The Leona Divide 50m

Hello, my name is Ethan Newberry and I am an Ultra Runner.

Hot DAMN, I’ve been waiting to say those words for awhile now! After running (we’ll just call it “moving”) this race, I feel comfortable saying them and damn it feels good to get it out there. The Leona Divide 50 Miler was my very first 50 miler race, my first run longer than 32 miles, and it gave me a taste of what some of you seasoned ultra runners deal with when you put your bodies through these crazy tests of endurance. Yes, I’ve run a couple of 50k trail races, but man, compared to what the Leona Divide 50 miler did to me, they pale in comparison (and they were TOUGH!). Grab a cup of coffee, a mimosa or perhaps a black IPA and sit back. This one will be a long read (WITH A VIDEO AT THE END!) that will hopefully take less time to read than I took to race. Also, I will be posting a separate gear blog outlining everything I wore/ate during the race so keep an eye out for that. Ok, here we go!

PREFACE

First of all, I cannot tell you how much more respect I have for ultra runners. I mean, I’ve always respected the big guns, the Krupricka’s and Jornet’s who eat CRs and FKTs for breakfast on the weekends. Hell, every race I’ve ever run I’ve been blown away by the talent that seems to rocket over the same course sometimes twice as fast. But, man, that respect flows down to EVERY HUMAN WHO HAS RAN 50 MILES OR MORE. You are 100% badass.

Oh, Dean. You should work out more.

I am a green horn in this sport and I’m very aware that I’m new and lack a lot of experience. I can’t help but feel like a road-marathon-turned-trail-runner, Ultramarathon-Man-Reading, Born-To-Run-minimal-footwear-lesson-spouting schmuck trying to join up with the badass trail hounds who’ve been at it for years. I’m the first guy to admit that when I show up to a race I feel a little out of place amongst so many veterans and pros – you know, like a ginger amongst non-gingers. There’s no doubt that ultras have had a huge surge in recent years and my goal has always been to never “follow trends”. I started running trails to escape the horrible street-running of Los Angeles, to find respite amongst the trees, shrubs and singletrack. Man, I remember buying my first pair of “trail runners” (aka hiking boots that flex) when I was a teenager and would summit Little Si every weekend. However, now after 2013 Leona, I feel like I tallied off a pretty good notch in my Ultra belt; a notch that may very well get me a few nods from those who ran that day.

TRAINING

Based on how much I was crushed by the 50k races I’ve ran, I had a feeling 50 miles would wreck me and push me to my limit, both physically and mentally, but I had no idea on how many levels. There is a vast difference between 50k and 50m – not just 19 miles (and I can only imagine how much bigger gap there is between 50m and 100m!!) and they both require their own set of preperations. Since I ran The North Face 50k in December, I’ve known I would eventually run a 50 miler. Come 2013, I knew I wanted it to be Leona for a couple of reasons: I had heard Keira Henninger puts on amazing races that have all the SoCal ultra runners buzzing; It was in late April so I had a few months to really train for it; and finally, it was a qualifier for the Western States 100 (sub 11hr). Now, I need to preface that last part by saying Western States 100 is like a 10 year plan for me. Yes, it’s been a dream of mine for many years to run that course, but will realistically take many MORE years to make it through the lottery system, hoards of registrants, and qualifications. I’m in no rush.

For training, I used the Ray Miller 50k in February and LA Marathon in March as the big trainers for this race. I’d supplement the weeks between with hefty mileage weekends and thorough base building through the week. I really just wanted to have some good mileage under my belt for the confidence in knowing my body could take it. As it stands, the longest single run I ran pre-Leona was Ray Miller (32m) and the biggest weekend was a 26.2 fun-run on a Saturday with my buddy Colin followed by a grueling and snowy summit attempt of Mount Baldy on Sunday. Here’s the video from that weekend:

With a few weeks off due to sickness and injury (damn HIP FLEXOR INJURY!!), my confidence for Leona was wavering to say the least. Sure I had logged a couple 60-70 mile weeks in the months leading up, but those felt so far behind me and I never felt like I dominated them. Now, approaching race week, I started keeping a keen eye on the weather as well. The race takes place in Lake Hughes, California which is high desert country (LD50 jumps between 3000 & 5100ft). Years past have recorded moderate temperatures ranging from 50˚F-75˚F. But, oh boy, this year wasn’t looking so good. Temperatures were expected to climb well past 90˚F and a lot of the course is fully exposed. I should tell you now that The Ginger doesn’t do well in heat. I hate it and having had exercise-induced heat stroke a number of times, it scares me. If I were to take a month and acclimate, I can deal with it fine, but the weeks leading up to the race were mild SoCal warm. Nothing hot. this was going to be similar to an ice-cold ginger polar bear being thrown on top of a steam-powered locomotive engine full of hot lava in hell fire. Fuck my face.

The Leona Divide 50m Course

PRE-RACE

The week of the race, I started to put all of my plans together. I went outside in the middle of the day as the temperatures were rising to do some last minute heat-hiking in hopes of acclimatizing. I started to organize nutrition and hydration scenarios – worst and best case. I also came to the conclusion that I pack a LOT for little trips. I probably had enough nutrition for two 100 mile races. I’m used to doing things a certain way for marathons and training runs of a certain distance, but having never taken my body beyond 32 miles, there’s this whole 18 miles of unkown. Will my body reject solid food? Will I like the taste of anything? Do I need more GUs or liquid fuel? Will I be able to absorb my water or salt pills? Will I throw up like everyone says I will? WILL I DIE?!

Come Friday, the day before the race, I met up with my buddies Billy Yang and David Daley for some carb-tastic dinner grub and the hour-long drive up to Palmdale where the three of us would stay the night – in one bed, spooning*. Billy was running the 50 miler as well and Dave was rocking the 50k (having just annihilated the Connemarathon 39 miler in Ireland 2 weeks prior. Beast.). What I thought was going to be a peaceful night of pre-race sleep slowly turned into a long, shitty-pillow-tossing-and-turning night of zero sleep for all three of us. I’m pretty sure we were awake well before my 3:45am alarm based off how quickly we all jumped out of bed to get ready.

Me being all zen-like.

As I do with every race, I methodically put together my gear, my drop bag and used the quiet moments to myself to gather my thoughts. While I always get a little anxious before races, I was particularly so for this one – as anyone that knows me can attest. My mind wouldn’t stop worrying about the heat, my training, my nutrition, my hydration, the unknown. It was all about to happen and there was nothing I could at this point but ride the wave and trust my knowledge, training and luck to get me through to the finish. The three of us gathered our things and made our way to Lake Hughes to snag our bibs, stash our gels and run our ass off.

* – No actual spooning occurred. Sorry ladies.

THE RACE

As the three of us started our walk towards the start line, I caught a glimpse of my girlfriend, Mile Long Legs, and good buddy, Andrew (who shot most of the photos in this blog), walking towards us. They had left LA at butt-o-clock to get to the start in time to see us all off, so I excitedly greeted them (one with a kiss, the other with a firm handshake – I’ll let you decide who gets what) and continued on towards the now very busy startline. Once there I also ran into my good buddy, Eric, and other ultra friend, Guillaume, who were running the 50k and 50m respectively. Before we could finish our greetings and pre-race photos, Jimmy Dean Freeman‘s golden voice rang across the throng of racers. “It’s going to be a mother fucking hot day”, he said without hesitation. Gulp.

The Gang all ready to race!

And in a flash, we were off. The first few miles are relatively runnable uphill miles that took us up fire roads and gifted us with some spectacular sunrise vistas. The first few miles were where I really began to pound into my head, “Do NOT go fast. Do NOT forget to eat and drink. Do NOT fuck up.” I wanted to make sure I took this race as easy as possible, not just to finish strong, but to make sure my body didn’t destroy itself in the intense heat I knew was inevitably hours away. Before I knew it, I began to enjoy the trails and the views. I didn’t care what was going on around me or what was going to happen 40 miles ahead. I was FINALLY able to just take the race in one mile at a time. I really grasped the idea that there was nothing I could do but stay on track and move forward.

By mile 10, I was really excited and embracing the challenge ahead. This is also where we jump onto our first stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail – a long, beautiful snake of singletrack that runs from Canada to Mexico. We got to enjoy miles and miles of it. In fact, it seemed some people were SO hypnotised by it’s splendor that at mile 12.5, many missed a turn to continue on the trail as it deviated off some singletrack to the right. Luckily, my acute ginger-sense noticed the flags and flour-arrows so I yelled up to some of them who relayed the message further up the chain of trail blazers. You’re welcome, people. I just saved your LIVES!

The early miles were gorgeous.

I was beginning to feel like my nutrition and hydration were dialed in. I was taking in about 100-130 calories every 30 minutes, sipping water to thirst, and popping 2-3 endurolytes per hour. Pretty comparable to my typical race plan. I usually always under-eat due to nerves, but I was in it to win it this day. Hell, I was a MACHINE. A machine that was delighted by the gorgeous zig-zagging singletrack that sunk its way into aid station 3 (mile 16.2). That is until I stormed around a corner and was instantly greeted by two young female runners who – without ANY shame – were squatting and relieving their bowels immediately trailside for all to see. FOR ALL TO SEE. EVERYTHING. CANNOT UNSEE. Seriously, it was as if one had rotated her body purposefully so that absolutely everything I shouldn’t be seeing was seen all at once in one glance.

(side note: to anybody who can pee pee and poo poo in the open in front of hundreds of complete strangers at race starts or along the course: I commend you. Not because you have enough confidence in your body to let it all hang out without a care in the world, but because you can focus all of your attention on your own ‘nethers’ to get the job that needs gettin’ done done. Seriously, bravo. Also, gross).

I go from smiling…

As I continued to try and block out the pooping butt visual, I could hear the hootin’ and hollerin’ of aid station #3. This was the first aid station that our crew could access and would also double as aid station #9 (42.5) on the way back to the finish. I instantly caught eyes with Mile Long Legs, smiled and gave her the ‘thumbs-up, all-clear’ sign. I could tell she was relieved. As I had been running in and out of the shaded canyons all morning, the temperature hadn’t gone past mid-70s by my guess. But the moment I got into aid station #3, I knew what I was in for. It wasn’t even 9am and it was hot. Like REALLY hot. I filled one of my bottles with ice water and wrapped ice into my bandana around my neck and threw some cubes under my hat for good measure. Thank goodness I did.

…to wrecked. The heat sucked.

The climb out of AS#3 was brutal. Not just the shear climb (1400+ ft in 2.5 miles), but the amount of pure sun exposure. It was intense and the first moment of doubt I’d had yet since starting the race. I figured that if this was the beginning of the last 2/3rds of the race, I was doomed. Regardless, I continued to power on and just focus on getting to the next aid station at the top of the climb (which was also the 50k turnaround point). During this climb I started to see some of the fast 50k guys and gals rush down from their turnaround, including the one-and-only David! He was FLYING!

By the time I rolled into AS#4, I was fried. My body was feeling the heat and I needed to cool down immediately. Thankfully this aid station had ice, and lots of it. Pouring it down my back, arms and neck brought me back to reality almost immediately. I had planned on this aid station being my self check-in point for this race. If I was really feeling like shit, I would turn around and run the 50k. If I was feeling 50% or better, i was going through to AS#6 (the furthest point in the 50m course and the last point to pull out). Seeing as I was probably 80% all said and done, I pushed on.

The next section was just as exposed as the previous, but felt like I was on another planet. The trail ran across the top of the mountains, through sand and arid desert with spectacular views of the valley to the north. This was also the section I met up with Paul Akiyama. Paul was a talkative older gentleman that immediately told me he was the oldest guy running the race at 69 years old. I was immediately impressed by how bad-ass this guy was, flying his way through heat and high-desert altitude like it was nothing, not giving a fuck about his age. After a few miles leap-frogging back and forth with Paul, I knew one thing: I wanted to be this guy when I was 69. He’d run big ultras since ’93 including Leadville and the Grand Slam (Vermont 100, Leadville 100, Western States 100, Wasatch Front 100). One year, the dude ran eight 100 milers. EIGHT. And here I am just trying to push through a 50 miler. By the time we’d reached the next aid station, I had lost Paul a little ways back as he took a walk break. Rather than wait for him at the AS, I joked he’d catch back up and pass me at some point being the bad-ass runner he was.

Note: The stretch from AS#4 to AS#5 is also where I was passed by the to-be-winner of the men’s 50 mile race. Dude ran it in 5:53-and change. That’s a new course record. Unbelievably fast. I’m slow.

The liquid Buddha belly from AS#3

Let’s let this also be the moment where you can refill whatever delicious beverage you’ve been enjoying while skimming this short novel because I’m about to get personal. I hadn’t peed since mile 17. I was now approaching the 30 mile turnaround point and the only liquid I was able to squeeze out was dark brown and fear inducing. I was on top of my water, I was popping endurolytes and staying up with nutrition but nothing wanted to come out. Even looking back over some photos of me running through AS#3, it looks like I had a little Buddha belly – perhaps I was retaining all my liquid? Additionally, Mile Long Legs recently told me a story of a friend who was running an ultra in heat and had to be pulled out because one of his kidneys failed. Awesome. Were my KIDNEYS FAILING?! I had no idea, but I knew that I had to do whatever I could to make sure I fixed the problem IMMEDIATELY.

My course of action was to run from AS#5 to AS#6 taking in water only. No salt pills or solid food (other than what I had just consumed at AS#5). Smart decision? Probably not, especially at mile 24 of a 50 mile race. But I went with it. I left AS#5 pretty worried about the next few hours and what sort of challenges they would bring. Physically, I was pretty solid at this point (other than my KIDNEY DYING), mentally, I was getting fatigued from all the calculating and planning. Luckily from AS#5 to AS#6 I was able to turn it off  and enjoy the trails.

Beautiful PCT, just after being passed by race leader.

The steeply canted singletrack snaked in and out of rocky cliff-side canyons littered with tall pine trees, allowing the perfect amount of shade to cool us all off. The narrow trail had a few precarious spots, especially for passing the runners on their return trip to the turnaround. Just as I was approaching the steep and exposed fireroad of mile 27.5, I passed my friend Mandi (who had won the woman’s Ray Miller 50k) on her return trip. This was also her first 50miler and by the look of things, she was KILLING IT! Soon after, as I was heading down the daunting 2.5 mile fireroad towards what seemed like the pit of hell, I passed Billy on his way back up. While I was struggling, he looked fresh and new! Dude was rocking the climb back up. We yelled a few inspirational cheers to each other and got back to business. A half mile further down I passed a runner on his way back up who had recognized me as the Ginger Runner during the first mile. His name is Jawn and I feared he was the last person I would see before the turn around that I somewhat knew. He asked how I was holding up to which I replied immediately and ungracefully, “I’m peeing almost brown. I don’t know what’s up.” He looked a little shocked that I would be so forthcoming, but he swapped some quick advice back about hydrating immediately. I assured him I’d do my best and we departed almost as quickly as we had arrived. Aid station #6 was just ahead.

AS#6 saved my ass. As soon as I rolled in I was bombarded by attentive volunteers taking my bottles, my backpack, and my handkerchief to be refilled and re-iced. Then one of them ushered me to what I will lovingly refer to as the Magic Shower of Gold and Happy. It was a hose with ice cold water set up like a misting shower and provided INSTANT relief from the heat. As I stood under the mist for what felt like 20 minutes, I took in the sights around me. There were dozens of runners heaped in chairs and on the ground, just annihilated from the heat and exhaustion of the day. It was a pretty big mess of broken spirits. Over the next few hours, this would prove to be one of my biggest obstacles – trusting MY body, MY mind and not letting the psychology of those around me interfere.

After I had cooled my body considerably in the Magic Shower of Gold and Happy, grabbed a few boiled potatoes and potato chips, I started my trek back up the steep 2.5 mile fireroad to the Pacific Crest Trail. And guess who had caught up and joined me? Paul. Dude was a beast. We swapped some more stories and helped push each other on. He told me his goal was to finish sub-11 hours, but I refused to look at my watch to get a sense of where we were time-wise for fear I was going to be WAY off goal. I used Paul as my watch from here on out. If I could keep up or in front of him, I’d be solid for my silver goal of sub-11 (my gold goal was sub-10, silver goal was sub-11, and bronze goal was finishing). Trust the dude that has run more than 40 ultras to get you to the finish.

Mile 32. Longest I’ve ever run.

Before I knew it, I was feeling AWESOME and picking up the pace a little bit. Once back on the PCT, I felt comfortable with the familiar terrain and knew it was mostly downhill from here on out. Before I had reached AS#7, I glanced at my watch and noticed I had passed the 32 mile mark. I had officially run the furthest I’d ever run – and was STILL PUSHING! This is also where my hip flexor injury flared back up again. Between miles 33 and 35, I was a mess of stopping to stretch the injury and lightly running in serious pain. But once in and out of AS#7, I had forgotten about the pain and was determined to push on.

I forget a lot of what went on for the next 8 miles or so. I do remember stopping for long breaks at the aid stations, but never sitting down. I remember forcing my brain to be strong and not let the visuals of quitting runners get into my mind. They were everywhere. I remember getting ahead of Paul at some point and being excited that I might get my silver goal. I remember it being FUCKING HOT. I remember AS#8 volunteers warning me that the next two sections were going to destroy me. I remember thinking that just because I felt ok now, didn’t mean I’ll feel ok in 30 minutes. I remember wanting to quit. I remember my body being overtaken by pain. Then I remember finally peeing a shade of yellow. I cannot tell you what a relief and adrenaline-pumping moment this was. My whole game changed. No matter what, I was finishing this damn thing.

The mile 42.5 embrace.

As I rolled into AS#9 – the second to last aid station and the last time I’d see my crew – I caught eye of Mile Long Legs standing and waiting. I’m pretty sure I was a whimpering mess by the time we embraced. As I hobbled my way over to the food tables to ice up and refuel, I got details as to David and Billy – who apparently were both having awesome days. David with a top 10 finish in the 50k and Billy having just passed through this same aid station about an hour and a half earlier. It took some time to refill everything here because it was obvious this aid station was a mess. Not only were their drunk spectators, but each volunteer was dealing with 2-3 runners each. This aid station had become a make-shift quitting zone. Runners would continue on up into the final 8 hot exposed miles, overheat, cramp or hit an impossible wall, turn around, and hike back into this AS in hopes of getting medical treatment. It was a runner triage center. Props to the volunteers for pushing through what must have been a crazy day.

I dawdled. I took my time. I didn’t want to leave the comforts of familiar faces or cold ice. I didn’t want to venture up another mountain the way I was feeling. But I did. I reluctantly said my goodbyes and pushed out onto the last climb. The death march.

The final pep-talk.

Within moments of being back out on the trail, I was passed by no less than 5 runners all headed back to the aid station to DNF. They did not look good at all. I offered all of them assistance, but none of them took me up on it. Their faces are unforgettable. The mile-long stare, the spacey replies and zombie-like steps. I didn’t, I COULDN’T be one of these. I trudged on and passed many runners. I joined a group of 4-5 runners huddled around an older gentleman who had sat down on the trail from cramps. Everyone was trying to figure out what to do so I told them, “You go 1.5 miles ahead and there’s aid, you go 2 miles back and there’s aid. I can give you anything you need from my pack right now”. He shrugged it all off, was in good spirits, just absolutely spent. After hanging for a few minutes with everyone huddled around him, I decided to keep pushing. I only had 1.5 miles until the final aid station. So I ignored the pain, I ignored the nausea, I ignored my heart rate monitor which was now telling me my HR was jumping from 140 to 70 and back again, I ignored the desire to quit, I ignored everything except what was right in front of me and powered ahead.

Heading back out onto the singletrack

Before I knew it, I was emerging off the singletrack and onto a fireroad with the final aid station. I quickly went to refill all of my ice, only to find out that they were out of it. Not just out of ice, but out of almost EVERYTHING. Listen, I know I was taking forever to finish, I know you guys had been out here all day, but man, what’s a Ginger got to do to get some ice 3 miles from the finish? After high-fiving the last cheering volunteer, I had about 1 mile of uphill left, followed by 2 miles downhill.

I trudged on. It was slow going. I was alone. My body had no clue what was going on. I was hungry but full at the same time. I was exhausted but pumped. I was excited but lethargic. And in a blur, I started the final descent into Lake Hughes.

I barely remember finishing. I know I jumped over the finishline and high-fived the metal “finish” bar above, but that’s about it. I was instantly swarmed by friends and family who had all come out to support me on a grueling day in the high desert an hour outside of LA. Keira gently laid my finishers medal around my neck and I made my way to a picnic table to sit down. Billy was there, David was there, Eric was there, my mom and dad were there, my sister and brother-in-law were there with their dog, my buddy Andrew was there and my girlfriend, the rock that pushed me through the day, was there. As I sat down, surrounded by a flurry of cheers and congratulations, pats on the back and plates of food being shoved in front of me, I cried. Not just tears of joy, but full-on sobs of exhaustion. I honestly could not believe that after 11 hours and 9 minutes (missed my silver goal and qualifying for WS100 by THAT MUCH!) I was now sitting down and done running 50 miles. Every moment of pain and suffering that I had felt throughout the day was behind me. I was now a fucking Ultra Runner.

I did it. First 50 miler in the books!

POSTFACE

As I sat and thought about what I’d accomplished, it didn’t really sink in that I had ran 50 miles. I just felt like I suffered and endured for far too many hours in uncomfortable conditions and I couldn’t determine why. This was also the first race where immediately upon finishing I blurted out, “NEVER AGAIN” and really meant it. However, now some days later, that’s already changing. I remember this being a shitty hard day, but I also now realize the accomplishment and I want to feel it again. I want to know it wasn’t a fluke. I have two more 50 milers this year, and who knows, maybe something longer – but I’ll be honest, that just sounds RIDICULOUS.

Hey, remember Paul? Well, when I finished I was convinced I had passed him and he was still out on the course. False. It must have been around the 42.5 mile aid station that he passed me because I have come to learn that he did indeed finish sub-11hr, just like he planned the whole time. Bad ass mother fucker, that one. Lesson learned: Don’t just trust but always stick with the guy that has run 40 ultras in all conditions.

So, while the race part of my story might be over, the night surely was not. By the time I got home, I had a hard time getting out of the car. I have never felt hip flexor pain quite this severe. It was as if someone was taking a 6 inch blade and slowly pushing it in and out of my left hip flexor/groin area. Just excruciating  It got worse as the night went on, practically immobilizing me. Not only that, but when I steadied myself down into an ice bath, my body started shivering so uncontrollably, Mile Long Legs had to come and hold my hand to keep me settled and breathing. All my muscles started contracting and made it difficult to breathe properly. For the rest of the night my body was on fire, most likely due to severe heat stroke. I had to use ice packs and cold wash cloths to try and keep my body temp down. My body was in shock and there was nothing I could do but not panic and hope it got better. Needless to say I barely slept at all that night. By the next morning, my body felt a bit cooler, but the sunburn and blisters had started to make themselves apparent on my shoulders and back. No amount of sunscreen could keep that sun out apparently.

Traditional Post-race shower beer!

I was a mess. But I knew I would heal. Now one week later, my hip flexor has calmed down, my body has started to get back to normal, and I’ve even thrown down a couple of recovery runs. I also want to take this moment to thank each and every one of you. Your words of encouragement – even if we’ve never met – pushed me through to the end. Social media is a strange thing where I can share my experiences and love of this sport with all of you and you can share it right back. Seriously, this victory is one of many shared by all of us. Everyday I hear about someone running their first 5k, or losing 51lbs, or trying on their first pair of good running shoes. These are all victories and they all helped push me through to the finishline. If I could do this, imagine what YOU could do!

Leona Divide feels almost like a distant memory. Even as I was writing this blog, I felt like I was recalling an old experience riddled with details from years ago. But perhaps its just my mind’s way of coping with what I put it through. Maybe it wants me to never put it through anything like Leona again. Or maybe by making Leona seem distant, my mind is telling me it’s time to gear up and do it again. While I juggle the conundrum, I’ll continue to sit here and sip on my own black IPA as I try to relive one of the most difficult and rewarding days of my life. I trained, I raced, and now it’s time for celebration. Cheers!

The finishline with my awesome and supportive family. The best. 

It takes a bold man to wear tights, and an even bolder man to wear 3/4 length tights. Lucky for you, I am that man. I’ve rocked these suckers for a few months now through the brutal SoCal winter (sarcasm) and love ‘em. They definitely proved durable and comfortable through various weather conditions/climates so I give them kudos.

I definitely recommend these for those in-between days where it’s too cold for shorts and too warm for full tights. Add a pair to your arsenal for spring and fall runs.

LIKED:

• Storage
• Thin material
• Moisture Wicking

DISLIKED:

• Minor Chafing
• Glitter Legs
• Waist Band
• Cuffs

QUALITY: 4/5
COMFORT: 4/5
PRICE: 3/5
LOOKS: 3/5

TOTAL: 14/20

This item was provided by Pearl Izumi for review. All opinions are my own. For more info on the item, visit: http://pearlizumi.com and be sure to subscribe to my YouTube channel HERE.

It’s no secret how much I love the Brooks PureGrit 1. Despite that shoe having a major traction flaw, I still consider it one of my favorite trails shoes – especially for the dry socal trails I run on. When the PureGrit 2 was released, I was stoked to learn they almost certainly addressed all of our traction concerns. Unfortunately, that’s not all Brooks changed.

A stiff outsole, a hefty upper made of thick and stiff materials, a new lacing/tongue system, and an overall heavier shoe does not an improvement make. Despite putting almost 70 test miles in this shoe, I cannot say that it won me over. In fact, I purchased another pair of Pure Grit 1s just to satisfy my trail needs. I hope Brooks sees this review and perhaps takes my problems into consideration when working on the Pure Grit 3. Hell, why not start using the hashtag, “#FixTheGrit” to see if they actually listen to us!?

Click to watch the review above and don’t forget to subscribe to my youtube channel! (CLICK HERE TO SUB)

LIKED:

• Same fit as Pure Grit
• New Traction

DISLIKED:

• Tongue/Lacing
• Upper thickness/stiffness
• Outsole stiffness
• Concave Outsole
• Heavier

QUALITY: 3/5
COMFORT: 2/5
PRICE: 3/5
LOOKS: 3/5

TOTAL: 11/20

For more info on this shoe, visit: Brooksrunning.com

First of all, this review is a little different than normal. StrideBox isn’t a product so much as it is a service that provides products. The idea – which has existed in other industries for awhile – is simple. The customer pays a monthly fee – in this case $15 – and is delivered a box of surprise goods each month. The question I wanted to determine was if the $15 box was worth the price and got you more bang for your buck. In short, yes. I valued the contents close to $20-22 OTC, so you do seem to get more for you dollar (not to mention the huge number of coupons and discount codes for ordering the included products online later which could save you countless dolla dolla bills).

What I like about StrideBox is the idea you will be surprised each month with a package (yay for fun deliveries!) of various running themed items. You won’t have any idea of what you’re getting until you open the box. You could get products you’ve used before and loved, hated or are indifferent to. You could also get new brands that you’ve never heard of and surprise you. Being familiar with other similar services, there is a high likelyhood that some months you’ll score some major loot – I even saw StrideBox tease at possibly including compression socks at some point!

Click to watch the review above and don’t forget to subscribe to my youtube channel! (CLICK HERE TO SUB)

The Stridebox was provided by the manufacturer for review.

The new 2013 Injinji Performance 2.0 line of toe socks are AWESOME. I’ve worn my fair share of these foot-beasts and can vouch for not only their comfort, but their ability to get you through long races unscathed. I was hesitant about toe socks after a pretty bad experience with Five Fingers, but once you get them on and log a few runs with them, you’ll see what I mean. Also, with the new 2.0 line’s varying degrees of thickness, you can tailor which socks to wear with which shoes for which events. It’s nice. My favorites are the no-show midweight, no-show lightweight, and compression. While they can be a little pricey, the amount of comfort and stress-free running justifies the cost for me. Let me know what YOU think in the comments below! Do you have a favorite sock?

Click to watch the review above and don’t forget to subscribe to my youtube channel! (CLICK HERE TO SUB)

LIKED:

• Comfortable
• Varying degrees of thickness
• No blisters
• No seams
• Coolmax fabric blend

DISLIKED:

• Pilling
• General sizing
• Potential wear/tear

QUALITY: 4/5
COMFORT: 4/5
PRICE: 4/5
LOOKS: 3/5

TOTAL: 15/20

For more info on this shoe, visit: Injinji.com

This shoe is awesome. There are so many things that I like and only a few things I don’t. If you haven’t run in a Kinvara yet, I would absolutely recommend you try them on and taking them on some miles. While the shoes seem to break down early in their lifespan, the comfort, weight, and upper make up for it by delivering a road shoe that can get you through any distance. You can find this shoe for well under $100 which makes it worth it for me.

Now there’s also already talk of the Kinvara 4 improving on this platform by fixing a lot of the issues I and others have, so that excites me. AND the Viratta is dropping here in the next few months and that looks to be a VERY exciting shoe. Zero drop, very light, comfortable – it could be the perfect reduced race shoe. I’ll hopefully get my hands on a pair!

Click to watch the review above and don’t forget to subscribe to my youtube channel! (CLICK HERE TO SUB)

LIKED:

• Light
• Flexible
• Upper
• Lacing
• Wide Toe-Box
• Heel Drop (4mm)
• Lateral Midfoot Rubber

DISLIKED:

• Wear/Tear
• Heel-Cup

QUALITY: 4/5
COMFORT: 5/5
PRICE: 4/5
LOOKS: 3/5

TOTAL: 16/20

For more info on this shoe, visit: Saucony.com

Ok, it’s late Friday night. It’s 4 days until Christmas. You panic, realizing that while you’ve been getting filthy drunk off rum-nog drinks, you forgot to get a gift for your silly distance running uncle or worse yet, your significant other who loves triathlons. Well, lucky for you, you can sit back, pour yourself another glog and bask in the brilliance of successful last minute gift giving courtesy of your favorite Ginger.

The items on this list are by no means the only choices you have, but items I hope start a dialogue with the community in finding out everyone’s favorite last-minute gifts and stocking stuffers for the athletes in their lives. I know my GF, Mile Long Legs, has her own list!

Here we go!

5.) NUTRITION: find out what sort of nutrtition your athlete uses. Be it a recovery shake, gels, salt tablets, waffles, whatever. As someone who spends at least $50/month on run grub, this kind of gift is AWESOME. Either grab the specific items at your local run store or write up a gift certificate for the website for online ordering. Easy.

4.) SOCKS: runners love socks. Runners NEED socks. Whats great about a new pair of quality socks is that the runner won’t just appreciate the pair, they’ll USE them. A LOT. My favorites are Injinji socks (the ones with separate toes). After making the switch, I haven’t looked back. Injinjis tend to run anywhere from $10-$35, so one or two pairs goes a long way. DO IT.

3.) FRAME MEMORIES: seems simple, and it is, but it’s also meaningful. I love to display my medals, but always feel that pinning one directly to the wall can look tacky. Luckily, they make shadowboxes and frames that can accomodate a bib and medal and help polish up the display for all to enjoy. I’d find a race that your athlete rocked or had an overall pleasant experience. Last thing you want to do is hang some memories from that race they had horrible stomach distress from miles 4-24. GROSS.

2.) RACE ENTRY: this was on my list last year, but makes perfect sense. Races are expensive. Help them out. Even if you don’t pay for the whole race, just paying for a small percentage makes a huge difference. Bonus points if you sign-up too and make it a duel run for awesome. Double bonus points if you buy them a beer afterwards. Triple bonus points if you make it a destination race (BIG SUR!) and pay for the vacation out as well!

1.) MASSAGE: do it. Either by a professional massage therapist that works with athletes, or by yourself. Just do it. Athletes need them and love them. Add some massage oils and this turns into a whole other gift idea that you can thank me for later.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Ginger People GINGER CHEWS: Love these. Super cheap and help with all sorts of stomach distress and nausea during long runs.

BEER: Get that athlete some delicious local craft brews by the bottle, growler, or hell, a KEG! Let them go to town on that stuff!

That’s it! Hope you enjoyed the quick list! Now get those gifts for your athlete and let me know how it goes. If you have more ideas, leave them in the comments!

I love wearing the Skora Form all around in my daily life. While I’ve found the faults to interfere with the comfort of wearing them on regular long runs, I still find these shoes to be very comfortable for the day-to-day lifestyle as well as form/speed drills. I’m also not a big fan of the $185 price tag. However, they have a more affordable brother, the Base (which I have not tried). Have any of you run in Skoras? What do you think of them? Click to watch the review above and don’t forget to subscribe to my youtube channel! (CLICK HERE TO SUB)

LIKED:

• Comfortable
• Asymmetric Lacing
• Wide Toe-Box
• Tongue
• Oder Resilience
• Zero Drop
• Good Grip

DISLIKED:

• Sizing
• Heel-Cup
• Materials (leather)
• Price ($185)

QUALITY: 3/5
COMFORT: 4/5
PRICE: 2/5
LOOKS: 4/5

TOTAL: 13/20

note: this item was provided by Skora for review. The opinions are my own.

The North Face 50k Championships

This last weekend, caked in mud, sweat and tears, I completed my very first ultra marathon – something I NEVER thought I’d be able do if you asked me a few years ago. This wasn’t just any ultra, this was the insanity that was The North Face Endurance Challenge Championship 50k race in the Marin Headlands of San Francisco.

By now, some of you may have heard the stories, the gossip, and the legends of this weekend’s race. Well, lemme toss my story into the mix. I’ll do my best to recount (I might still be drunk!) all that I encountered to give you an idea of an average racer’s experience as well as what it was like to race my first Ultra distance.

TRAINING

So after running a handful of marathons and riding 204 miles earlier this year, I figured it was time to dabble in something a little more extreme. I’ve followed Ultras for years, dreamt of the illusive Western States belt buckle, and wished to run alongside Kilian and Krupicka at some point. But I never had the courage to sign up. I didn’t think I had enough experience RUNNING long distances yet. I can hike like nobody’s business, but man, running up and down mountains on repeat is pretty daunting for a beer and sweets addicted Ginger. Well, in June, I did what any stupid runner would do at some point in their career – I signed up for my first ultra.

Marin Headlands, TNF 50k

The North Face 50k seemed like a perfect fit for me. It was just north of one of my favorite cities (San Francisco), it was in a colder month, it had dope race schwag, had plenty of elite runners to ogle at, and offered seemingly endless race day volunteer support. My running buddy, RockHardRunners also signed up so I had a partner in crime. I was set. Now came the time to train.

The course brags about 6000 feet of vertical. Me, being a ginger dumb dumb, thought it seemed like a small enough number that a few weekend trail runs would suffice. Well, after being left exhausted by the SF Marathon this last July and seeing a total elevation change of only 1,007 feet in that race, I knew I had to kick it into gear and get some REAL hill training in.

Weekends started to include longer runs on trails and amongst the SoCal hills. I scoured local blogs and websites promoting which trails ultra runners ran in hopes of gaining some of their knowledge and insight. When training for a marathon, I would make Sundays my LSD, usually capping at 20 miles. For this run, I figured I’d train the same, but double up on Friday and Saturday – Friday being LSD on trails and hills, and Saturday being half the distance on trails as ‘fatigued recovery’ to simulate race-day.

Trail Running near Malibu

The longest trail run I got in was a 21 miler. Total elevation change of 3400 up, 3400 down. Not NEARLY enough, but that run HURT LIKE A MOTHER FUCKER. Crap, was I going to be ready to DOUBLE that elevation and add another 10+ miles? Was I in over my head? I started realizing this race was The North Face World Championships for a REASON. It was going to be hard as shit for a regular shmoe like me. Tag on the fact that RockHardRunners had to bail on the race for family or drunken partying reasons – still not sure which. Now I was alone, about to take on the unknown and possibly die an embarrassing death of hill-climb-failure.

Where’s the whiskey??

DAYS BEFORE THE RACE

Well, jump ahead to the week of the race. By this point, I had come to grips with running the race alone. Thank goodness my girlfriend, MileLongLegs, jumped on board to be my crew and support (always my rock with a sexy ass, that one!). But I had started to hear grumblings of horrible weather, course changes, and the scariest (or most relieving): RACE CANCELLATION. Thursday night, before the race, I was prepping to fly out to SF the following morning when I got an email that the race had been forced to change the course due to horrible, innevitable weather conditions. I was officially fucked. Now I had no idea what to expect.

Side note: A HUGE amount of props has to go to the RD and staff at TNFECS for making tough calls, communicating with all the runners HOURS before the event, and getting the word out about course changes. Probably one of the best sponsored races I’ve ever run when it came to communication.

Delays and more delays!

Friday morning, I put my fear aside to enjoy the short flight to SF. Unfortunately, the weather was SO BAD in SF that our flight was delayed almost 3 times. Then our pilot had to emergency abort the take-off due to some malfunction with the radio system. ACK! What the hell was happening?! My already rattled nerves, were at near breaking point. I couldn’t stop worrying that everything was an omen to NOT run this race.

We arrived in SF in one piece, grabbed our car and headed to TNF for my bib pick-up. The volunteers there had no idea what the new course was like, only that it would be similar to the full marathon course. So that meant the 50 mile race, the 50k race AND both marathons were running the same trails? Let’s hope there’s passing lanes!

TCHO Chocolate Factory Beard

By this point, I just needed to focus one step at a time. Get food. Get hydrated. Relax. Prep race-day items. Study the new course reroute, Sleep. (Oh and stop by my friend Tyler’s chocolate factory, TCHO, for a glass of wine and some of the finest damn chocolate you’ll ever let melt in your mouthhole). But this new course had me worried. Not only about the number of runners that were now going to clog the same 13-14 miles of trail loop, destroying what solid dirt was available and pulverizing it to deep mud, but also about getting lost and being unfamiliar with when the hills would sneak up on me.

All I could count on for race morning was that it was going to be raining, the trails were going to be muddy, I was going to get very wet, there would be plenty of volunteers, there were going to be plenty of hills, I was going to get lapped by the elite 50 milers at some point, I trained all that I could on terrain I had access to, and I was going to take my sweet as time enjoying whatever I could about this race.

After getting as much sleep as I could muster, listening to the pounding rain on my window, we woke up early, got some calories and caffeine in, and made our way to the shuttle station. We boarded the bus in the dark and ventured across the Golden Gate (which we had just run across in the SF Marathon) into the unknown Marin conditions. Once there, we stepped out into pouring rain and were instantly wet. Awesome. It begins.

THE RACE

Ready for The North Face 50k

Just walking to the start-line was a struggle. We were greeted by sloppy mud already deep with footprints from the 50 milers and their friends and family who started 2 hours earlier. And here I am thinking I could keep my shoes clean. Nope, mud-town USA.

We wandered the start, I dropped off my finish bag, and found a bit of warm relief on a nearby school bus. As the minutes counted down to the start of my first ultra, a calm, zen-like state took over. A very similar sensation to what I felt before the Portland Marathon a few months ago. I could handle the rain. I could handle the wind. I would be ready for anything the day threw at me. It was time to beat this beast. And what a wicked beast it was.

START TO TENNESSEE VALLEY

As wave one of the 50k runners lined up for the start, I glanced around and ogled at how many of these men and women looked seasoned, grizzled, and ready for anything. One dude even donned a short pair of shorts, no shirt, and no hat. We were all in this together – clothed or semi-naked (weirdo!).

The sun was starting to illuminate the fog and rain around us so headlamps weren’t a necessity anymore. When we started off on our adventure, I kept it slow and steady, not pushing any pace or objectives, just cruising to my own rhythm, letting those with more experience (or less) pass me without much thought.

I knew to expect some big hills, so when we started our first assent of what I lovingly call, “Blue Ball Loop” (more on this later), to the top of Bobcat, I wasn’t surprised. But MAN was this an early killer. The hill went on for what seemed like forever until finally after miles of up, we dropped into the first aid station (Alta). I quickly went through, grabbed some GU Chomps and headed down towards the mile 6 aid station back near the start.

The fog and clouds obscured what I imagine to be amazing vistas of rolling hillsides and ocean. While I could see a ways up the hills, I longed to look out and see how high we were. By this point, we were snaking our way up even more hills and switch-backs, following the course markings, to mile 9 at Tennessee Valley. I know MileLongLegs was there waiting, so I couldn’t wait for the energy boost of a familiar (and beautiful) face.

Running in to Tennessee Valley Aid Station

Before Tennessee Valley, there were some seriously tricky spots. The trails had been recently traversed by early 50 milers and had started to give way. The mud was in full effect and this was the first instance I felt that my shoe choice may not have been correct. I continued to keep the pace easy and had fun down the descent into TV where MLL greeted me with a beaming, rain-drenched smile.

I quickly grabbed some nibbles, saw Bryon from iRunFar and gave him a creepy, “thank you for doing what you’re doing today!” and pounded on towards Muir Beach. This was the section I was most excited for on this new figure-8, shortened course.

TENNESSEE VALLEY TO MUIR BEACH OUT & BACK

The trail started to ascend pretty quickly out of TV so I opted to slow it down again. I really had no idea what the elevation profile was going to be like on this course so I didn’t want to blow my race by going too hard too soon. This was only mile 9, I had plenty more to go. And this next stretch was…well, let’s just say it was an experience for the books.

What I imagine is some of the most amazing and gorgeous cliff-side single track in all of trail racing, was changed into something much more frightening. Hundreds of people pounding lengthwise across a fire road, turning it to mud is one thing, but the same number of feet being confined to a 24″ wide single track is another.

Mud trail (photo courtesy 365Ultra)

The trail from TV to Muir Beach was downright treacherous. My shoes could barely keep traction as the trail rolled up and down. My goal was just to stay upright, so I took cautious steps and slowed my pace in many patches of some of the worst trail conditions I’ve experienced. While the rain continued to hammer us runners, the trails were feeling the brunt of all of it.

The final descent into Muir Beach was the worst. The very steep trail may have widened, but every square inch had been decimated, leaving a thick slippery goopy mud that I had to literally ski down. It was all I could do to keep from tumbling down and finding myself rolling over a cliffside. What’s crazy is I was being passed by countless runners screaming down the trail without a worry. How the fuck were they doing it?! Was it just about loosening up and letting your body take you down? Every fiber in my body told me to be cautious and not let speed play a part here. I held back.

I rolled into Muir Beach at a snails pace, grabbed some more nutrition, refilled my bottle, and headed back up the trail. Yes, the SAME TRAIL I HAD JUST COME DOWN. By this point, we were being passed by a lot of the elite 50 mile racers. In my head I realized this was their SECOND trip up and down this same trail. I can imagine how frustrated they were to not only dodge all us wanky 50k runners, but to also deal with all of the destroyed trails a second time.

Side note – while most of the runners in my vicinity and similar pace were awesome, talkative and overall supportive heroes, I made a point to shout a “congrats” or “Nice work” to any elite runner that passed me in either direction. What sucked is NONE of them gave any sort of response or acknowledgment. Look, I’m not asking for a conversation, but maybe some eye-contact or a finger tip to at least know you heard me would be awesome. We’re all kind of in this shit together, right? I want you to do well. Hell, I want you to WIN so I can tell stories to my kids someday that I talked to a winner once! But really, I was getting the same vibe from every runner that I feel when I’m training on my bike in SoCal mountain country. An almost, “you’re not good enough so I won’t acknowledge your friendliness” vibe. I’ll chalk it up to being in the “competitive zone” or because “they don’t speak English”. Regardless, I did get to see/pass some of my Ultra heroes and that was cool.

Oh, Miguel! (photo courtesy iRunFar.com)

Back up the trails I went, crawling on my hands at points due to lack of traction. There was a memorable moment when it was all I could do to get footing in the mud when from behind, an elite Salomon racer (realized later it was Miquel Heras – the WINNER of the men’s 50miler), screamed up the slope, hands on his knees, like it was a set of short stairs. A cameraman quickly followed. Fuck my face, they were fast!

Once to the top, I thanked the racing gods I didn’t have to do a second loop like the 50 milers. That was one awful stretch of trail.

My pace had really slowed here. I was getting pretty damn fatigued from all the mud-fighting and steep terrain. I couldn’t make up any time on the downhills due to lack of traction. I could only hope to make it up on the small plateaus and lower flats to come. I heard the distant sound of TV’s crews and spectators so I nutted up and continued down the treacherous single-track into the aid station.

Fog, mud, rain, OH MY!

TENNESSEE VALLEY TO ALTA

I don’t remember much from this stretch of trail. I remember there being hills and slopes, lots of mud, very little traction, and lots of wet. I was just using the knowledge that once I got to Alta, I’d only have one more 9 mile loop to complete and I would be done. I thought a lot about beer and food and what I would eat once I finished. I thought about how my feet hurt and what I could do to alleviate the pain. I thought about all the elite runners passing me and if it’d be rude to ask them for autographs. Then I traversed into the forest and knew Alta was just up ahead.

ALTA TO FORT BARRY FAKE-OUT

As I entered Alta, I was joined by an elite 50 miler who was extremely jovial and talkative. Jorge Maravilla (Salomon) joked about having the volunteers whip him up a hamburger as he downed his Pepsi. It was neat to see someone so deep in a 50 miler (and on track for 16th place) have so much positive spirit. I joked with him about finishing strong and leaving me some of the bottom of the keg at the finish as he pounded on down the hill. I envied his strength and closeness to being finished. I still had a long ways to go.

I started to gain more confidence in the mud by this point. I had found a happy place with my shoes speed-wise that allowed for a little bit of grip in the mud and ability to push through. I also realized at this point just how much horrible tension I was holding in my shoulders and trapezius muscles. I HAD to relax on these downhills. So i did. It helped immediately.

As I made my way to the flat stretch before Fort Barry, I began to see more of my environment. The soggy was getting replaced with dry and the fog was more clouds. Man this was a gorgeous course. I can’t imagine how much more gorgeous in sunshine.

Aint no fake-out gettin’ me down!

From the trail, we cross a bridge and hit paved road as we head up to Fort Barry. Once there, I was greeted with the lovely MLL and the most horrible of fake-outs, the finish-line turn around. You literally run down the finish chute, stop JUST before you cross the timing lines, quickly turn around, and head back out to summit Bobcat again (which I now lovingly call Blue Ball Loop. Just as I was about to cum all over that finish line, I’m forced to hold it in for another 6 brutal miles. Just like college).

On my way back out of FB, I experienced one of my favorite race moments: passing Anna Frosty (Salomon) pacing Emelie Forsberg (Salomon) – who I’d later find out WON the woman’s 50 miler! But, when I passed them, I got so excited at seeing Frosty, that I shouted, “Hell yeah, Frosty!! GET IT! FINISH STRONG!!”. It wasn’t until right after I passed them I realized, 1) Frosty was a PACER and 2) she was pacing the WINNER whom I didn’t even acknowledge.   Emelie, if you’re reading this – which I doubt you are – I owe you a beer or 5. Nice strong finish and way to kick serious ass out there!

Ok, now back to blue balls. On my way back up Bobcat for the second time, I walked next to a woman who had just started her second loop for the 50 miler. I forget her name, but she seemed so strong mentally. I was extremely impressed. Not only had she been on the course for almost 7 hours and had 20 more miles to complete, but she still had to go through the horrible Muir mud-zone from hell again AND keep her pace up to keep from being DQ’d for missing cut-off times. I couldn’t even imagine her mental strength and will power. I still don’t know if she finished the whole thing, but hell or high-water she wasn’t going down without a fight! And neither was I.

Last mile of TNF 50k

In addition to her, I met a cool guy I had been leap-frogging with ALL day named Greg. Nice dude wearing Hoka One Ones. He was very positive, and nearing a 50k PR. He just needed to keep the pace up on the downhills. I gave him some of my salt tablets, and we pushed each other to the top of Bobcat pretty quickly. This was a low point for me, so I needed the extra push. Thinking about helping this guy get a PR became my new immediate goal. I just had to finish to get my own PR, so pushing a little harder to get him his was awesome. But after cresting Bobcat and heading into Alta again, he peaced out and screamed down the backside towards the finish without me. GO GREG!

I also passed a struggling female elite 50 miler who not only looked like she was on her last legs, but she was pretty disoriented. I asked her if she was good or needed anything and I got a, “No, I think I’m fine” response. She obviously didn’t want to be bothered and was probably having a rough day, so I pushed on and wished her a strong finish. I later found out it was Megan Kimmel who hand to drop just yards after I passed her due to two blown calf muscles and severe cold. Pretty sure she’s as hardcore as they come.

ALTA TO THE FINISH

Now this was a special moment for me. I looked down at my watch and started to tear up. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I hadn’t noticed, but this was the furthest I had ever run. Ever. 26.2 miles was now a thing of the past. I was almost at 28 miles and on my way downhill towards the finish. It literally was downhill from here. I fought back tears, increased my pace and charged towards that damn finish line.

These last few miles were a whirlwind. I didn’t talk to anybody, just charged my way back into Fort Barry. I had peeled off my orange rain jacket as the temperature had warmed and primped my Train.Race.Beer shirt for the finish line pictures. I was exhausted, spent, depleted, and ready for warmth.

I rounded the last turn towards the finish line, let the tears flow. Nothing was going to stop me.

I pounded down into the finish chute, this time I could continue on over the timing mats and under The North Face banner. I was done. I had just ran 30 miles and I felt great. Best part, I did it in under 6 hours (my gold time for the original 50k course). My watch said 5:34:48 but the official time is 5:47:54. Not sure where the discrepancy is, but I don’t care. I did it. I fuckin did my first Ultra and it was amazing.

So much so, I’ve already signed up for another.

Crossing the finish line of TNF 50k

IN THE END

I am absolutely ecstatic at my experience. Not only did I take on something I thought impossible, but every screw was knocked loose, rearranged, and shoved back into this machine to make it as hard and stressful as possible on the runners. Weather, course changes, mud, elements, crowds, everything. And I did it, and felt great doing it.

This to me not only makes this experience that much more memorable, but that much more rewarding. I never would have known this feeling had I not pushed myself to try. As I always say, “You’ll never regret trying something. But you’ll always regret NOT trying it.” This couldn’t be more true. Oh, and a very big thank you to The North Face for being incredibly organized and efficient. Most races would’ve crumbled, you stood out as a prime example of how to do it pro-style. And props for shutting the course down for Sunday races. I couldn’t imagine going out on those trails after the Saturday pounding AND the overnight storms. Well played, TNF.

Garmin data, data, and more data!

LIKED:

BROOKS PURE CONNECT

I FINALLY get to review the Brooks PureConnect. Its a dynamite reduced-running shoe with a smooth, fast, flexible ride. The BioMogo is super soft and the shoe fills that niche of low-drop and extra-cushioned shoe nicely. The shoe felt narrow at first, right out of the box, but actually running in them proved they do expand enough to be comfortable (those with wider sized feet, try them on first. I’ve heard the Flow and Grit are better options for width). Most of the problems I have with the shoe involve premature wear and the pods under the forefoot. In fact, the forefoot pods have become increasingly more painful. I think it’s a combo of the rubber outsole not wearing as quickly as the midsole EVA. Feels like I’m running on a lump now that I have about 200 miles of running. But the design elements are SOLID and I still consider this one of my favorites.

LIKED:

• Light
• Comfortable
• Midfoot
• The Upper
• Ride
• Flexible
• Low Drop

DISLIKED:

• Durability
• Narrow
• Outsole
• Forefoot Pod
• Toe Guard
• Not Zero Drop

QUALITY: 4/5
COMFORT: 4/5
PRICE: 5/5
LOOKS: 4/5

TOTAL: 17/20

note: I bought these shoes for myself and the thoughts are my own. I was not provided a sample.