Boston Marathon - A Different Type of Hurt

At mile 26 of the Boston Marathon, you turn right on Hereford St., then a left on Boylston. You have .2 miles left at the most iconic marathon in the world. Fans are cheering at a deafening volume on both sides of the street. For the last 26 miles you’ve been within arms reach of spectators. But, on this final stretch, barriers keep them at a distance. You’re on your own, stomping the double yellow. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes, the moment where anyone becomes someone. You’re center-stage and the spotlight is on.

You want to take it all in, so you glance out your periphery, latching onto cheers, allowing them to propel you the final steps. But, nothing is clear, it’s a blur of clapping hands. Your eyes remain fixed straight ahead, gazing at the yellow and blue FINISH.

Many runners cherish these final moments of the Boston Marathon, immortalizing them in memory. Yet, as I reflect, all I can think about is the pain, and how desperately I wanted the race to be over. I’ve run many races in my life, but Boston 2024 hurt different.

I’ve spent the last week thinking more deeply about pain in running: how does it really feel? And why do we keep coming back?

Training
My training for Boston went...pretty great. Since I typically focus on trails and ultras, so this was actually my first training block where I put a legitimate focus on road marathoning. (3rd road marathon ever).

Things kicked off in Thailand in December with heat and humidity training. The miles come easy when you’re exploring new places. When I came back to the U.S., I PR’d my half marathon—twice—first at the Vancouver Lake Half Marathon (1:115:47) and then the Portland Shamrock Half (1:14:40), which I surprisingly won. I was executing 2 workouts per week, consistently, and got myself a pair of Hoka Cielo x1’s. I was running a fairly consistent ~65 miles per week, and I felt ready to race. Things were clicking. I was actually running fast (for me).

Pacing:

One key difference between a marathon and 100 miler is heartrate and pacing. For better or worse, in marathon racing, you are enslaved to the numbers on your watch. Every MP workout , you are fighting and pushing to achieve a pace. For the final 2 months leading up to Boston, I was trying to figure out and dial my marathon pace would be…5:50? 5:55? 6:00? 6:02?

My marathon pace workouts hovered around these times. My COROS race predictor had me pegged at 2:31, which I knew was aggressive and suggested I’d do a fairly even-split after a near-PR on the first half. I was correct in assuming this was unrealistic.

I ended deciding I’d shoot shooting for 5:54 for the first half, which would put me in position to do a sub-2:35:00 if I felt good in the Newton Hills. My A-goal remained doing a sub 2:40.

Looking back, I think this was the right approach, but I should have taken into account the heat. Weather got up to nearly 70F, which slowed me down in the 2nd half. I do believe I was fit enough to run a sub 2:35 on a cooler day and flatter course.

Breaking down the pain:

The pain I felt in Boston wasn’t fatigue, and it wasn’t injury. It was what felt like “peak physiological capability”. Getting everything out of myself that I’m physically capable of for ~2 hours and 40 minutes. From a physiological perspective, this makes sense.

For context, my max heartrate is about 205 beats per minute, and my anarobic threshold is about 200 bpm. A few stats from my race:

  • Over 80% of the race was at “threshold” in Zone 4 (between 184 - 200 bpm).

  • My average heartrate was in the high 180’s. For added context, for a 90 minute period in the middle of the race, (15 miles) I had an average heartrate of 191. That’s 93% of my maximum HR!

  • At one point during every mile my heartrate reached at least 197 bpm.

What this means was that I was near, or at, my aerobic capacity for nearly the whole race. It was my peak physiological fitness on that day. It’s a different type of hurt. You want to stop. You want to walk. You want to do anything other than continue running.

Race days splits

This also gives me a good understanding of my strengths and weaknesses as a marathon runner. I have the ability to endure ~2hrs and 40 minutes of threshold running. This is a good thing, and is typically what elite runners are capable of. That said, if I want to improve my marathon time, I need to “raise my ceiling” and increase my aerobic capacity.

This is incredibly different from a 100 mile race. While yes, I am pushing myself to my limits in a 100 mile race—it’s much more in a mental capacity. Most of 100 milers are run in Zone 2; for the first 70 miles your pace could be equivalent to a Sunday morning social run with friends, and true racing doesn’t begin until the late stages.

Giving a few high-fives to my nieces and nephews at mile 14

People often ask me the difference between a marathon mile race and 100 mile races. I realized is that marathoning is about reaching your peak physiological capabilities: it’s more of a scientific equation to hit certain paces within certain heart-rate/effort thresholds. 100 mile races are a question of troubleshooting and resourcefulness. They’re very different.

What I’ve come to realize s that I simply love the variety of feelings that each distance and surface offers. A trail 100 miler feels and hurts differently than a mile repeats on a track.

Runners love to suffer — suffering means improvement. And while pain comes along with suffering, I’m a better runner knowing how and why we feel different types of pain. I’m ready to keep improving.

Boston Marathon 2024
2:39:23
412 / 26,491

Oregon Cascades 100 & 2023 Recap

 

Mile 82 at the Oregon Cascades 100. Photo credit James Holk & Alpine Running

2023 was a great season, capping it off with a win at the Oregon Cascades 100 on August 26th! It feels good to get my first 100 mile win at such a fun and beautiful race.

Since OC100 was (likely) my final race of 2023, I’m going to recap the full season here, with a longer focus on the OC100.

Kicking things off at Boston Marathon:

My season started at the Boston Marathon in April. Having grown up in Boston, I’ve spectated the race several times, but hadn’t run it myself. So, this was was a long-time-coming. I usually shy away from road marathons and gravitate toward trail & ultras, so this was only my 2nd road marathon (qualifying in Bergen, Norway last year). I’ve complained about the challenge of living in Amsterdam and trying to train for mountain events, but it served me just fine for the Boston course.

I had a shortened training block following my wedding & honeymoon in January. After traveling to Boston a few days before the race, I had a strong run, setting a PR with a 2:47. I certainly felt in the minority in wave 1 without any (carbon-plated) supershoes (I sported Topo Ultrafly’s…and I think I’ll have to make the Supershoe investment for the next road marathon I do). Perhaps Boston 2024?

Running Boston was also a humbling experience. I’m used to being toward the front of the pack at ultra events, but coming in 1,000th+ place in Boston was a nice reminder of the shear number of great runners out there.

My nieces and newphews sporting custom “love you to the sky Uncle Davis” t-shirts 🥰

Exploring the Austrian Alps

The Boston Marathon gave me some solid foundational legspeed heading into “ultra season” where I’d need to start logging some longer days. In May I headed to the Austrian Alps, specifically to the Kaiser Mountains. I circumnavigated Kaisers, also known as the the “Kaiser Crown” route, which took a total of 4 days, 88.7 miles and 19,956ft of gain (6,082m). It was gorgeous.

I highly recommend this route for runners/hikers of all skills, as it has great hütte system to provide support throughout, and easy access from Munich!  I’m grateful to have run in some incredible places in the world… The Austrian Alps just might take the top spot.

Final day of the Kaiser Crown route

Longest Day 100k - Spa, Belgium

The Kaiser Crown set me up well for the kickoff of my first ultra of the year, The Longest Day 100km in Spa, Beligum. It was one of the first hot days of summer, and many of us were not well acclimated to the heat.

One thing I learned from The Longest Day 100km was that I needed to dial-in my hydration plan. Race-day ended up being the first hot day of summer, registering a surprising 87 degrees farenheit (30c). This wasn’t my A-race for the season, but was a good warm-up, and reminder how disciplined you need to be to execute a full-day effort.

Startline at Longest Day 100km in Belgium

When I crossed the finish line in 11 hours in 5th place, I realized I had been consuming close to 2 liters of water per hour (!) and had only urinated once —at mile 10. I didn’t urinate once for the last ~9 hours of the race. From a physiological standpoint, this had to mean that I was sweating nearly 2 liters per hour.

I’ve felt confident in my nutrition plan during races for several years now, but my fluid and electrolyte intake has been mostly dictated by feel and instinct. I knew that intense exercise without urinating for 4+ hours time implied I was likely dehydrated. It was time to get more calculated. I didn’t adequately understand fundamental data to inform my hydration plan: how much I was sweating in varying temperatures, how much sodium was in my sweat, how much water I should be drinking, or what product(s) I should be using. These were all mostly unknown.

The day after The Longest Day, I signed up for a sweat test with Precision Hydration to determine how much sodium I am losing (per liter of sweat). This has proven to be invaluable. I now know that I sweat 676mg of sodium per liter of sweat (which makes me on the lower end of the sweater spectrum).

Prior to understanding this data, I was simply under-utilizing electrolytes…and for the products I was using, the sodium concentration was quite low. I am now precise with my electrolyte intake, and used a combination of the PH500 tablets and 250mg capsules during the Oregon Cascades 100.  

Plantar Pain:

After running a “The Longest Day 100km” in Belgium in early June, I came down with plantar fasciitis. For runners that have dealt with PF, it’s not an injury you can “run through”. The injury is finicky…the most painful steps of each day are the first ones…and then it loosens up. Running can “feel” good, but ultimately cause more damage.

I ended up taking 10 days off from running in mid-June, and mixed in biking to stay fit. I spent a lot of time with Pieter and his team at The Art of Physio in Amsterdam, and went to the gym 5x per week for strength training. “Strength” might be a stretch of a term here….I was mostly doing toe yoga, calf raises, and stability work. I stayed away from the heavy weights, focusing on the small muscles in my foot, calf and ankle that would enable my plantar to heal.

After about 7 weeks, the PF was mostly gone, but pain had shifted into my pinky toe. I continued with lower mileage than I would have liked leading up to a 100 miler, but tackled several 4-6 hour runs that made me feel confident I was fit enough to toe the start-line.

The week leading up to Oregon Cascades 100, my pinky toe was still bothering me. It wasn’t until 1-2 days before the Oregon Cascades when the fact that I realized this was likely a case of athlete’s foot, and had nothing to do with my plantar fascia at all. I applied medication and the athlete’s foot healed up…but it was a good lesson in understanding even the smallest ailments can cause major stress leading up to a race.

Final Training Block:

Lucy and I packed up and left The Netherlands for good on August 1st. This was a bittersweet moment; spending the last 4.5 years in Amsterdam has been incredible, but we’re also excited for our next chapter to travel and experience the world together for the next ~6 months!

My last 3 weeks in The Netherlands were focused on two things: our international move, and running. In our final 3-weeks, I took 6 trips on a 90-minute train (one way) to find the closest “hill”. I got to know this hill, called the Posbank, very well over the past few years. I know every dip and curve, every undulation of the trail. It was fitting that I’d spend so much time with this old friend before departing the country. It was like saying goodbye to a wise old soul.

I even created a Strava segment for this infamous “dutch mountain” loop before leaving. If you live in the Netherlands, go and find it!

It’s safe to say I was ready to be done sitting on trains when August 1st came, and we were USA-bound!

My core training ground for the Oregon Cascades 100. It’s a 90 minute train ride from Amsterdam.

We donated a big portion of our belongings before leaving The Netherlands. And in typical Amsterdam fashion, we had to move everything out through our window!

Our last night in Amsterdam. We will miss our canal walks!

Oregon Cascades 100:

Lucy and I spent the month of August visiting family in Boston and Portland, respectively, before traveling to Sisters, Oregon for the race.

When we arrived to Sisters on Monday before the race, we were greeted by dense smoke from wildfires near Eugene. The Air Quality Index (AQI) was reading between 500-700 on Monday and Tuesday. The race directors said they’d wait until the last minute to decide if the race was on…but anything over 150 AQI they’d have to make some “tough calls”.

5 days before the race…just outside of Sisters. AQI was around 500

Luckily, the wind direction was in our favor, and by Thursday morning, things had cleared up! I appreciate the race directors for their communication on this topic, it was very well handled!

How quickly the air can change! Race morning, somewhere near Bend. Photo credit James Holk & Alpine Running

Pre-race crew meeting - ready to roll with the best crew out there!

5 minutes until takeoff! 🚀

Miles 1-30:

The race kicked off at 6am. My plan for the race was to start conservatively for the first 20 miles, most of which are uphill. The gradients of 2-4% can fool you easily, and make you think you’re not working as hard as you actually are. I monitored my heart rate and breath to keep things in control.

I let 20+ runners go ahead in the early miles of the race, and felt comfortable with this from a competitive standpoint. I was confident in my plan, and actively tried to avoid thinking about what “place” I was in until mile 70, because it’s all irrelevant until then.

Looking back at the splits, I was in about 15th place by mile 15.

Somewhere near mile 10 (in the middle). Photo credit James Holk & Alpine Running

It started to get hot around 10am, but I knew I wouldn’t see my crew for another 2.5 hours, which meant I couldn’t apply my cooling strategy (ice vest + ice hat + cold water + sunscreen + carry an extra bottle of water) as early as I’d have liked to. I planned for this, however. So, I slowed down a bit, and focused on eating and drinking.

Photo credit James Holk & Alpine Running

Elevation profile

Course profile. There’s 12,000 feet of elevation gain packed into the first half of the course, with a 30-mile net downhill finish. All on smooth and buttery Oregon singletrack!

15 total aid stations, 5 of which have crew access.

Miles 30-70:

At mile 31.9 there’s a non-crewable aid station, and I loaded up on ice and pouring water all over myself. Interestingly, I noticed the the ice bag seals had yet to be broken, indicating nobody ahead of me had utilized ice for cooling.

The first crew point is at mile 36, which was a nice energy boost. I had an INCREDIBLE crew who were efficient, relaxed, and most importantly had FUN all day. A happy crew = a happy runner. A big thanks to Nancy, Steve, Anne, Bill and Lucy!

My pit stops at aid got faster and faster throughout the day…I’m estimating I spent an average of 30-60 seconds at each non-crewable aid station, and 90-120 seconds at each crewable station. Aside form this, I did not stop moving all day. Not once! Tiny breaks add-up: to urinate, catch your breath, reposition your pack, or daydream. Adopting the mentality of “every second counts” from a 1-mile race, and applying it to a 100 miler, changes the overall approach.

My deliberate focus on continuous movement was a key differentiator from this 100 compared to others I’ve run. For the first time, I didn’t stop to pee, but rather urinated while walking/running. And it’s not the cumulative time that peeing takes that made me do this, but rather the focus on forward progress. I wasn’t willing to break my flow.

My fitness wasn’t that exceptional, but I was able to go places mentally where I’ve never been before. I had a deep, singular focus: complete the race as fast as possible, and learned a lot in the process.

Running into Skyliners @ Mile 36

Loading up on ice in my Naked vest + Salmon hat

At mile 49, Swampy Lakes, I arrived and Lucy had a serious look on her face…I knew something was wrong. She informed me that Riva, my all-star pacer set to join me at mile 84, had gotten into an accident and was in the hospital with a shattered collarbone. As such…I no longer had a pacer.

Everyone has a quintessential moment during a 100 miler where something unexpected arises; this was my moment. It took me a few seconds to register the information, and nodded “okay”, and then continued back onto the trail.

(As a note - I give Riva MAJOR kudos for still coming to cheer me on at mile 84 later in the day…bearing a sling, broken collarbone, and big smile on her face!)

If there was a low point in the day, it was climbing up to Dutchman aid station at mile 56. This was the hottest part of the day, and you climb about 2,500 feet over the 15-20 miles prior to reaching Dutchman. I consciously slowed my pace and focused on drinking, timing my fluid intake to finish my last drop as I arrived into the next aid station, avoiding carrying extra weight.

When I arrived at Dutchman aid station, (mile 56) I was told I was in 2nd place (which was news to me). I didn’t want to know where I stood competitively at this point in the race, so I essentially ignored this information and kept to my race plan. That said, I do remember them saying the gap was 13 minutes to the leader.

I chugged mountain dew and grabbed more electrolytes + gels. From here, the goal was simply “get to mile 70” where the race actually started, in my mind.

Over the next 15 miles, the leader doubled his lead on me. As I arrived to Rock Creek at mile 66, the gap was 24 minutes.

Miles 70-100

At mile 73 Park Meadows, the aid station volunteers told me the gap was 26 minutes between me and the leader. I was pretty surprised I was losing so much time, because I felt like I was moving decently well. Nonetheless, I had made it to mile 70, and it was time to start pushing!

At mile 74, you start a lonely descent into Sisters from Bend. The sun was setting, so we had some reprieve from the heat, but the smoke was rolling back in.

Photo credit James Holk & Alpine Running

Photo credit James Holk & Alpine Running

I pushed hard in this section. I was glad I used 2 headlamps (one on my head, one on my waist), because the trail was a bit overgrown and technical. I could use all the light I had. Still, I took 4-5 falls on this section, stubbing a toe on a rock or root. I slowed down after falling, not wanting to risk further injury.

Descending down into Sisters, somewhere near mile 80. Photo credit James Holk & Alpine Running

Photo credit James Holk & Alpine Running

That’s me! Descending to Sisters, around mile 80. Photo James Holk & Alpine Running

At mile 84 I saw my crew at aid station “1514”. I knew I had just finished a strong section of running, and I was feeling great! My crew told me I was 13 minutes behind…the race was on! I slammed some mountain dew and ran briskly back into the darkness…

Finally, around mile 92 I saw a headlamp in front of me. The leader at the time, Travis, had been in the lead throughout the day, and ran a great race. I decided to skip the aid station at mile 92, and surge past Travis into the lead. Skipping the aid station was almost a strategic error, because I ended up without water until mile 95.6, where I’d see my crew for the final time. Luckily, I was able to hold things together until I got more water, and then pushed to the finish line…

Last lap around the track with Pops! Photo: Alpine Running

It was great to run the lap around the Sisters high school track with my Dad! I crossed the finish line in 18 hours and 1 minute. A new course record, which is nice, but I’m sure will be broken in the near future. I’m excited to see what other fast times will be put down on this course.

Lots of emotions spring-up when finishing any hundred. Gratitude, relief, and joy are top of mind.

In general, I felt less ‘broken’ upon finishing this race than any other in the past. Tired, for sure, but excited & proud of the achievement. To be surrounded by loving family was a special moment I’ll never forget.

Photo: Alpine Running

Photo: Alpine Running

Post race…a bit tired!

When you’re so tired you don’t wake up from doggy licks 😂

Gear:

Topo Ultrafly 3 shoes

Salomon S/Lab Speed Bob Hat

Injinji Socks

Petzl Actik headlamp

Nathan Speeddraw Plus 22oz bottles

Naked hydration vest

Naked running belt

San Diego 100 (June 2022)

This was my best 100-miler I’ve executed to-date. I ended up coming in 3rd overall, which surpassed my expectations! It’s no coincidence that my training leading-up to this race was the most consistent, effective, and injury-free block I’ve ever had. It was also the longest training period (I was supposed to run SD100 in 2019…then it got cancelled twice due to COVID). 3 years of training is a long time!

Training:

My spring training-block was quite strong. I was consistently doing weekly mileage in the 80’s without getting injured or too fatigued.

In April, for my largest training weekend, I decided against my typical routine of running a 50-mile or 100k race 6-weeks prior to race day. Instead, I did a 2-day combo, of slightly shorter distance.

I wanted to focus on quality training vs. “junk miles”, and while I certainly could have done a 100k, this would have required longer recovery. Plus, the last 20-30 miles would have been at a very low aerobic pace. At the end of the day, all training should serve a purpose.

For the training weekend, I went to Bergen, Norway. On Saturday I attempted the Jubileumsstein FKT (35 miles with 9,000) feet of gain. I came nowhere close to the FKT — it was not nearly as runnable as I had thought. It was a fun and demanding 9 hours on the trail.

The next morning I ran the Bergen City Marathon, which was actually my first real “road marathon” race. I’ve been running competitively for many years, but never managed to sign up for an actual road marathon. So this was good to knock-off!

I finished the Bergen Marathon (a hilly course with 1600ft of gain) in 2:54, which was faster than I’d expected, considering the day prior. I felt strong the whole race and never had any low points!

This gave me a ton of confidence heading into San Diego. The fitness was there, I just needed to execute.

View on the Jubileumsstein (trail outside of Bergen, Norway).

Marathon in Bergen - Lucy ran too and crushed it!

Heat and Hill Training:

As I’ve discussed in previous race reports, one of the inherent challenges of living in the Netherlands (flattest country in the world) is the lack of hills. I did many runs near Maastricht (southern Netherlands) where I could find Dutch “mountains”.

On one occasion, I traveled 90 minutes by train for a 124-foot hill.

In addition to hill training, I focused on heat training in the sauna. Temperatures in San Diego were roughy 80F (27c), but ‘felt like’ closer to 90 (32c) during the day. The course is exposed—there is no shade or coverage anywhere on the course.

From a physiological standpoint, one mistake many people make is heat acclimating too early in the training cycle, or not being consistent enough. I only did 11 days of heat training; this entailed sitting in a 195F sauna for as long as I could (usually 15-20mins), ideally post-exercise when the core body temperature is already elevated.


I positioned my 11 days of heat training consecutively, right before I left for San Diego. It’s tough, but effective! I believe this was an ideal acclamation period, and prepared me well.

I also invested in a Naked Vest that served as an ice-vest during the hottest 7 hours of the day. This proved to be very effective in the heat! In other words, I literally carried ~5 pounds of ice on my chest and back, which I refilled every aid station.

Overall, I had no issues with heat throughout the day, and I credit this to my heat training and cooling strategy.

Ultrarunning coach, David Roche, recently commented on this in his Western States takeaways (#6). 100-mile athletes are coming more prepared for heat than ever before. We’re getting smarter on how to handle the heat…and it’s impacting the faster finish times and falling records that we’re seeing across the sport.

Pre-race:

The San Diego 100 takes place in Cuyamaca, California. I stayed in an old mining town called Julian, about 20-minutes from the start line. I arrived in Julian 4 days before the race, which gave me ample time to adjust to the time difference from Amsterdam, and enjoy some of Julian’s world-famous pie. And plenty of pizza.

The San Diego 100 course is very crew-friendly. I was able to see my crew a total of 7 times throughout the day. It boasts 13,600 feet of elevation gain — a hilly, yet “runnable” course, which played to my strengths.

Best crew! Dan, Steve, Nancy

The “conga line” at the start of the race. The field spread out by mile 2.

Race Recap

“Keep it Smooth, Stupid!”

This was my mantra. I wrote it on my water bottle and said it out-loud countless times throughought the day.

In terms of race strategy, my coach and I had discussed keeping the pace chill for the first ~58 miles. I focused on nutrition and hydration. I was consuming 25-30oz of water per hour, and nearly 300 calories. During the first 6 hours of the race I was urinating twice per hour, which was getting me a bit concerned of hyponatremia, so I increased my salt intake. This balance of salt/water is something I need to work on perfecting in future races.

In the beginning of the race I let a group of 15-20 runners go ahead of me in the beginning, allowing a 5-10 minute gap open between myself and the lead pack for the first 20 miles.

Miles 35-40 are considered the hardest on the course. You work through Noble Canyon and there’s a single climb where you ascend nearly 2,000 feet. Most runners cover this section during the hottest part of the day.

During that Noble Canyon section I passed about a dozen runners. Shortly after, all of a sudden, someone at an aid station mentioned I was in third place. I felt strong and kept repeating: “Keep it Smooth, Stupid!” to myself. Still a long way to go.

Around mile 58 you join into the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and there’s an 8-mile downhill to to Cibbett’s Flat aid station. This stretch of singletrack is mostly smooth train, so you can get into a solid groove and open up the pace. It’s incredibly remote and scenic. I passed a few PCT thru-hikers; for awhile, it felt like I was out on a Saturday run by myself—no race, no other runners.

In terms of race strategy, I had circled this part of the course to start pushing…if I felt good. And I did. So, I learned forward, and pushed.

I went hard on that downhill, and arrived to Cibbett’s Flat thinking I had put a major gap between myself and the rest of the field behind me…however, as I arrived, I looked behind me and saw another runner just 30 seconds behind. I was gutted. I had “burned a match” and in dire need of recovery miles.

I saw my crew at Cibbett’s, spent probably 1 minute in the aid station, and then turned around and went right back up the same 8-mile section of the PCT. I was immediately passed by the runner who stayed with me on the downhill, which put me in 4th place. I was sunk; this was the lowest point in my race. For the next two hours, I hiked hard up the hill, climbing 2-3k feet, knowing that my podium chances were slim.

But, hundred milers are long races. Anything can happen over 30+ miles!

The race turns right back up the same trail—the PCT—and ensues an 8-mile climb back up. The sun was setting, and I had picked-up a long-sleeve shirt and 2 headlamps at the aid station. At the aid station, I had tied the shirt around my waist because I didn’t want to waste time. This ended up as a foolish decision; for the next two hours I kept the shirt around my waste — too stubborn to stop and put it on. Finally, 2 hours later, I was so chilled that I stopped for 30 seconds to put the shirt on (over my pack), which warmed me up. Lesson here: body warmth is worth sacrificing 30 seconds.

Nightfall:

At nightfall, the desert was blanketed by an ominous darkness. After months of thinking about heat—the sun was suddenly gone. Any runners still on the trail had survived it. I’ve described this before, but my favorite part of running 100 miles is your relationship to the sun. There is something unique about doing one continuous thing—from sunrise, to sunset—without stopping.

The trail twisted and turned, and a howling wind came about. I saw some bopping headlamps above, below, and in the distance—but it was impossible to determine how far. Could have been a half mile, could have been 5 miles…based on where the trail goes. The light ahead could have been a car headlight. Could have been a shooting star. Could have been a runner behind me. Every light I saw was a question: Who? How far? What is it?

After awhile, the questions faded, and I was left in solitude. Just me, the runner. All I could see were the rocks and dirt below my feet. There was just enough light to frighten the dozens of scurrying desert mice around me, each one franticly dodging my footsteps, diving into their holes, only to be disturbed by the next runner on the trail.

The Chase:

When I got to mile 71 aid station (Dale’s Kitchen), I was told I was “7 minutes” back. The following aid station it was “6 minutes”, I started getting hopeful. I started to feel stronger.

At mile 84 (Pioneer Mail 2 aid station) I picked-up my pacer, Dan Friedman. Dan is an old friend who lives in San Diego—and while he’s not an avid runner, I knew he’d be up for the challenge of running through the desert in the middle of the night! Admittedly I knew Dan had no idea what he was getting himself into…but I knew he’d love it regardless. Always good to have friends like this.

I arrived to Pioneer Mail and immediately asked how far ahead 3rd place was. “2 minutes” I was told. Later on, my father said this was mostly to motivate me (the gap was closer to 4-5 minutes), but he knew exactly what to say. I flew out of the aid station with a surge of energy. I was racing. And I didn’t stop until we hit the finish line.

2 miles later we caught the 3rd place running and put-on a big surge. We were racing, not just running.
This is somewhat rare to be “racing” this late into a 100-mile race - but it was a blast. And race tactics get important here…every 30-seconds I asked Dan to cover his headlamp with his hand and look behind us to see the distance we’d gained. Strategically, I didn’t want our headlamps to be seen.

Heading into the final aid station — mile 91 (Sunrise 2) — I thought I was in a comfortable third place. We couldn’t see the runner behind us. I grabbed some water and flew out of the aid station in less than 30 seconds.

But, the race wasn’t over….

At mile 96, Dan was running behind me and whispered: “I see a headlamp.”

“How far? I asked.”

“Right behind us.” he responded.

The 4th runner caught up to me again! I was blown away. We were stride-for-stride. Mile 97. The race was ON! This is what why we do what we do, and what I visualize in training.

I once again opened up the stride. Adrenaline hit. It was in these moments I could feel my fitness from all the training I had done…every incline I pushed a little harder, trying to drop the runner behind me.

I was asking more and more from my endurance engine…I kept revving harder and harder. My body responded—I was able to push and things were “clicking” again.

 Finish:

The fastest mile of my entire day was mile 99: 8 minutes and 12 seconds. That tells you something about the power of the human mind and body.

I finished in 20 hours and 10 minutes. Pure joy and emotion sprung out of me.

I will add that this finish did feel different than other 100-mile finishes. Physically, I felt less “broken” at the end. I was immensely exhausted, but I was not injured in any way. I had just run the fastest miles of my day, and I felt more of a “runners high” vs. an overwhelming sense of disbelief of what I had accomplished. The 100 mile distance no longer intimidates me; it’s a matter of how well I can execute it.

My recovery was also faster than ever before; I was walking without a limp 24 hours after the race, and able to run without gate-alteration within 3 days. I credit this to my sound hydration and nutrition. I was hydrated and well fueled the entire day, which prevented break-down. Every bit matters!

Finished!

Dan’s medal upon finishing: “My runner dropped me at the SD100” 😂 Thank you Angela!

My pacer, Dan, all smiles after finishing!

Obligatory finish-line photo of the feet.

Thank you:

  • A big thanks to Angela and BJ of the SD100 for putting on such a great event. It was worth waiting 3 years for, and an amazing “destination” race to attend!

  • Thanks to Scott Traer at RunFastah (who just finished 10th at Western States 100!). Wouldn’t have had the fitness and confidence without your support and coaching.

  • Thanks to Pieter and Ramon at the Art of Physio in Amsterdam for keeping me healthy!

  • My crew: the best in San Diego!

Gear:

Topo Ultrafly 3 shoes

Salomon S/Lab Speed Bob Hat

Injinji Socks

Petzl Actik headlamp

Nathan Speeddraw Plus 22oz bottles

Naked hydration vest

Grateful Dead Buff

52 Marathons | 52 Weeks (Nov 2021)

The Beginning

I woke up on October 10th, 2020 on a farm, in a small Dutch town called Littele. It’s a quiet place, home to 580 people, in the middle of the Netherlands. Lucy, my fiancee, and I were escaping Amsterdam for the weekend, staying-in a little trailer that didn’t have heat. I was freezing.

I scooted out of my warm sleeping-bag, peered out the window, and looked onto a vast green field. The morning dew twinkled on-top the grass. I wiped away condensation on the window so I could get a better view of the rising sun. A few cows glared back, then went back to their business. I put my feet on the floor, and grabbed my running shoes.

“Good day for a run,” I thought to myself.

I ran 26.2 miles that day. I didn’t know it then, but this was the beginning of an adventure. And like most good adventures, I fell into it, without intention, and then just kept going…and going…and going…

Marathon #1. Impromptu in the Sallandse Huevelrug national park in the Netherlands.

In October 2020, the Netherlands went into a country-wide lockdown due to the rise of COVID-19 cases. All essential businesses, restaurants, and stores were closed. Not knowing if the lockdown would get any more strict (e.g. if we would not be able to leave our apartment), Lucy and I rented a car and escaped to nature—about 2 hours East of Amsterdam.

After I ran the first impromptu marathon, I thought to myself: “that was fun! Maybe I should do another next weekend…” So, I started dreaming-up a project.

I had been inspired by Michael Ortiz’s “game of hundos”: 100 100-milers in 100 weeks (I happened to meet Michael for a brief moment during the Javelina 100). I drew solace in the fact that Michael was an ordinary guy doing extraordinary things. He isn’t a professional runner. He has a full-time job, things to deal with, but made no excuses in his pursuit of his goal.

My project only scratches the surface of what Michael achieved, and without any crazy race logistics. Nonetheless, the best part about doing a personal running project is you are the referee. You design the rules, you enforce them, and you hold yourself accountable.

My rules that I outlined in October 2020:

  1. I must run 52 marathons in the next 365 days.

    • I will aim for one per week. If, by chance I am injured or sick, I can do a “make-up” marathon. “When” I complete is less important than completing 52 marathons in 52 weeks.

  2. The marathons do not have to be official, organized races. This would be challenging regardless because most races are cancelled due to COVID.

  3. If I run more than a marathon distance (e.g. 50 miles), it only counts as 1 marathon.

  4. The marathon must be in a single, consecutive run attempt (for example, I cannot do 10 miles in the morning, have lunch, then go and do an additional 16 miles).

Overall, looking back, these rules went well. I got sick in March 2021 (non COVID illness), and missed two marathons, which I made-up. Other than that, I had no substantial injuries, and was able to complete the 52 marathons. Saturday mornings became my de-facto marathon time, and I cherished every moment. I should mention that for the first half of 2020 I was also training for the San Diego 100, (which ultimately got cancelled) but my marathon project doubled as a training mechanism for that race.

Below is the story and the details of how the year progressed.

This was the first windmill I ran past during my year-long project. Throughout my 52 marathons (42 of which I ran in the Netherlands), I ended up with hundreds of windmill photos. There’s something crisp, eloquent, and timeless about these structures.

🍂 Fall 🍂

Every Single Canal

With a year of marathoning, you need to keep things interesting. In fact, this goes for any runner of any distance. Stuck in a rut? Change your route, change your music (or turn if off), run with a friend, change your speed, run somewhere new or run around your neighborhood.

The best runners are often the most routined and disciplined. Yet, even the most successful runners need variety.

I had been introduced to the concept of city-street-running by Rickey Gates’ #everysinglestreet project, a chronicle of his run-venture through every. single. street. in San Francisco. I was intrigued by the photos, the experience, and the creativity of the challenge. I’ve lived in Amsterdam for over two years, but how well did I really know the city? How much have I explored, or had I shied away from the lesser-known parts? Have I seen every canal? How many millions of bikes could I encounter? These questions starting flying through my mind.

For those familiar with Amsterdam, there is an “inner ring” and an “outer ring”. The inner ring is the more picturesque and famous area, decorated by beautiful canals, lights, and a colorful trees. It’s also home to the Red Light District, and the mischievous unberbelly in Amsterdam’s city-center. For my project, I decided to run “every single street”, (which I personally renamed to #everysinglecanal) of the inner-ring of Amsterdam.

The Fall of 2020 will forever be a month of zig-zagging through Amsterdam, holding a map and highlighter. It was an experience I’ll never forget, that took me to every nook-and-cranny the city offers.

❄️ Winter ❄️

As darkness descended on Amsterdam in the winter, my project continued. Mostly with a headlamp in the dark. I kept-up 5-6 days of running per week, typically placing my marathon on Saturday mornings.

As Christmas vacation came, Lucy and I decided to rent a van and drive to Switzerland. En route, I continued the marathon streak, and finally got to play around in the mountains I desperately missed!

One of my favorite photos from the whole year. Marathon #12 in Interlaken, Switzerland. Photo taken on my iPhone X.

🌼 Spring 🌼

Coming back to the Netherlands after our van trip, I missed the mountains, but it was time to hone-in my training for the San Diego 100 (which still hadn’t been cancelled, yet).

As a tune-up run, in March, I decided to attempt the Fastest Known Time of the Schipbeekpad, starting in Germany, and ending in The Netherlands. This is a 50-mile trail, which follows alongside a beautiful man-made canal, which actually used to be a cheese transport route between the two countries. It was a great day, a solid effort, and I ended up setting the FKT. It’s a very fast, flat, and runnable route, so I’m sure it’ll get broken soon. The route is not competitive, and it’d be great to see what times the elites could put down. A hidden gem in NL if someone is looking for a fun route!

After the Schipbeekpad, I continued my prep for San Diego, and also continued the marathon project. I was excited to come away with the FKT, so I set my sights on another route called the Krijtlandpad in the Netherlands, which covers 57 miles (92km) and 8,200 ft of gain. The route starts and ends at the train station in Maastricht; in the southern part of the country, this boasts some real “hills” and covers a world-famous cycling area. It was a great run and awesome route, but the execution didn’t go as well. I was undertrained for the hills, and ended up dropping at mile 44, still smiling from a strong training run.

☀️ Summer ☀️

As summer rolled-in, the sun was setting later, and the miles ticked-by. My fitness was strong, and the marathons became routine. The marathons were easier than ever, and I wasn’t sore after. Finally, I got notice the SD100 was cancelled, so I set my sights on a local ultra in the Netherlands called the Veluwezoom. This was a 2-day event through the Veluwezoom national park: 11km Saturday morning, 25km on Saturday afternoon, and then 60km on Sunday.

Veluwezoom 2-day & 3-race event. Ended up with the overall W! Fun to be racing again.

3 Sisters Loop:

In August, we made our way to Oregon (where Lucy is from). I put my focus on preparing for another adventure run: The 3 Sisters Loop, a magnificent 60 mile circumnavigation through some of the Paciifc Northwest’s most beautiful terrain. It boasts 8,000 feet of gain and travels through 5 different burn areas. I was blown away at the tranquility, tragedy, and rebirth happening in these burn areas. As an East coaster, this was new and different — something I’ll never forget. I was lucky enough to be crewed by a great support team — Lucy’s family, who drove a collective 6 hot hours with no cell service, just to give me a coca-cola and a hug at the halfway point. Both felt great and picked-up my spirits.

Other highlights:

The summer adventuring wasn’t over. In the next few months, I completed marathons in France, Spain, Belgium, Denver, and Boston! For many of the runs, I was solo. For others, I was joined by friends and family. No matter where I was, I found new trails, new roads, and a whole lot to be grateful for. For each run I could tell a full story, but the pictures speak for themselves:

#52

Like all good stories, we come full circle. I woke up on October 9, 2021, in Amsterdam. It was a chilly morning, eerily similar to the one a year prior, although I wasn’t surrounded by cows. It had been a year of a pandemic and a year of running. I saw many new places, new things, but it certainly wasn’t a thrill every minute. But, looking back, it’s something that I’d like to build on. This seems like more foundation-building for something bigger. Maybe 50 50-milers is next?

I put my feet on the ground, and grabbed my running shoes.

“Good day for a run,” I thought to myself.

Here's a comprehensive list of all 52 marathons. Strava links included:

What I learned:

When I zoom-out and look at history, (read: I’m talking about the 4.5 billion year history of Earth) I’m not all that impressed with what I’ve achieved. I don’t mean that arrogantly, but if you put our human history into perspective, we’re actually relatively “new” in this world. And running 52 marathons in a year is laughably microscopic if we look at history holistically.

To paint this vividly: Imagine the history of Earth as a calendar year. Homo sapiens arrive on December 31st at 23:36:

Source: https://biomimicry.net/earths-calendar-year/

So, humans are new in this world. This is actually incredibly exciting to me, and shows the power of the human potential is only beginning to be unlocked. If you’ve read Sapiens or Human Kind, this isn’t new information for you. But it’s important to remember.

As an exercise, try to remember what you were doing on a random day and time earlier this year. Let’s say January 15th between 10:04am - 10:28:am. Do you remember any of it? Who you spoke to? What was said? Probably not. Well, that’s the entire history of the human race. Poof. That’s it. It’s an eerie reminder of how temporary our lives are, within the broader spectrum of time.

Now—let’s keep going and think about just the history of humans on Earth…the 400,000 years we’ve existed. In truth, we’ve been running forever. It’s not like running was created after the industrial revolution or something. If you’ve read Born to Run or Road to Sparta you’ll know this as well. It’s natural for us to run. Yes—even ultramarathons. We, as humans, run for survival, for food, for communication.

So when I reflect on my own runnings, I simply feel lucky to be born in a generation where I’m not spending my days hunting/gathering, fighting as a soldier, or ultrarunning as a means to deliver a message. The fact that I can run is a privilege and an opportunity. I get to run for enjoyment. Not for survival.

I often think of all the great achievements of runners, so far: the 4-minute mile, the 2-hour marathon…the list goes on. I will not be coming close to any of these records. And that’s okay. When you compare yourself to the history of Earth…or the human race, it can get daunting. But, after all, we can only operate within ourselves and our own potential. That’s what I’ll stay focused on.

The Best of:

Favorite Audiobook: “Rise and Fall of the Third Reich” by William Shirer

Most-played song: “Scarlet Begonias --> Fire on the mountain” by the Grateful Dead live @ Barton Hall May 8, 1977

Most scenic marathon: Tie between #12 in Interlaken, Switzerland and #40 in Oregon.

Most challenging marathon: Marathon #45 in Amsterdam. This was my third marathon in 3 different countries in 1 week, and did it on a Sunday evening after 7 hours of driving. I was tired.

Treadmill marathons: 1

Most memorable marathon: Marathon #35 in Mallorca, Spain. I had planned on proposing to Lucy at the end of the run, and had the ring in my ultra pack. She ended up getting into a moped accident (she’s okay), but I’ll never forget when she FaceTime’d me at mile 20. It threw-off the plan, but we ended up getting engaged the following day!