it. I have no doubt he had demons he was trying to conquer. His answer was Everest. Mine is found in distance on mountain trails. 62 miles this time. 100 miles down the trail.

My Stomach, Dean Karnazes and Tailwind Nutrition

I am not Dean Karnazes.

Duh.

I've never run through Death Valley. I haven't attempted to run 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days. It never occurred to me, until I read it in Ultramarathon Man (written by Dean) that one man should attempt to run a 200+ mile race on his own that was created for a team of runners. These are a few good reasons I cannot be compared to Dean.

Another reason that Dean and I cannot be in the same conversation, other than this blog post, is I do not have Dean's stomach. For those of you that have read Mr Karnazes' autobiography referenced above, you'll recall the famous story of Dean ordering a pizza while on a long run. He didn't wait to finish the run to consume the pizza. Nope. He had it delivered while on the run and proceeded to eat the pizza while running. And not just a slice or two. And not a light, veggie, cheese-less variety. No, he ordered the full-on extra everything pizza. And then proceeded to eat the entire thing. While running.

One slice of pizza consumed on a run, let alone a whole pizza, would have me in sore straights within about 30 minutes. Since I'm now almost exclusively a trail runner I'd at least have the luxury of finding a bush or tree to squat behind while nature ran its unfortunate course. But when I run I'd rather be running, not 'running', if you know what I mean. Through years of trial and error while running road and trail I have discovered that I do not have a stomach of steel. I can't eat sandwiches, granola, candy bars, burritos, GUs, or even most liquid brands of fuel.

This has been very discouraging.

After all, a runner needs fuel, especially when on training runs that last 3-5 hours and races that last over 12 hours. And even though I have trained my body to use fat pretty efficiently, having an easily digestible source of fuel is essential to perform well.

Which brings me to Tailwind Nutrition.

By way of the brilliant podcast Trail Runner Nation as well as a personal recommend from a fellow Ultra runner, I discovered Tailwind. It has been a game changer for me. Not only does it provide fast but also sustainable fuel, but it has never given me a stomach ache. For that matter, there's been times where I've felt a stomach ache coming on and a swig of TW has calmed my digestive system right down. And it mixes and dissolves oh so easily in water. There's never left over sludge in the bottom of my hydration pack. Last but not least, it simplifies fueling because it contains the right balance of electrolytes meaning you don't have to carry and remember to take separate electrolyte capsules. Did I mention it tastes great? Yep, I love the flavor.

Since some of you may be wondering my motive for singing the praises of TW let me be clear that I am not being compensated in any way by the makers of Tailwind. No free product, no swag, no dinero. I just figured if any of you struggle with the same issues I have in finding a product that will sustain your endurance workouts without the painful and wildly inconvenient 'gut bomb' that other products can cause, you'd like to know what I've found works for me. So go to their site and try the Tailwind Challenge. A no risk way to see if it works for you as well as it has for me. Let me know what you think!

I wonder if Dean has ever tried Tailwind...

I'm a Puddle Jumper

"Whether the weather is fine, or whether the weather is not; whether the weather is cold, or whether the weather is hot; we'll weather the weather, whatever the weather, whether we like it or not!" - Unknown

I grew up with a kid that only knew one way in life: skis pointed downhill, full-speed, no fear, no cares, no worries...lots of accidents. 
I, on the other hand, didn't have a broken bone as a child. Not one self-induced stitch. No ambulance rides, no emergency room visits. The only trips to Insta-Care were for the occasional flu bug. That doesn't mean I didn't have fun or experience life. Far from it. 

My dad was an adventurer and that means I joined him for many a crazy adventure. We dog sledded, slept in snow caves, climbed snow-capped peaks, ventured hundreds of feet vertically deep into caves, kayaked rivers, backpacked hundreds of miles... Yet through it all, although we faced the occasional hypothermia scare, lost trails and more than one hair raising experience, I didn't get injured enough to have a physical scar to share as a memoir. 

It's because I'm a puddle jumper. 

This realization came to me  years ago but was reinforced as I was out on a last minute trail run yesterday. Tuesday is not a running day for me. But it had snowed overnight and through the morning so there was a fresh coating of snow on the trails above my house. And I learned last year that I absolutely LOVE running on snow packed trails. It's soft yet fast, quiet and utterly gorgeous. Unfortunately, while the east coast has been clobbered by heavy snows, we here in northern Utah (the Best Snow on Earth) have been largely missed. Which means I have had only a few opportunities to run on snowy trails. This means I made time to hit the trails yesterday evening if only for 3 miles so as to not miss out on what may be the last snow run of the season. 

As I cruised down the trail in childlike delight it occurred to me that I didn't splash through the remnants of the melting snow. I didn't tiptoe around them either. Instead, I jumped over them. My feet still got a little wet here and there but not blister inducing, frozen feet sopping wet. Sure, it was for only 3 miles. But whether 3 miles or 30 miles, why suffer unnecessarily? If I can jump over the puddle why would I run through the puddle? 

And this, I reason, is why I have remained largely unscathed (physically. Emotionally is another blog for another day) through my many life adventures. I try to reason out the best course before leaping. I count costs. Some call this boring. I call it smart. After all, while a night spent in the emergency room may be a neat story, a broken bone would sideline me from more adventures. I'd rather jump the puddle. 

Are you a puddle jumper?

So, What's This All About?

I had a friend and client once tell me I'd be a lot faster if I stopped taking pictures and just focused on running. That recommendation came with the assumption that I cared to be fast. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be slow. I work very hard to be a better trail runner and one way I do that is to train for greater speed. But I would never run faster at the expense of missing the glorious surroundings that the trails above Ogden Utah have to offer. And capturing this beauty and sharing it with others makes the run all the more enjoyable and fulfilling.

So, one thing you'll be seeing on my blog are pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. I hope you enjoy. All are taken by me with my iPhone. (For a full gallery please follow me on www.instagram.com/justin_runs_ogden)

But beyond pictures of my runs I'll also be sharing reviews of products I actually have used extensively. Not just tried for a run or two. For instance, I've battled digestive issues while running for years. But I found a fuel that not only gives me consistent energy but never, and I mean NEVER upsets my stomach during a long run. I'm going to tell you about that product. Or what about shoes? Hydration packs? Gloves? Shorts? I use them and I have opinions. Maybe you'll find my impressions useful. 

And since I'm a Ogden native and spend a number of hours a week running our amazing network of trails (primarily on the Bonneville Shoreline Trail network) I'll be able to provide timely and useful trail reports. This will include various recommended routes for running, hiking and mountain biking, trail conditions, and more. If you're looking to get into trail running and you live in the area you couldn't ask for better trails to get started on. We have everything from very steep to flat, technical to clean single track, narrow trails to wide dirt roads. And all just a few minutes from downtown Ogden, the best small town in the west.

I'll also be sharing useful health and fitness tips and advice, race reports, more pictures and whatever else may help my readers. Your input will be invaluable so please feel free to share your thoughts. 

So, here goes...