Running Raw - The Future of Athletics Has Arrived!

 

5/04/08 The Bennington Road Race - NEW!

Although I cannot remember the bulk of my life (a result of years of depression perhaps) there are a few conversations that have stayed in my memory as clearly as the day they occurred. One such dialog took place at a high school track meet in 1984. My coach Steve Zemianek took me aside after a race and in a stern tone uttered the question; "Van Orden, when are you going to get serious?". It wasn't that I had done poorly in the race that caused him to single me out, but the opposite. I had done done quite well and really surprised him. He saw potential in me and challenged me to rise up to meet it. Coach Zem remains one of the most inspirational figures of my life. Were he alive today he might see that 24 years after he uttered those immortal words, I've finally gotten serious.

One of Zem's great legacies in my home town of Bennington, VT is the annual Bennington Road Race, held on the first Sunday of May. The race is a celebration of the end of a long Vermont winter and the beginning of a lush and vibrant spring. For over three decades this race has attracted many of the best runners in the northeast who want to challenge themselves on one of the prettiest courses anywhere in the U.S. Since his passing in 2000, the race has been held in honor of coach Zem to remember and celebrate his contributions to the thriving running community in Bennington. Three of my team mates on Zem's miracle team in the mid 80's have gone on to great national and international success. Dave Jareckie competed in the 1992 and 1994 Olympics, Lincoln DeWitt competed in the 2002 Olympics and Chris Lundy has competed in two Olympic trials (including 2008) and has been on many national teams competing at the world championships. Then there's me. I guess it took a lot longer for Zem's advice and coaching to sink in, but it has, and I'm grateful.

It was 5:15AM when I awoke Sunday morning on the 4th of May 2008. I was 40 years old. The previous two nights and days had been spent "partying" and celebrating my 40th birthday in New York City with the amazing raw community there. The "thin mint sundae" that I had consumed at 11:00PM at Pure Food and Wine the night before was doing the cha cha in my intestines, and my groggy eyes did not want to open. It's a 3 hour drive from New York City to Bennington so I figured that we would have to leave at 5:30 in order to make it to the race. The first race of my 40's. The first race for me to show my hometown just how serious I had become.

The Bennington Banner, the local newspaper, had come to my house a week earlier to do a story on the Running Raw Project. I was very surprised when they had called me, as Bennington is a very conservative town (by Vermont standards). The reporter wanted to do a run with me and then film me making some food. I had thought that it might end up as a little blurb in the sports section of the paper but it turned out to be front page news, and consumed almost all of the print real estate on page one. I was shocked, and I must say a little embarrassed, but at the same time grateful that I had been given such a large voice in my community. This issue of the paper came out just a few days before the race, and I was hoping that the race would be a great opportunity to demonstrate the power of a simple raw diet to my community.

When I arrived at the race, which takes place on the grounds of the former Governor's mansion (now a park), there were smiling familiar faces everywhere. I have spent the vast majority of my 6 months in VT running alone in the woods or working at home on the computer. My interaction with the community has been minimal and this grand celebration of spring and sprint felt like my "coming out" party. I was worried that I might be perceived as a freak after the article in the paper ran, but the cheerful greetings and questions that I was being bombarded with told a different story. Aside from the usual questions about protein, calories and "what do you eat?", the general consensus among my inquisitors was that it made sense. Vermonters are very practical people and can appreciate the benefits of eating a simple more natural diet.

Race psychology is a strange phenomenon. As I warmed up and shared greetings with friends and runners from years gone by, my mind was still focused on that thin mint sundae, my lack of sleep for the two previous nights, and the cramped quarters on the drive up from the city that morning. The outer calm that I displayed was in direct contrast to the fear that I was going to look like a fool in front of my hometown crowd. My brain told me that they were expecting big things from the raw vegan bold enough to be a front page news story. The pressure was intense. Had the race been held elsewhere I might have choked, but the bright green tunnel formed by the stately old maple trees lining the dirt road and the perfectly placed stones of the old stone wall in between the trees touched a relaxing chord somewhere deeper in me. This was home, I was safe. But more importantly I was running to honor coach Zem, not for my own personal ego.

As the race began I found myself immediately in the lead and feeling surprisingly swift. After a few hundred meters a man pulled up to my side. I said hello and we began to converse. His name was Greg and he worked as a registered nurse at the local hospital. I could feel that it was a quick pace, but Greg seemed comfortable and I was excited not to be running alone. The conversation was still going strong as we hit the first mile in 4:50. Ahead of us stretched a quarter mile long hill that climbed quite steeply. I kept the pace going strong as I charged up the hill, Greg could not maintain the pace and fell back. I offered a "good luck" and ended the conversation. I would run alone until the finish. The clock read 19:50 as I broke the tape and crossed the line. It would be the first time that a local runner had broken the 20 minute mark on this hilly 3.8 mile course. Congratulations poured in accompanied with comments about my diet. One woman offered "Whatever it is that you are eating, it seems to be working". The day continued with many wonderful conversations with friends old and new. I can only hope that a seed has been planted in the town of Bennington, VT, and I can't wait to see how it grows in the times to come.

This is the story that appeared in the Bennington Banner the following day: http://www.benningtonbanner.com/ci_9156067

Click HERE to see the Video.

4/27/08 Kids for Kids 5k - NEW!

Although the 62 storey Aon Center race was a grueling affair, it only lasted a little over 8 minutes. Since I don't have a coach, I find it hard to push myself to the limit on my own, so I do a race as my hard workout for the week. So the following day I went hunting for a fast 5k to compete in. One of the things I love about L.A. is the abundance of races every weekend throughout the year. With plenty of races to choose from I picked a celebrity studded 5k in Century City (L.A.'s other downtown, adjacent to Beverly Hills).

At 9:50AM it was already 86 degrees and climbing. I don't do well in the heat and there was not a spot of shade anywhere on this hilly course, so I reminded myself that this was only a workout and not a race to be taken seriously. As I warmed up I felt surprisingly light and swift considering I had raced up a building the day before. Many of the top local latino racers were on hand and it was intimidating to watch them do their warmup strides. I was certain they would dominate this race.

This event was a fundraiser for the Children's Cancer Research Fund, so naturally there were a LOT of children gathering at the start line. I stepped right to the line to get a good position and not trample any children, but i was quickly standing in the 10th row as children began to amass in front of me and the start line. The race organizers asked the children to step back to the line, but they did no such thing. They were caught up in the moment and the fun of getting to run a race. For a brief moment I remembered when I used to think racing was fun. But those days are long gone, for it's serious business now. I laughed at myself on the inside and looked to the other "elite" runners standing next to me on the line in the same perdicament. They smiled and shrugged their shoulders as if to say "they're kids, what are you going to do?". One of the men recognized me and told another man next to him that I was the one to beat. I was surprised by this and told him that there were many runners in the line that looked faster than me. He smiled at me and said "no, no, I know who you are". I was a little embarrassed, I didn't know what that meant, so I just looked away.

Moments before the gun went off I was scanning the crowd of children gathered in front of me trying to ascertain the best route through without hurting anyone. When I couldn't find one, I just resigned myself to a very relaxed, slow start and decided to have fun running with the kids for the first 100 meters. Bang. We were off. Children swarming and swerving everywhere in front of me. I must have looked like a ballerina as I bounced and dodged about trying to avoid them. If felt good not to burst off the line. I wasn't nervous, I was relaxed. Two hundred meters later I had moved beyond the mass of screaming joy and calmly set to getting my race on. Many of the other top runners had gotten through the crowd much faster and they were quite a ways ahead. I was about 20 places behind.

With calm precision I made a slight adjustment to my pace and slowly started to reel in the runners in front of me. Half a mile into the race and I had taken the lead. I didn't notice the heat, only that I felt very smooth and the pace seemed effortless. We weaved through the skyscraper clad streets often looping back on ourselves offering a view of all the runners behind us. It was fun to acknowledge the other racers as I went by, it made the effort even less noticeable. At one mile only one runner remained with me. It was one of the latino speed demons that I had seen warming up before the race. He was lean and efficient and not breathing very hard. Mile two came quickly and the man at my side was still there, but the rest of the runners were now far behind. We came to a hill and I picked up the pace, my opponent's footsteps could be heard trailing off behind me, so I picked it up even more. Despite the increase in speed the pace was still comfortable and I cruised the last mile increasing my lead the entire time. I was very surprised when I came across the line and saw that I had just run my fastest 5k ever. How could that be possible? I had a run a grueling tower race the day before, it was 86 degrees, I still had plenty of gas in the tank and I lost at least 20 seconds in the start. A flood of elation poured over me, I was in much better shape than I thought, and my goals for the year were not as far away as I had feared.

After being swarmed by kids and other runners wanting to congratulate me and get training advice from me (as you can imagine, my advice was primarily about diet), I did a short interview for the local KTLA news. Hopefully at least one person gets to see it and makes a change because of it. This one was for the children.

4/26/08 Aon Center Stair Climb - NEW!

For the first time in more than 10 years I found myself a visitor rather than a resident of the great city of Los Angeles. Mark Trahanovsky and his company, West Coast Labels had generously offered to fly me out to L.A. to compete in the final tower race of the season - a 62 storey, 858 foot climb to the top of the Aon Center. This race is the second in the successful Climb California series, which raises money for the American Lung Association.

Being the last race of the season (tower racing season starts in October and ends in April for some odd reason), I knew that the competition would be intense. The best stair runners in the country would all want to mark the end of their season with a victory in L.A.

Among the elite field were 2006 Sears Tower winner Jesse Berg out of Chicago and 2006 US Bank Tower winner Tommy Coleman ouf of Cardiff, CA. These men placed 6th and 5th respectively at the unofficial world stair climbing championships at the Empire State Building and are considered the best stair racers in the country. This was going to be a great race.

I met Mark Trahanovsky at a 5k race in Los Angeles in the early spring of 2007. We had talked briefly about the Running Raw Project and went our separate ways. Mark became very interested in Running Raw and became a regular visitor to the site. After a very extensive knee surgery last year, Mark was told that he would not be able to run again. That's when he read about my knee injuries and how I got into tower racing as a way to train while injured. Mark also discovered that he had little to no knee pain when going up stairs and began to train for his first stair race at the US Bank Tower in October of 2007. Well, Mark is now hooked. He's done 7 tower races around the country in the short time since October and is on the board of directors for the Climb California race up the Aon Center. Mark wanted this inaugural race to be a big success, so he brought in the best racers, inspired local TV personalities to race and did a great job of advertising the event. It was an action packed adventure for sure. Mark also set me up with a pair of Vibram 5 Fingers for the race. If you've never seen these shoes, you have to check them out. Wearing them is like being barefoot without the worry of something sharp puncturing your foot. http://www.vibramfivefingers.com/.

During my warmup I bumped into Tommy Coleman and Jesse Berg. We shared a few words and wished each other luck. Tommy had mentioned to me that we had to arrange our starting lineup so that the three of us were not near each other in the stairwell. He didn't want one of us breathing down his neck and he didn't want to try and catch one of us in front of him and ruin his pace. I agreed. I wanted to run my own race and not be focused on another. In a tower race, if you start too quickly, your race is over long before you ever reach the top. Once your legs begin to fail there is no recovering and your race quickly falls apart. Tommy was to go first, with Jesse 20 seconds behind him and me 20 seconds behind Jesse. Which should have been enough time for us not to see each other in the stairs considering our similar abilities.

As we lined up, other racers commented on Tommy's brand new Nike Mayflys and my bright red Vibram 5 Fingers, both of which I would highly recommend for the sport of tower racing. When the horn sounded, Tommy burst through the door as the first competitor in the stair well. Racers were going off every 10 seconds, with times being calculated by timing chips attached to our shoes. Jesse was third into the tower, I was a nervous 5th. My friend Jeff Dinkin, who I met while training for the US Bank Tower race this past September started right before Jesse, but his chances of doing well were stripped away in a pretty severe bike accident the week before. Jeff was to do the entire race using only his legs, as a dislocated shoulder and severe road rash prevented him from pulling on the railings.

I entered the stairwell like a rocket. It was not an all out sprint, but I was moving pretty quickly. My recent stair climb successes and my increase in training and fitness prompted me to put the hammer down early and see how long I could sustain the pace. It only took a few floors to catch the racer that had started 10 seconds in front of me. In another 10 floors I caught up to Jeff, who was feeling the effort of his leg only venture. We shared some words of encouragement and I hammered on to catch up to the footsteps I could hear just a floor above me. The sign on the door read "20th Floor" when I caught up to the next racer. He was moving at a decent pace so I tucked in behind him for a moment before attempting to overtake him. As I looked up to make my move I noticed that the racer I was about to pass was none other than Jesse Berg. A bolt of fear shot through my body, my stomach turned and I could feel my face redden. I had made up 20 seconds on the 6th fastest stair climber in the world in only 20 floors. I was going WAY TOO FAST. Well, that's the thought that shot through my head and initiated the fear cycle that was now cascading through my body. I decided to just latch on to Jesse and hold on to the top. That strategy had worked for me this fall when I beat Jesse by 3 seconds at the US Bank Tower (the only time I've beaten him), but I didn't make up a 20 second gap in that race. If I could stay with him to the top I would beat him by a huge 20 second margin.

The floors flew by despite the fact that they were the tallest floors of any building I've run in. Jesse had picked up the pace when I had latched onto him. He had probably thought (as I did) that I had gone out way to fast, and that if he picked up the pace he could exhaust me and lose me. When we reached the 52nd floor, an exhausted Jesse put the hammer down and picked up the pace for the final 10 floors. I tried to stay with him, but I was done. Jesse quickly moved ahead of me. I could only hope that he didn't have enough in him to make up the 20 second gap in 10 floors. I reached the 61st floor and made my best effort to "sprint" the final floor knowing full well that my body could barely move at this point. When I hit the 62nd floor I looked for the finish line, but there was none. We were to finish on the roof. Even though this building technically only has 62 floors, the roof would be considered the 63rd floor. Those last two flights of stairs took forever. I had already given everything I had and now I felt cheated by this extra floor. Dejected and beaten, I walked up the final flight of stairs and walked across the finish line. I was spent.

Had I known in the race that I would finish in 2nd place, only 2 seconds behind Tommy Coleman, and 5 seconds ahead of Jesse Berg, I might have treated that last floor differently. Those two seconds were easily given away as I did my walk of defeat up the final floor of the building. Despite the feeling of failure that would later come over me, I was quite pleased to have been 2 seconds behind the legend Tommy Coleman. Not only have I never beaten Tommy in a stair climb, but up until this point I had never been within 40 seconds of him. My performance today was very promising. As this journey continues, I'm learning more and more about training and remaining injury free, both of which are helping me consistently improve even as I age. Running Raw is officially in the big leagues now.

Click HERE to watch the video.

4/12/08 Merrimack Rivah Trail Race - NEW!

Over the past two years, it has become clear to me that New England is the epicenter of trail running in the United States. This tiny region of the country boasts the greatest number of trail races and the best talent you can find anywhere. Many of the top trail racers in the country call this area home. When the snow finally clears in April, the trail racing season begins. The Xterra Merrimack River (pronounced "Rivah") trail race in Andover, MA signals the beginning of that season. This challenging 10 mile race features scenery second to none, hills to challenge the toughest quads, water, and MUD. Just as the Japanese have a distinct 5th flavor known as "umami", New England has a distinct 5th season - MUD Season. It's impossible to run in New England in April without getting wet and muddy.

Dave Dunham was kind enough to let me stay at his place in Bradford, MA, so that I wouldn't have a 3 hour drive in the morning. Kevin Tilton from North Conway, NH was also staying at the house. They both turn in quite early (unlike myself, who refuses to adopt east coast time), so I found myself in bed by 10pm. I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of heavy rain on the roof of the house. I'm not a big fan of getting wet while running, so my mind began to spin yarns about the perils that would await in the morning - April showers steal Tim's powers. The rain continued till early morning making the course very soggy and boggy. In one spot, the river had even overflown it's banks, making for a treacherous 20 foot knee deep water crossing.

At the gun, Kevin Tilton jumped right out in front and never let go of his lead. Kevin has been one of the top mountain and trail racers in the country for the last few years, and looks to turn in some very impressive performances this year. I wasn't sure how much endurance I'd have in a 10 mile race with steep climbs, so I settled into 6th place at the start. The 5:20 pace felt good, so I put it in cruise control for the first 3 relatively flat miles. At the beginning of the 4th mile the hills began. After rocketing down the first of the steep downhills we came full speed upon a wooden plank bridge that was leaning to the right. This would have been difficult to negotiate in dry conditions, but the rain had turned the thin film of moss and algae that coated the bridge into greased lightning. The first step I took on the bridge had my feet flying out from under me. I was horizontal in the air before i crashed down hard on my knees on the bridge, then bounced backward into the rocky stream 3 feet below. The intense pain filled me with rage as I scrambled out of the brook and back onto the trail. My knees began to lock up almost immediately from the pounding they had just taken. I didn't think I could finish the race in this condition, I could barely move my legs. A runner quickly caught me and overtook me. As he passed he said, "That must have hurt. Don't give up, keep going". I did my best to chase after him, but my legs were not cooperating anymore. I stumbled up the next hill as best I could, my knees were beginning to free up, but the pain was not subsiding. We came to another steep rocky downhill (my forté) and I let loose. It probably wasn't the smartest choice, but I seldom make those choices. Within 30 seconds of the decline, I passed the runner that had passed me after the fall. As I went by he exclaimed, "Wow! Way to get back in there!". I was not giving up on this one. My anger fueled me for the next two miles as we climbed several quad thrashing 30 to 40 percent slopes.

When I had reached the 5 mile turnaround point, I was relaxed and finding my rhythm again. I had made some good distance on the runners behind me and I was beginning to make ground on Ben Nephew (3rd place finisher) in front of me. Back over the hills we went. I charged up and down each one with reckless abandon. I still wasn't sure if I had 10 miles of race endurance in me, so I wanted to make up as much ground as I could on the hills before the relatively flat and fast last 3 miles. At long last I found myself descending the last of the steep downhills, it would be relatively easy from this point on. Well, that was until I tripped on a root at the bottom of the downhill and flew shoulder first into a large pine tree. I bounced off and careened face first down the slope. The thumb pad of my right had took the force of my weight as i came down hard on a rock. My knees were again smashed by roots and rocks. Something sharp pierced the soft flesh on my right side. I scrambled up onto my feet with pure adrenaline, the pain was shooting all over my body. I tried to run, but so many things were beginning to lock up and swell that I couldn't make a running stride. A runner flew by me and asked if I was alright. I wasn't sure if I was. Trying to match his pace was an exercise in futility and he quickly disappeared. Shortly thereafter, Dan Verrington (one of the best masters racers in the country) passed me like a rocket, I couldn't keep his pace either. I was watching my race fall apart and there was nothing I could do.

With two miles remaining, another runner passed me, the same gentleman that had passed me after the first fall. I had loosened up a bit and tried to go with him. I still couldn't get a full stride, but I managed to pick up the pace. My last two miles were under six minutes each, but the three runners that had passed were easily outpacing me. I crossed the finish line in 7th place. Although I did not achieve the result that I had hoped for, my time was quite good, and the competition was as good as it gets. I am in much better shape than I had expected. The seven week break from running this winter, hasn't set me back as far as I thought it might. Things are looking up. Let the healing begin.

Click HERE to watch the video.

 

 

3/29/08 A 22 Storey Sprint - NEW!

Planning is not my forté. In fact, I'm pretty darn awful at it. I had intended to compete in the 52 storey Climb California race in San Francisco. Last year I placed second in this event and was eager to come back and demonstrate my new fitness. That didn't work out, so I decided on plan B - the 38 storey Climb Pittsburgh race. Well, that didn't work out either, so I had to settle for plan C - a 22 storey climb at the University of Albany in Albany, NY. Third time's a charm.

At 289 feet, the Livingston Tower is barely a skyscraper and compared to all of the other tower races I've done, this race could be placed in the "spint" catagory. I consider myself more of an endurance athlete, and the height of this building had me concerned. The University of Albany has a top notch athletics program, which meant that this race was going to be packed with top athletes. A short race like this is much more about power and speed (which I feel I'm lacking in) than endurance. Which means that this race could belong to any of a number of people entered. During registration I bumped in David Tromp who narrowly beat me at the 42 storey Climb Albany race a month earlier, and who finished 4 seconds behind me at the Empire State Building race. David is a great athlete and one of the top stair climbers in the country. After assessing the competition in the registration area, I was hoping to be in the top 5.

The race began shortly after a failed attempt by a group of aerobics instructors to get us up warmed up in the freezing 18 degree temps (there was no lobby for us to wait in). David was one of the first through the door. I got held up a little bit at the start by a timing chip confusion, but still managed an early start. It was an all out sprint from the very start. I flew up the first 17 floors without any noticable pain. The theme music from "Rocky" was now filling the stairwell as I hurled myself up the last few floors. With half a flight to go, my legs started to fail, but I had plenty left to finish up and burst through the door. As I wobbled around the room on jellyfish legs, I noticed David doing the same. I approached him and asked him how he did. He said it was over before he knew it and that he'd like to do it again, knowing now how short it was. His time was 1:15. I looked at my watch for the first time, it read 1:13. That pace was more than twice as fast as any building I've run up to date. I knew that I had narrowly nipped David, but there were a lot of great athletes still to come, and a victory was not to be mine yet.

I was a bit frustrated with the timing chip fiasco at the start, so David suggested that we do it again. We ran down a different stairwell and prepared for our second round. This time we would do it head to head. David launched ahead at the start and I tucked in behind. The pace was faster, I could feel it. At the 15th floor David began to slow and offered to let me by. I charged around him and picked up the pace. When we hit the 20th floor my legs began to buckle, so I pulled harder on the railings to take the strain off of my legs. Seconds later I burst through the door, exhausted. David was a few seconds behind me. My watch read 1:11, David's read 1:14. We had both improved.

I felt that I could have gone a bit faster in the beginning, and David wanted another crack at me, so we decided to do it again. After about 10 minutes of rest, we were at the starting line once again, but this time David wanted me to lead. As I've learned numerous times in my life, if you want me to run faster, just put someone on my heels. I launched up the stairs like a man possessed, moving my body as fast as I possibly could. If I could keep up this pace all the way to the top, I could break a minute I thought. Gravity had other plans. When I reached the 17th floor, my legs were done. I mean DONE. I didn't think I'd be able to make the last 5 floors. I hobbled and pulled on the railings with everything I had just to keep moving. With 2 floors remaining, I was walking, and not elegantly. I had given up on getting a good time at this point, but at least I was getting a great workout. Moments later, I stumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor. The race officials and spectators that had been following our repeat climbs thought we were crazy, and just watched as I writhed around in pain. Eventually I hobbled to a chair and sat down with David. He informed me that he had run a 1:13 on the final climb, his fastest yet. That didn't make sense to me, because I must have done it in two minutes and he didn't pass me. When I found out that my final ascent was 1:09 I was shocked. Third time's a charm. Unfortunately, our first ascent was the only one that officially counted, as we would have had to pay additional entry fees to get the 2nd and 3rd ascents entered.

An hour later I was informed that I had won the race and set a new course record. David finished a close second, and third went to Fred Eames of NY in 1:24. Fred has been one of the best stair climbers in the east for over a decade now, and held the course record at the Corning Tower, until David and I broke it a month ago. Fourth place was was quite a ways back in 2:02.

Apparently, all the training that I've been forced to do at the gym has paid off.

The best part of the day for me was hearing that since meeting me at the Corning Tower climb, David and Fred have been spending time on my website learning about a raw vegan diet. Another victory for Running Raw.

Click HERE to see results of the race.

2/23/08 Climb Tampa (are shower shoes the new power shoes?)

My original intent on traveling to Tampa, FL was to compete in the Climb Tampa race up the 42 storey US Bank Plaza. As plans for the trip evolved, the race took back seat to all of the other events that had been planned for me. The heel injuries that I had sustained two weeks earlier prevented me from wearing any type of shoes other than flip flops or shower shoes (sandals with a wide velcro strap fastening just below the toes). This in turn forced me to take two weeks off from training. So as the race drew near, I had decided that it would not be in my best interest to participate.

The thud of a flying kumquat landing on my chest aroused me from sleep. It was rather late in the morning on the day of the race (the one I wasn't doing). Clint, my host, had prepared a delicious breakfast of sliced fruit for us to enjoy. As I groggily shared the locally grown bounty, we discussed my plans for the day. Clint thought that it might be a good idea for my sister Merrie and I to head down to the race and hand out flyers for my talk at the Glass Onion that evening. I agreed.

The race had long since started when we arrived and the excitement in the air was palpable. The rush of race day energy was now coursing through my veins. It didn't take long for me to get sucked in. I jogged over to the registration table, which was packing up and asked if it was too late to register. After a short pause they said OK, but that I needed to hurry. The last person was about to head into the stairwell and I would need to be right behind them. I already had my "Running Raw" gear on as an advertisement for the talk that night, so all i needed to do was to take of my jacket and warm up pants and put on my racing shoes - wait a minute, I can't wear shoes!! I had on my Adidas shower shoes, which flopped around on my feet as I walked, and ever tenth step I'd have to scuffle my feet to force my toes closer to the front of the shoes again. I had no choice. Using safety pins, I attached my timing chip to the large velcro strap on my left shoe and I dashed into the building. There was no time for a warmup, there was not even time to get nervous. As I followed the pink signs which directed me down a long corridor into the basement of the building, I caught up to a fireman wearing 60 pounds of gear. Seeing him made me relax. In comparison, I had it easy, and I had nothing to prove today. I was ill prepared and ill equipped and I was going to have fun for the first time in a stair race.

That lasted for all of 3 floors, and then my competitive engine took over. My legs felt really stiff, but my lungs felt great. I charged up the stairs, pulling the railings with all my might. It's only 42 floors I told myself, as I kept pushing the pace. The shower shoes were light, breathable, and yeah, they flopped around on my feet and nearly came off a few times, but they did the job. The intense heat and humidity (think Florida) in the stairwell actually helped my throat, as the moist air coated my trachea. When I arrived at the top I was exhausted, but had none of the usual fear of suffocating from throat closure. My watch read 5 minutes and 11 seconds, a respectable time under any circumstances. An hour later when the results were posted, I learned that I had won the race by over a minute, a huge margin for such a short race. Within minutes I was approached by a few members of the media. As much as I tried to guide their attention they were not interested in my diet, they only wanted to know about the shoes.

This race makes me reflect on a statement that many of us uttered as children while playing hide and go seek: "Ready or not, here I come!". I had always seen that phrase in terms of the hider's preparation, but now I have a different perspective. There will be no more excuses or reasons for not doing, there will only be doing. Whether I'M ready or not, here I come.

Click HERE to watch the Video.

2/10/08 Northern Vermont SnOWshoe Championships

In the 3 months that I've been in Vermont, I've done very little exploring in the state. So when a qualifier for the US Snowshoe Championships was scheduled for Smugglers Notch Ski Area in northern Vermont, I thought this would be a great opportunity to get reacquainted with my home state.

After a few hours of pretty treacherous winter driving, I arrived at the Smugglers Notch Nordic Center where I was greeted once again by Eddie Habeck (see previous post). We chatted for a bit, and then it was time for me to borrow some snowshoes for the race. You see, I don't actually own snowshoes. In all of the previous races I've done this year, I have borrowed shoes from either Bob Dion of Dion Snowshoes or from Dave Dunham's personal stash. Neither Bob nor Dave were at this event. A new snowshoe company located in Vermont, called TSL was doing a little demo at the race, so I approached them and asked if I could borrow a pair for the race. They were kind enough to oblige me. The first pair they gave me were made of a very lightweight composite plastic with a unique binding system that involved a sliding plate that secured your heel to the binding. Within a few steps the backs of my heels were hurting. So I asked if they had anything else I could use. They offered me a heavier pair of aluminum shoes. The second pair of shoes had the same binding system but didn't hurt nearly as much. I thanked them and ran quickly to the start line so as not to miss the race.

When I arrived at the start, the race director, Zeke, approached me and said "you look like you might be in the lead pack, so let me give you directions for the course". For the next 5 minutes Zeke outlined no less than 20 intersections, turns and cutoffs. I was terrified, there was no way I was going to remember all of those directions. So I chose to remember what I thought were the key elements of Zeke's discourse - Do Not cross the 3 hemlock branches stuck in the snow of every trail that you are not to use - except one tricky intersection near the end. I was thoroughly confused, but hoping that someone else would be leading and I would just follow them. Aside from the directions, I was concerned about something else Zeke had mentioned - The first 3 kilometers were almost entirely UPHILL - climbing 1,700 feet. This was going to hurt.

As I warmed up for a few minutes prior to the start, the backs of my heels began to hurt. There was no time to change shoes now and I didn't have any other shoes to use anyways. It was either suck it up or drop out of the race. I decided to race. The worse that could happen would be two blisters on the backs of my heels. A little Dr. Scholl's Moleskin would take care of that and I'd be back to training a day or so after the race. I only needed to be in the top 10 to qualify for nationals, so I didn't need to kill myself in the race. Afterall, I had been fighting a pretty tough cold for the past week and a half, that was only made worse by the two tower races earlier this week. The decision had been made - Do only what I needed to do to stay in the top 10 and not hurt myself or make my illness worse.

The gun went off and I found myself in the lead. I was running very comfortably though, so I kept up the pace. When I arrived at the first of the long climbs I charged up at a blistering pace. I wanted to test my legs and lungs, both of which felt fine when I reached the top. My lack of training over the past two weeks (due to illness and tapering for the Empire State Building stair climb), must have allowed my body the full recovery it needed because I was flying today. Perhaps I've been overtraining these past few months and didn't even know it. The backs of my heels were hurting, but I didn't pay any attention to them, I was too busy enjoying my new level of fitness. The trail turned off of the cross country ski trail we were on into the woods on a single track snowshoe trail with about 18 inches of fresh snow in it. It was tough going, but I wasn't getting tired. Eventually, we looped back onto a ski trail and began to climb steeply again. This climb lasted over a kilometer and I flew up without slowing at all. At the summit, I turned back to see who was behind me. I was stunned, there was no one there. The trail was visible for at least a quarter of a mile, and there was no one there. I guessed that I was 2 to 3 minutes ahead of second place at this point. Even though I still had over a kilometer, and 500 feet of climbing to go to reach the top of the mountain, I knew I had this one in the bag. It was going to be my first snowshoe victory, and it just so happened to be on the longest course (8 kilomoters), with the toughest climb (1,700 feet), and in the deepest snow (18 inches) that I have competed in. I was going to prove once and for all that raw food rocks and was now determined to push even harder and increase my lead to 5 minutes or more. The pain in my heels didn't even register anymore, all of my energy was focused on pushing the pace. The last kilometer of climbing was faster than the previous two. I was running like a man possessed.

The twists and turns along the spine of the mountain were straight forward and simple. It wasn't until the last third of the race that things became fuzzy. Out of nowhere a blizzard engulfed the area and produced white out conditions. For those of you that live in warmer climes, a "white out" is a sudden winter storm that produces so much snow that you can only see white - visibility is reduced to only a few feet in front of you. I was winding through the woods on a virgin trail when it hit. The markings on the trees were far enough apart that I couldn't see them in the white out conditions, so I wandered aimlessly through the trees. My pace slowed considerably, and I had to zig zag back and forth to try and find the next trail marker. It took quite some time to get through this one particular area. I burst out into an open field, the wind was howling hard and blowing drifts across the trail. The snow was at least two feet deep at this point and coming down at a rate of 5 inches every 15 minutes. It was extremely difficult to keep up a good pace. Halfway through the field I passed a sign that read 7 kilometers, I had only 1 K to go. I started my final charge to the finish, I was not yet tired and wanted to widen my lead if possible. A few hundred meters later I came to a very confusing intersection. The main ski trail that I was now on was splitting in two and a single track snowshoe trail was creating a 3rd tine of the fork to the left. A yellow arrow pointed to what I thought was the snowshoe trail which was lined with pink tape, but there were 3 hemlock branches crossing the trail. Perhaps this was the trail that Zeke had mentioned that I was supposed to cross the bows, I wasn't sure, but the arrows seemed to be pointing down that trail, and away from the nicely packed ski trail (well, packed is relative term, the ski trail had at least 7 inches of new snow on it). I made a quick decision and headed into the deep snow of the snowshoe trail. The pink tape continued down the trail and I was confident I had made the correct choice. That lasted for about 500 meters. The trail I was on was now beginning to head uphill, and I was certain that I should be seeing the finish line at the bottom of the hill only a few hundred yards away - it was nowhere in sight. For a moment I thought of turning around, but I had already gone to far, so I continued ahead, hoping that I would hit another trail soon that would take me down to the right and to the finish. Eventually it came. I barrelled down the trail and quickly reconnected to the main ski trail that I had gotten off of. I sprinted. The storm was letting up and the finish line was now visible a short distance away. I was frustrated and upset and I ran with angry determination straight to the line. Huddled about the finish were 6 race officials with several inches of snow on their hats, shoulders, feet and in some cases beards. They looked like strange snowmen.

After I caught my breath I approached Zeke and told him of the wrong turn I had made and how confusing the markings were, he apologized and informed me that I had gone 8.4 kilometers instead of 8, and smiled as he said "you should be happy you won considering the extra distance, that's quite an achievement." His attempt at levity had no effect, I was not happy.

Nearly 5 minutes after I had crossed the line, the second place racer was making his final charge to the finish. I was stunned. The wrong turn had eroded my confidence and left me thinking that someone might have edged me out as they tore down the correct trail to the finish. As the rest of the field trickled in, one thing was consistently being mentioned - they had all followed my zig zag tracks through the woods where I was trying to find the trail, and had all contemplated making the same wrong turn that I did when they saw my tracks leading that way, but had all decided not to cross the 3 hemlock bows. I was the lone idiot in the pack.

I waited for Eddie to finish, congratulated him and began walking with him to the lodge. That's when I noticed that my heels were really hurting. Even though we often run through deep snow in a snowshoe race, it is common practice to wear running shoes. They fit in the bindings much easier and they are lighter in weight than boots. BUT, your feet get very wet, cold and numb. After 5 minutes in the lodge, the numbness was wearing off and my heels began to scream. It was one of those situations where the pain was so intense that I didn't want to know how much damage I had inflicted. I was afraid to look. When the pain had increased to the point that I could no longer walk, Eddie convinced me to take my shoes and socks off.

In the words of Forrest Gump - "Stupid is as stupid does". When I peeled back my bloody socks, there were bloody open wounds the size of half dollars on the back of each heel. What had started as blisters had worked their way through the entire epidermis all the way down to the dermis. I had literally worn off the flesh on the backs of my heels. No amount of moleskin was going to fix this. A nurse on staff at the center got me a first aid kit and we cleaned, bandaged and wrapped my heels. Putting my winter boots back on was an ordeal, but driving 4 hours home in them was nauseating.

Later that night as I was elevating my feet and checking the results online, I discovered that the man who came in second place (almost 5 minutes behind me) was 15th at the US National Snowshoe Championships last year. He was no slouch. Interestingly, he was about 4 1/2 minutes behind the winner and National Champion. Could this be my big break and a possible shot at a national title? I'm hoping the answer is yes. Let the healing begin.

Note to self: Next race, wear snowshoes that I'm familiar with.

Click HERE to watch the video.

2/7/08 Climbing Albany's Corning Tower

As a kid growing up in rural Bennington, VT, my first city experience was in Albany, NY. It was only a 45 minute drive away, but to a farm kid it was a completely different planet. In the 1970's Albany, the capital of New York State, was a booming city. The state funded an enormous development project right in the heart of downtown which is known as the Empire State Plaza. There are many buildings in the Plaza, but two have stood out to become symbols of Albany's distinctive skyline: The Egg and the Corning Tower. The Egg is an oddly shaped building that resembles a flying saucer in mid flight, it houses a performance arts space. The Corning Tower at 42 storeys high, is the tallest building in New York State outside of New York City. I remember making the drive to Albany as a kid and staring up at the Corning Tower. It just seemed to go up and up forever.

Truth be told, the Empire State Building race really took a toll on me physically and emotionally. The minor cold that I had experienced leading up to the race had turned into a full on Nyquil commercial after the race. The smart thing, was to go back home and rest for 4 or 5 days. But for those of you who've been following this blog for any length of time will know, that I seldom do the smart thing. So only two days after running up the Empire State Building, I found myself coughing and sneezing on the start line of the Corning Tower race. I mean come on, how could I pass up a race on my home turf, in my adopted city, in a building that inspired me as a small child? I just had to do it.

When I arrived at the tower, I was enthusiastically greeted by a man named Eddie. Eddie had seen me filming at my first snowshoe race in Woodfood, VT in December and went to my site to find out what I might be doing. Well, he's been following my journey ever since. The video that I posted on YouTube of the Empire State Building race start really piqued Eddie's interest. So when he saw that there was going to be a race not far from where he lives in NY, he thought he would give it a try. We chatted for a bit and I gave him some tower racing tips - two steps at at time, always pull the railings with both hands, don't start out too hard, and take water at the stops to soothe your throat. A moment later I was again being greeted by some Running Raw fans. Lauren and Michelle had made the 45 minute drive from near Kingston, NY to meet me and try their very first tower race. They both shared their stories of being raw and how it has affected them (watch the video) and really inspired me to grow this movement quickly.

This was not a mass start race. Racers were sent off in 5 second intervals - by number. My number was 142. There was no elite start, which meant that I was going to be the 142nd person to run through the door and there were going to be a LOT of people for me to pass. It took a while to get the race started, so I started running back and forth very quickly in the long lobby where all the racers were lined up... it was too cold to run outside. I noticed that I was the only one moving or warming up... which I thought was very odd... but apparently everyone thought that I was the odd one for using up energy before the race began. A state trooper stopped me and said, "you'd better save your energy son, this is a very tall building.", I thanked him and smiled and continued to sprint back and forth as everyone gave me strange looks and commented on my "Powered By Raw Food" running singlet. I later found out that the man standing next to Lauren had said about me "that guys gonna get last place if he keeps that up". It amazes me that people don't understand the critical importance of a warmup. Especially in a race that requires a very sudden thrust into a great deal of physical stress. If your body is not warm and your heart rate elevated prior to the start, the gradient that your body's systems must travel can have adverse effects on performance and enjoyment of the race.

At long last it was time for me to start. I jogged off the start line and took the first few floors at a comfortable pace to let the adrenalin settle. I did NOT want to repeat my Milwaukee or Empire State Building Race. After the second floor, I shifted into high gear, strong and steady. There were a lot of slow people in my path. Most of the time I could easily get around one or two, but on many occassions they would be two abreast with someone directly in front of them, so there was no where for me to get through. I'd call out that I was coming through, but several people didn't move. So I just had to push my way through. I didn't really notice the Empire State Building in my legs until the 25th floor, it was then that I noticed the deep ache of a previous workout or race. When I hit the 32nd floor, I had only 10 to go. I was feeling very strong, so i decided to put the hammer down and sprint the last 10 floors. I managed to get through about 4 at a half sprint as the people started to pile up on the higher floors. It seems the people get slower and slower the higher they get in a tower race, and their ability to move out of the way becomes hampered as well.They are just doing their best to stay up and keep moving. In a few spots people were sitting down on the landings. I managed to squeak out some extra speed for a few more floors, and then I hit the 39th. I was ready to explode up the final 3 floors, but there were so many people in front of me that I found myself trapped behind them just waiting and jogging in place and probably saying something like "OUT OF MY WAY!!". The 42nd floor was the slowest of all as I was stuck behind 6 people who were on death's door. When we reached the final landing, I pushed through them and burst down the hall to the finish. I was frustrated. I looked down at my watch, it read 4:54. The course record for this building was 5:00. I was even more frustrated, as I knew I could have put the record way out of reach and made all you raw vegans proud. But it was a great effort considering the circumstances, my intense cold and well, running up a building twice as tall two days earlier.

My new course record was not a new course record. The man who had reserved bib #1 and had been first through the door had beaten me by 10 seconds, and set a new course record of 4:44. He is a top local road racer and had run 5:00 the year before in this race. He really wanted this record, and it meant a lot to him. So I'm glad he got it. I was happy with second place, and being one of only two people in 20 years to break the 5 minute mark on this iconic tower of my youth.

As for Eddie, Lauren and Michelle, they are all hooked. I'll be seeing them at all the tower races in the North East I'm sure, if not the rest of the country.

Click HERE to watch the video.

2/5/08 The Empire State Building Run Amok

New York was nicknamed the Empire State, to recognize its vast wealth and variety of resources. Among the treasures of this great state is the Empire State Building, the crown Jewel of New York City. Although there are three buildings taller than the ESB in Chicago, you'd never convince a New Yorker that that Empire State Building was not the greatest building in America. There is a certain pride that New Yorkers feel for this building, it's almost a part of them. Therefore the race up the ESB is run as only a New Yorker would see fit - Manhattan rush hour style.

I arrived at this race in the best shape of my life. My preparation was extensive and far beyond that of any other stair race I've entered. Other than a minor cold that had been nagging me for the 5 days leading up to the race, I was ready to rock. At the check in table I received number 70, which was NOT a seeded number. This meant that I would not be anywhere near the front row when the gun went off. I was devastated. This is a mass start race - meaning that 150 of the fittest men on earth will be fighting for position as they cross 30 feet of slick, polished granite in an attempt to be the first to enter a stairwell door that is 38 inches wide. The first racers through the door are almost guaranteed a top five finish in the race. Not being ON the start line, is a death sentence in this race. It means you will be tripping, pushing, getting pushed, punched, elbowed and kicked, crushed, and possibly trampled as you clamor for the door in the midst of the chaos. I liken it to the Running of the Bulls in Spain.

As I warmed up around the lobby, I noticed a very large international contingent this year. They were taking photos and being interviewed by the press. Being the understanding guy that I am, I just assumed that there were lots of amazing foreigners here today and that's why I didn't get seeded. I would just have to do my best and fight my way through the crowd into a top 20 finish, which was the best I could hope for under the circumstances. That was until I bumped into my friend from Chicago - Jesse Berg (see the US Bank Tower entry). Jesse was wearing number 5, and would be standing squarely on the start line. I congratulated Jesse on his great position, but inside my heart had dropped to the floor, I felt totally disrespected by the race organizers. I took it personally. Had they not seen my win at the US Bank Tower in Los Angeles, where I finished 3 seconds ahead of Jesse? My head started to spin. I felt defeated.

My friend Jamie, who had come to video the event overheard Jesse and I talking about my starting position. Jamie lives in Lower Manhattan, and she doesn't tolerate her friends being disrespected. So with a few minutes to go until the start, Jamie marched over to the race organizers desk and let them have it. As they began to line us up at the start line, Jamie ran over and told me that they were going to allow me to start in the front row. I had to aggressively push my way through the crowd, which wasn't easy, because no one wanted to give even a single position away. As I arrived at the front row I was yelled at by an official who told me that I had to get back to my position. I told him I had permission to be there. He said I didn't. Jamie ran to my aid and a very heated New York style conversation erupted. Rather than being ejected from the race, I quickly ducked behind Marco Gaspari from Italy and took a position in the second row. No one complained, but I was a nervous wreck. I thought this position might have its advantages as Marco is the World Mountain Running Champion and the best stairclimb racer on earth. He recently won the race up Tapei 101 (the World's tallest building) in Taiwan, beating the two time defending Empire State Building champion, Thomas Dold from Germany, quite easily. My plan was to shadow Marco for as long as I could, thinking that would guarantee me a phenomenal race.

When the gun went off, all hell broke loose. Jesse Berg got off quickly on the left side, and Ricky Gates (US Mountain Running Champion) got off quickly on the right. The middle was a different story. Jan Mathias from Germany (2nd at last year's ESB race), extended both his arms like a cross, and forced them into the chests of Thomas Dold and Marco Gaspari on either side of him. This action pushed Jan out in front of the middle group, with disatrous results. Within 2 seconds of the gun going off, Marco found himself pushed off balance and heading to the floor, and about to be trampled. His chances of claiming this tower for himself had just vanished.

It's amazing how time slows down when you have pure adrenaline pumping through your body. When I saw Marco taking a dive only inches in front of me, hundreds of thoughts and calculations cascaded through my mind. I was already moving at full speed and could not put on the breaks as the frenzied crowd behind me would have trampled me as well. So I decided to jump over him. But his body was still moving forward on the floor. Instead of looking ahead, I was scanning the ground so as not to step on his head or neck when I came down. This became problematic when people started pushing me from behind while i was in mid air. I was turning sideways as I neared my landing and my path was no longer in line with the door ahead. I hit the ground and was swept up in the commotion and forced off balance into the wall next to the door opening. Like a cat trying to land on it's feet while falling, I whipped my body around and rolled through the door. The strong flow of bodies now coming through the door forced me straight ahead towards the downward flight of stairs to the basement. I fought my way back to the upward flight and began doing what I came here to do - climb stairs. People began to pull on my shoulders and my shirt in order to get by in an old stairwell not wide enough to two people. A man in front of me elbowed me in the face and then did the same to other racers who came up on him. I was totally disoriented. I wasn't even aware that I was running anymore. I was swept up in the flow and I was panicking. I was having a full on panic attack. Now I have never been in a crowd of people that has tried to escape from a burning building, and I do not want to lessen the horrific nature of that experience, but to me that's what I imagine it would feel like. I was no longer thinking clearly, I was acting like a frightened animal.

I "woke up" somewhere around the 18th floor when I realized that I was running every step - instead of every other step which is my racing and training technique, AND I was NOT pulling the railings!! I was doing the whole thing with my legs. The subconcsious panic quickly became conscious dread as I realized that I had lost control and was blowing the race. I tried to find a rhythm and exercise my normal technique, but my heart was coming out of my chest and I just couldn't make it stop. The pace was steady from that point forth, but the damage was already done. I was well behind the lead pack, and my accelerated heart rate had sucked the life out of me. I had to settle for 14th place.

Thomas Dold managed to overcome his shaky start and duked it out with Ricky Gates all the way to the top to win by just 8 seconds, for his 3rd straight victory. Jan Mathias was 3rd. Jesse Berg was 6th. An injured Marco Gaspari remained calm after his starting disaster and ran a very solid race. He worked his way through the pack in the congested stairwell and finished in a phenomenal 7th place.

I interviewed Marco after the race. He was rightfully upset with the way the race is run and commented that it's not a race to see who's in the best shape, but it's a race of luck and dirty tactics.

Reading all of the above might lead one to believe that I had a bad experience at the race, but that would be far from the truth. I rate this race as the most successful event to date for the Running Raw Project. Not because of my place in the race, but due to the large number of people who approached me before and after the race and shared their stories with me. Dozens of people in the race said they had seen my video of last year's race on YouTube. Many others had looked deeper and made their way to my site. A few more even shared with enthusiasm that they had made major changes in their diet leading up to the race because of what they saw and read on my site - I was blown away. It was actually working. It occurred to me, that my success didn't have anything to do with winning races, but it had everything to do with showing up to a LOT of races, always willing to share and talk to anyone who is curious. It is momentum that makes things happen, that starts the process of transformation. I had been so caught up on trying to win all the time that I had missed that.

Click HERE to watch the race video.

Click HERE to watch my NYC raw restaurant adventures video.

1/27/08 The Ups and Downs of Snowshoeing

What goes up, must come down. The competitors in the Curly's Record Run snowshoe race in Pittlsfield, MA this past weekend might rephrase that statement as: what goes up, up, up and still higher up, must come down, down, and very quickly down. Standing at the registration table, the air was abuzz with talk of the 700 foot non-stop climb a mile into the race. Now had this been a mountain running race, such a climb would be seen as insignificant, but snowshoeing is not running. The weight and awkwardness of the shoes combined with the challenge of running on snow make snowshoeing infinitely more exhausting. The week prior at the race in Florida, MA, a hill of only 80 feet had laid me to waste, so naturally I feared for the worst.

During a short warmup with Dave Dunham, he informed me that a very tough crowd of athletes had assembled. Top mountain runner Tim Mahoney was again on hand. National Showshoe bronze medalist and All American mountain runner Ben Nephew was there. New England standout triathlete and snowshoe racer Matt Cartier had also been spotted in the crowd, and well, then there was Dave. Dave is first and foremost a mountain runner. He's a legend in the American mountain running scene, for his ability to tirelessly grind away at a solid pace on never ending uphills. This course was designed for racers like him and everyone else in the race knew it.

Curly's Record Run is named in honor of Albert "Curly" Voll's record setting downhill skiing performance on the Shadow Trail in Pittsfield State Forest back in 1944. Curly doesn't race anymore, but he was kind enough to blow the starting whistle to get the race underway. From the start, the strategy of the other top racers was clear - get to the hill with a solid lead on Dave Dunham in hopes of providing just enough cushion to hold him off on the monster climb. Dave is not a crazy downhill runner, he prefers the ups. So to beat him to the top of the hill, or to even be close to him at the top of the hill meant certain victory for a fast downhill runner. The course started climbing almost immediately, and Ben Nephew and Tim Mahoney jumped out into an early lead. I stayed back a bit with Dave Dunham and Matt Cartier. A mile later when the "hill" came into view, it was clear that Ben and Tim were already beginning to tire. A hundred meters into the climb Ben stepped aside and let us pass. Dave took off and I couldn't keep up. It wasn't long before he passed Tim and took the lead. Tim was about 10 seconds ahead of me on the climb and was keeping a steady pace. I didn't want to go after him and risk dying as I had the week before, so I kept the gap and made sure that he didn't widen it. After nearly a mile of constant climbing we reached the top, exhausted. Dave was so far ahead that he was no longer visible. I was very excited that I had made it to the top of the hill in third place, because my forte was yet to come. Tim picked up the pace on the rolling course on top of the mountain and widened the gap a bit. I couldn't hear anyone behind me so I stayed where I was, trying to get some strength back in my legs. That strength would be absolutely necessary to safely navigate the steep pitch of the Shadow Trail at high speed. It was after all a downhill ski run, and could prove quite dangerous if one got out of control. A left hand turn brought me to the top of the Shadow Trail. I could see Tim Mahoney about 15 seconds ahead of me, so I let it rip.

The trick to fast downhill running is to let yourself fall under control. You let gravity do the work for you as you guide your feet to the next safe landing. But with twists and turns, trees, rocks and logs to jump, that's not always an easy task. I must have been going 25 miles an hour, as each step carried me about 20 feet down the trail. In no time I was blowing by Tim as if he were standing still. I couldn't see Dave in front of me, but I had every intention of catching him and renaming this trail "Tim's Record Run". That thought lasted about two minutes, which was the amount of time it took Matt Cartier to pass me as if I was standing still. He must have been doing 30. I've never seen anyone run downhill that fast. I was demoralized. Even though I kept up my blistering pace, part of me was already beginning to settle in to 3rd place. It's funny how the mind does that to you.

Somehow, I managed to make several high speed log jumps and arrived at the bottom of the hill safely. Matt was no longer in sight. With about 1.5 miles of flat and bumpy terrain left in the race a little voice popped into my head. "You beat Matt on the flats and ups already, you can do it again", it said. The voice was right. I shifted into high gear and went after him. The sinuous twists and turns through the woods made it difficult to see anyone in front of you, but I knew he was there somewhere, getting closer with each stride. Then suddenly I saw two sticks planted in the snow next to the trail, that spelled "YI". These sticks would have gone unnoticed by most in the race, but they were of special significance to me because I had placed them there before the race. On my warmup before the start, I had gone backwards on the course from the finish to a point 4 minutes in. I chose to mark this place as my point to begin my finishing kick. I found two sticks of interesting shape and placed them next to eachother in a way that I'd easily notice - the "YI" formation. My adrenalin rushed as I now saw the familiar sticks, the end was near, no holding back. I picked up the pace, and braced against the nausea in my stomach. Two minutes later I burst into the small field containing the finish. Dave was now visible as was Matt. I had gained considerably on them, but they were too far ahead to catch in the ever shortening sprint to the finish. I did not settle for 3rd place. I earned it.

Ten minutes after the finish I was invited to do a warmdown with Dave, Ben and Tim. Dave is a man of many lists. One of these lists contains the names of every town in Massachusetts. His goal is to run in each of these 350+ towns. Well it so happens that this race was near the intersection of four towns that Dave had never run in, so we set off on a long easy snowshoe run to help him check them off. Wait, did I say easy? Scratch that, the course that Dave had plotted on some online mapping site had us running up a logging road that climbed over 1500 feet in one solid stretch. This mind you, was taking place shortly after getting pummeled by a hill half that size at race pace. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful trek and I enjoyed the company and conversation. At the summit of the Taconic Range we were presented with a gorgeous three state view of MA, NY and VT. We stopped to reflect for a moment next to a small lake as well, where a state forest sign informed us that it was the highest lake in Massachusetts at 2,150 feet in elevation. It was beautiful. The warmdown took well over an hour. I was spent. Dave on the other hand was planning to knock off two more towns on his 3 hour ride home north of Boston. Dave is no ordinary human being, he is the stuff legends are made of.

1/19/08 Snowshoeing in Florida

Yes, you read the title correctly - I snowshoed in Florida yesterday with a hundred other winter sports fanatics. Of course I'm referring to Florida, Massachusetts, just south of the Vermont border on the high Green Mountain plateau. It's an oddly named town, as it sits at an elevation of over 2,000 feet and registers the coldest temperatures and greatest snowfall in Massachusetts. Not many retirees living up there.

This being the third race in the WMAC snowshoe series (and my 3rd snowshoe race as well), it attracted all the usual suspects. There was the legend Dave Dunham, several members of the infamous CMS (Central Mass Striders) team were on hand, and the ARE (Albany Running Exchange) showed up with an entire van-load of racers, including Josh Merlis who had won the race in Guilderland, NY on the 6th. This was the deepest field of snowshoe talent that I'd seen.

As I was beginning to warm up, a man in his late 40's stopped me in the parking lot. He told me that he had seen my jacket at the last race and went to my website. Shuffling through a bag he had next to his car he pulled out a few bananas and an apple to show me. "It makes sense" he said, "I'm going to try eating a lot more fruits and veggies and see what happens." he added. I chatted with him for a bit longer and then continued my warm up. It's difficult to know how much of an impact I'm having on this journey. I often wonder if people just think I'm crazy, especially when I turn down the free doughnuts, homemade chili, hot chocolate and stacks of pancakes that usually follow these races. It only takes one person to approach me and tell me that I've affected them somehow to keep me going strong on this lonely road.

Two days before the race I began to feel a little off and could only many to struggle through two 2 mile runs with great difficulty. The day before the race I was feeling a little better and did a longer run, but much slower than my normal pace. I was hoping that I'd be 100% by race day. As I discovered half way through the race, I was clearly not.

The snow was what skiers refer to as "sugar snow", small hard granules that don't stick together and slide very nicely on eachother. It's the kind of snow that makes for very fast runs down the slopes. It's also the kind of snow that gives way under foot every step of the way in a snowshoe race making the effort similar to running in deep sand with snowshoes on - not something I'd advise.

My goal leading up to this race was to take the lead from the start and hold on for as long as I could. Ideally this strategy would have me win the race, but the main purpose was to learn my pace. I wanted to test myself early in the race to see how long I could endure a faster pace before breaking down.

The bell went off and I blitzed out of the start. Dave Dunham was right next to me. We were neck and neck, leading the field through the first 150 meters on a wide snow covered road. I picked up the pace to move into the lead, but Dave picked it up as well and we remained side by side as we entered the more narrow single track through the woods. I couldn't go any faster. We were less than 300 meters into the race and I was already exhausted. I knew that I'd never be taking the lead in this race, so I tucked in behind Dave. My breathing was eratic and strained, my legs felt sluggish, but I kept up. Four racers had formed a chain behind me, with the rest of the field drifting away. The course featured several short, steep climbs and a few very long climbs. Dave was pushing the climbs hard. He would charge up each hill on the mushy snow, he was trying to lose us. I stayed right on his heels, but I was paying the price. The hills were turning my legs into sludge and I was in trouble.

Approximately one and a half miles into the 3.3 mile course, we came to a long steep climb. I tried my best to relax into it and just push forward, but I could barely pick up my legs for each step. I turned around to see the 4 racers still in the train behind me, they looked fresh. So I stepped aside and let them all pass. I stood on the side of the trail for a few seconds watching them all snake through the woods with their brightly colored spandex outfits. It looked like a festive parade, and now I was just a bystander. I started walking up the hill. Even that made me nauseated. I finally reached the top of the hill, the train in front of me was gone from sight, they were well ahead of me now. Fortunately, we were all well enough ahead, that I couldn't see anybody coming up behind me. My goal now was to stay in 6th place. I was being optimistic.

I trotted through the woods for a good five minutes when I realized that my heart had slowed down significantly and my legs were feeling revived again. So I picked up the pace a bit - still felt ok. I crested the top of a little hill and a very long steep downhill appeared in front of me. I love downhills. Not because they are easier to run than uphills, because they are not, running downhill on snowshoes is actually quite dangerous. It's very easy to catch a tip on a branch, tree or frozen crust and go down, but even worse is the possibility of "post-holing". The increased weight and speed of a downhill descent reduce much of the snowshoe's ability to keep the runner on top of the snow. Often you will hit a pocket of very deep snow that has blown over fallen logs or rocks. It appears flat from the surface of the snow, but it hides a very dangerous topography below. With three times your body weight coming down on each downhill step, it's easy to punch a hole straight down to the bottom of the snow and in between rocks and logs - post-holing. Your momentum then continues to carry your body forward with great speed and inertia, all while your leg is now jammed into a hole a few feet behind you. It's the perfect recipe for a broken leg of the worst kind. Despite this danger, I am an absolute madman on the downhills. I hold nothing back and do not break my speed. When I reached the bottom of this very long downhill I must have been moving well in excess of 20 miles an hour. An object in motion tends to stay in motion and that's exactly what I did. I carried my speed as long as i could. I was refreshed. Another reckless descent put me within close sight of the 5th place racer. With newfound hope I bore down on him and caught him within a hundred yards, I was flying. Another quarter mile and I was closing quickly on the racers in 4th and 3rd place who were still running together. A slight decline in the trail gave me just enough of a crazy-man advantage to catch them. The trail had started to turn up again, so instead of passing them I tucked in behind them and waited for the next downhill to make my attack. A hundred yards ahead of us I could now see 2nd place Josh Merlis, who had won the previous race. Judging by his side to side bobble, I knew he was hurting. Slowly over the next half mile we reeled him in. I was still waiting for my downhill to make my move, But it never came. We burst out onto a snow covered road with the finish only 300 meters away. Josh had 5 seconds on the three of us who were now running side by side fighting for third place - or possibly second if our kick was strong enough. Alas the finish was a gradual uphill and it quickly brought me to a hobble as the other racers slowly edged me out. I would settle for 5th, just a handfull of seconds out of 2nd place. Dave Dunham had easily won the race.

Dave joined me for my post race warmdown run. During the run Dave revealed to me how tough he thought the course was. He said he was dead out there and when he saw the train of 5 people behind him in the beginning he thought he was doomed. Perspective is an amazing thing.

1/6/08 Brave The Blizzard Snowshoe Race

The second race in the WMAC snowshoe series was held in Guilderland, NY, just a few miles outside of the state capitol Albany, NY. This is the 5th year of this event, and the first time in those 5 years that there has been snow to run on. This winter bounty attracted an excited crowd from all over the Northeast to take on this challenging 4 mile course.

Once again I showed up with my dad's big old clunker snowshoes, hoping that the added weight and size wouldn't slow me down that much. But as luck would have it, I bumped into Dave Dunham in the parking lot who happened to have 4 extra pair of racing shoes in his trunk - the perks of being a sponsored athlete. Dave was kind enough to lend me a pair and I was ready to go.

The Albany Running Exchange, the club that put on the race, pulled out all the stops. They had a full on snowshoeing expo in gym of the elementary school adjacent to the course. You could test all kinds of gear, get a massage, fill up on a pancake breakfast, purchase A.R.E. clothing, hang out with a snowman mascot, etc. Did I mention the throngs of smiling people? This was my kind of race.

The start of the race was through an unpacked field with about 10 inches of heavy, wet snow covering the ground. I noticed Dave Dunham meticulously walking back and forth along a single path perpendicular to the start line. What I discovered after the start, was that Dave was packing a trail for himself to use out of the gate. While we were all trampling through the deep wet snow, Dave was running on a packed trail. Now why didn't I think of that? Despite the sludgy start, I managed to come out of the mess in second place behind Dave as we entered the single track through the woods. My goal: Stay with Dave as long as I could - he was the man to beat, or should I say, he was the man to pull me to a great performance.

The pace seemed slow to me and I was barely laboring, but we were pulling away from the pack. I didn't want to pass as I thought maybe I'd tire out too quickly, so I just tucked in behind Dave and relaxed. Near the one mile point we were caught by another racer who joined the lead train. The three of us ran the next two and a half miles on eachother's heels. Past a hundred cheering fans along the course, and even a young girl who was building snowmen to block the trails we were to avoid.

Dave's shoes were a little different than I was used to and landed at a bit of an angle, which caused me to crack my ankle bones with the hard aluminum frames every 100 steps or so causing my ankles to swell and bruise. If it weren't for my recent reading of "The New Toughness Training For Sports", I'm sure I would have let out a scream each time it happened (note to self: wear ankle pads).

I was starting to tire. The course seemed to go on forever with no end in sight. We were told that it was a 5k, but I had a feeling that we had reached that point a while back. I could sense Dave slowing in front of me as well, and later learned that he was also wondering when this thing was going to end. He had the added burden of running the entire race with someone (me) six inches off his heels, which is a huge psychological weight to carry. Finally, the racer behind me said "on your right" as he burst around me through the deep snow. I was in no mood for a duel, so I let him in. We remained a chain of three, but now I was in 3rd. The "easy" victory that I was savoring in the early stages of the race had vanished. Two hundred yards further and the racer in the middle called "on your right" to Dave. But Dave was in a spunkier mood than I was and he sped up. He was not going to let this kid win easily, he was going to make him earn it. Dave's increased speed was more than I could handle now, and the two of them drifted slowly away from me. Another hundred yards and the racer tried again, but this time he unleashed a fury of flying snow as he launched by Dave's best effort to stave him off. I could see the field containing the finish line through the trees ahead, it must have been only a quarter mile to the finish. The lead runner was still sprinting and getting farther ahead of us as we entered the field. Dave kicked enough to keep me from catching back up and crossed the line in 2nd. I finished 3rd, only seven seconds behind him. The winner turned out to be the founder of the Albany Running Exchange, Josh Merlis. Had we known the course as well as he did, perhaps we would have had some extra mental steam to get us through the dragging later parts.

Goal for next race: Don't tuck in behind anyone - go for it and see how long I can hang on to the lead (that's gonna leave a mark).

Click HERE to see the video.

12/30/07 My First Snowshoe Race

Since snowshoeing has become such a staple of my winter workouts, I thought it only natural to start entering local snowshoe races. The Western Mass. Athletic Club (WMAC) has a winter race series, with races held in VT, MA, NY and NH. The first race of the series happened to be in my backyard - Woodford, VT.

Since the warming of the climate has softened the New England winter over the last 15 years, Woodford is one of the few places in the Northeast where you can find consistent snow throughout the season. It's a high plateau over 2,000' in elevation that rises up from Bennington and the Valley of Vermont. Winter there is a full month longer than the already long 4 month winter in the valley below. I have been blessed to have this winter wonderland only 8 miles from my house and I've been snowhoe running there almost every day.

Dave Dunham, one of the top mountain runners in the country (I've blogged about him in the Mt. Washington and Cranmore races), encouraged me to enter the race series. He told me that it's a great way to stay sharp during the winter months, and that many of the top mountain runners take up snowshoe racing.

So I showed up at the race with my big old snowshoes that my dad has been lending me only to notice that almost all of the 100+ racers there were using smaller racing snowshoes. After a brief conversation with Bob Dion of Dion Snowshoes (Locally made just down the road from Woodford in Readsboro, VT), he offered to lend me a pair of racing shoes for the race. I was ready to rock.

During a brief warmup with Dave Dunham, he informed me that Josh Ferenc and Greg Hammet were racing today. Greg is a top mountain runner and snowshoe racer and Josh was 3rd last year at the US Mtn. Running Championships and runs a sub 30 minute 10k. During a warmdown with another racer I was informed that Dave Dunham was the US snowshoe champion a few years back. This was not a "local" race, this baby was stacked with talent.

We lined up at the start. It was 18 degrees. Dave told me that the conditions looked fast and that we'd probably be running 7 minute miles. That sounded awfully fast to me, so I thought I might just hang back for the first mile to see how I feel and just let the top dogs go. After all this was my very first snowshoe race, what right did I have trying to stay with such an elite field of racers.

The gun went off and a snow-dust cloud erupted in front of me. I could barely see as I lurched forward to get a good position in the mass start. Unlike a foot race where it is relatively easy to maneuver around other runners in the starting mayhem, in a snowshoe race you have to contend with all the snowshoes that surround you and the snow being constantly kicked into your eyes. It's very easy to trip or be tripped. The middle of the pack is not a place you want to find yourself in if you want to have a good race. So I managed to dodge the runners around me and I headed to the side of the trail. The snow was deeper there, but at least I could see better and I could accelerate. The lead group of 4 was already well in front. I pulled up and around the main crowd and started my pursuit of the lead pack. A half mile into the race we came to a long steep uphill which slowed most of the racers down significantly. This is where I made my move. Taking shorter strides and increasing my tempo I started to gain on the man in 4th place. A few hundred yards further, where the windy and narrow single track began I had caught him. I could no longer see the Josh Ferenc in the lead and Dave Dunham and Greg Hammet were barely visible in the woods ahead. I was feeling strong and wanted to pick up the pace but the trail was very windy and too narrow to pass. I feared that if I went into the deep snow on the side of the trail that I might fall or run into a tree, so I just sat on the heels of the racer in front of me not knowing what to do. If I were the aggressive type I probably would have just told him to get out of the way, but I'm thoughtful and considerate and didn't want to inconvience him. After about a mile of tailing him, the racers ahead were long since gone from view and well ahead of us. The man in front of me finally turned around and said "do you want to go by?" I said "yes" and quickly moved passed him as he stepped aside. I picked up the pace significantly. At one point I came to a poorly marked 4 way intersection that had me stopped for a good 10 seconds as I tried to figure out which of the equally trampled trails was the right one. I thought of waiting for the man behind me to catch up so that he could assist me, but then I noticed an orange ribbon on a branch above me about 8 feet high - not where you are looking when you are navigating tricky terrain. Angered, I charged forward eager to make up for lost time. The snow was a bit harder on this part of the course and it allowed me to run even faster, so I did. With about half a mile to go, I could see the blue shirt of Greg Hammet ahead of me, so I picked it up even more. As we came into the final quarter mile straightaway we were neck and neck. It would come down to the final sprint to the finish. Dave Dunham was visible as well now about 200 meters ahead of us. I sprinted as fast as I could, but Greg beat me to the finish line. I finished in 4th place. What an awesome race, and a great learning experience. I'm hooked.

My stragegy next week: Get a better start. Run with the Big Dogs.

Click HERE to watch the video.

12/22/07 Snowstorm Classic 10k

Thrashing through the snow in the Snowstorm Classic 5k was so much fun, that I decided to make the hour and forty minute drive south again to compete in the Snowstorm Classic 10k. Where the 5k offered bone chilling temps and snow covered roads, the 10k presented a gauntlet of new challenges, including hard packed ice on 50% of the course and much stiffer competition. The temperature was a balmy 30 degrees, so naturally many of the runners thought that a t-shirt and shorts were the appropriate attire. My wimpy California blood demanded that I wear two layers on the top and bottom.

Over 100 runners lined up at the start line on the edge of a frozen duck pond. The crowd was abuzz with cheerful conversation and smiling faces. The race started with a quarter mile long uphill into a densely wooded area of the park. The road was completely covered with old snow that had been packed down into ice. Everyone was slipping as they tried to get up the hill. I managed to get into the top 5 without falling and breaking my neck by running on the very edge of the road where there was still crumbly snow to offer some traction. At the top of the hill we were greeted by a very large locked steel arm gate. Some of the runners planted their hands and vaulted over it, only to slip and fall as they landed, others dusted off their baseball skills and slid under it on the ice. I chose option C - to run around it through the knee deep snow. It was perhaps the safest choice but it filled my shoes with very chilly snow. For the next two miles, I ran with the lead pack of 5. We were all taking different tracks on the icy road hoping to get more traction. At the two mile point one of the racers announced that we had run 12:40 for two miles. This was about 50 seconds per mile slower than I wanted to run, but we were moving as fast as we could on the ice.

We finally reached an area of clear pavement at two and a half miles and one runner broke away. He was trying to make up as much time as he could now that we could run at a normal pace, well, normal for running in 30 degree temps with lots of clothing on. I picked up the pace a bit, but for some reason I let him get away - perhaps he was just faster than me, I'm not sure. When I hit the 4 mile mark, he had a 30 second lead over me, and I was about a minute up on 3rd place. I surmised that the man in front of me was a very good runner and had decided that I was comfortable getting second place to him. It was an easy second, and I didn't have to work that hard to guarantee it.

That's when I noticed that the road was again changing to ice, and I could see him struggling and slipping far ahead in the distance. A new voice popped into my head. It said, "I'm fast. I'm tough. And this is easy!". The voice kept repeating these three lines over and over. The clear culprit in this mental coup d'etat was a book that I had started reading a few days prior, called - "The NEW Toughness Training For Sports" by James E. Loehr. Someone on one of the raw food forums had been watching my video blogs apparently and thought that I could use a little toughening up. I'm always open to advice, so I found the book on Amazon and bought it used for $2 bucks. The book essentially breaks every athlete into two halves - The Real Self and the Performer Self, and then goes on to instruct one how to toughen up the Performer Self. Well, the voice I was hearing in my head must have been my unsatisfied Real Self pushing my Performer Self out of the way and taking over the job of moving my legs. It's amazing how much of the discomfort we experience in life is self-imposed, because once I started listening to the pep-talk that my Real Self was giving me, I began to feel like an entirely different person. I picked up the pace drastically and set my goal to vaporize his 30 second lead and win the race. The ice whizzed beneath my feet as I clocked a low 5 minute pace. Every corner we turned offered up the view of his back - closer than it was before. I began to realize that I wasn't even feeling tired. The voice just kept repeating those 3 lines, "I'm fast. I'm tough. And this is easy!". Suddenly it was interupted by the gorgeous view of the tops of trees and a cloud speckled blue sky - I was horizontal in the air. I hit the ground hard and slid about 15 feet on my back. Before I even came to a stop I was up on my feet again, ignoring the pain and more determined than ever to catch him. The anger and pain of falling was being translated into an even faster pace.

With less than half a mile to go, the road ended and we had to jump a snowbank and run 30 feet on a snowy trail to another road. I was moving so quickly through the trail that I surprised him when I burst out onto the road only 3 feet behind him. He turned around and looked at me with shock and fear in his eyes. It was like a watching a prey animal when it realizes that the predator has snuck up it and is about to make it's lethal pounce. He found a 5th gear and bolted down the hill ahead. I chased in hot pursuit, there was no way my dinner was going to get away. When we hit the 6 mile mark, we were moving at an all out sprint. There were only two tenths of a mile remaining to see who had the fastest kick. He reached down deep and pulled away from me in the final stretch. I was moving as fast as my legs would carry me and I simply could not keep up. I had run a 1:48 (4:30 pace) for the last four tenths of a mile, he had run a 1:42 (4:20 pace). My second place time of 35:54 translated into 3 miles above 6 minute pace, and 3 miles at close to 5 minute pace. Considering the nature of this course and my initial "laziness" this is a sign of great things to come.

Lessons learned: Never give up, never give in. You feel what you beileve you feel. Change your beliefs and you can change your feelings. Never underestimate yourself or your opponent. Always do your best.

Next week I'm going to enter my first ever snowshoe race. I can't wait.

12/19/07 Mt. Equinox Snowshoe

When I initially came to Vermont I was quite worried that my training would come to a halt as winter arrived. The icy roads and cold temps make running far more challenging and dangerous. In addition, we've had a very snowy November and December so far. So, I've been forced to become creative with my training and take advantage of what a Vermont winter has to offer. Over 80 percent of Vermont is forested mountains with endless trails and abandoned logging roads. It's an outdoor enthusiast's paradise. There is no better way to explore this vast wilderness than on snowshoes, and as I've discovered, there is no better workout as well.

So I made the 20 minute drive north to Manchester, VT to snowshoe up mighty Mt. Equinox. This stunning mountain climbs 3,300 feet quite abruptly from the valley below, and offers some of the best views in all of Vermont.

The freezing cold temps inspired me to give a talk on the apparent "need" for hot food in a cold winter climate, that many raw fooders fall victim to.

Click HERE to see info on Mt. Equinox

Click HERE to watch the video

12/18/07 Vide-oh No!

My apologies to those of you that have been looking forward to more videos on my site and on YouTube. I was in the process of filming a segment on the "joys" of running in a Vermont winter when I slipped and fell on the icy road and smashed my camera. I will still be posting written blogs, but there will be no more new video segments. I do have some footage that I shot beforehand that I will put up soon.

12/16/07 Snowstorm Classic 5K

Snowstorm Classic 5K:
It's been a month since my last race in Milwaukee. A month of rough and tumble Vermont winter. I've been doubting whether my isolated training has been hard enough on my hard days. In Los Angeles I would do a race a weekend as my hard tempo workout. It's not such much about the competition as it is about the intense workout that a race provides. I just can't push myself as hard on my own.

So yesterday, I headed down to the Snowstorm Classic 5K in Springfield, MA to get my race on. I was hoping to get a tempo workout of a few miles in the low 5 minute range. When I went to the event website and looked at last weeks results (this is a 9 week series throughout the winter on the same course), I was a bit disappointed - the winner ran a 17:39 - nearly two minutes slower than my best time for a 5k. But being that this was the only race in New England this weekend, I decided to go anyways.

What really excited me about this race was a little blurb on the event website that read: "The races have never been canceled throughout their history.  No matter how cold it is, regardless of how much it may snow, if you can get to the Skate House, you can run.". This is my kind of crowd - hard as nails New Englanders.

It was 9 degrees when I left Vermont at 8 AM and I hoped that it would be significantly warmer when the race started. The race was held in Forest Park in Springfield, MA, an enormous forested city park with numerous lakes and miles of trails. I was very impressed with the park, and I'd rate it as one of the top 10 city parks in the country. Park roads are not maintained like city streets and were therefore completely covered in packed snow and ice. This was going to be a very slippery and challenging race. At race time, a very friendly and rugged looking group of 100 or so runners (some in shorts and long sleeve T's) congregated at the start line. It was 13 degrees. I was amazed that this many runners came out to run on this snowy course in these frigid temps. These were serious runners.

I have been running high mileage for the past few weeks and doing very hard leg strength workouts, so I wasn't expecting much other than a hard workout. Having seen the condition of the course, and now realizing that I'd have to run with 3 layers of clothing on, a big hat and heavy gloves, that 17:39 winning time from last week was starting to sound pretty fast. As I looked around at the crowd of people standing on the line with me, most jumping up and down to stay warm, I felt like I was part of something special. These were not ordinary people out to compete for bragging rights or to get a PR, this was a group of exceptional, joyful people who were truly committed to something - running and community.

The ringing of a large cowbell signaled the start of the race and we were off. A pack of college kids lead the charge up the first hill. It was covered with ice and everyone was slipping. I found that the snowier edge of the road gave me more footing than the hard packed middle and I charged around the crowd. Before the race began, I was informed that the course would not be marked and that I'd have to memorize the map, which I hadn't done. My strategy was to run the tricky first mile and half with another runner and then try to pull ahead as the course became more simple (or so it appeared on the map). At the half mile point, I was running on the heels of the leader in second place. During the warmup I had singled him out as the one to beat. He looked the part of an elite runner, and a few minutes of chatting with him revealed that he was one of the top marathoners in New England. It was difficult to maintain a fast pace as the snow would slip out from under your feet on occasion and make you lurch forward. I had to begin picking my feet up for each new step instead of pushing off from the previous step. At roughly a mile and a half, I picked up the pace and took the lead. No one followed my break. At the next intersection, I heard a yell behind me "go left, go left!!", I quickly corrected my mistake and powered on. As more unmarked intersections began to appear, I realized that I was going to need the guidance of the runner behind me in second place. I slowed the pace a little to allow him within loud speaking distance. He was nice enough to guide my every turn for the rest of the race. Now THAT is sportsmanship. The final 200 meters of the race had us jumping over a snowbank (thank god for my guide behind me) and running on an unpacked trail with 10 inches of heavy snow on it. I stumbled 3 or 4 times trying to maintain my footing in the deep snow. Then I jumped over one final snowbank and I was in the parking lot crossing the finish line. I won the race in 17:45. A time that I was very proud to have run under these conditions.

After the race we all ran into the skate house next to the lake to get warm. There were no prizes or awards ceremony, just a great group of friendly people sharing stories, hot chocolate and doughnuts and planning for next week's race. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

12/11/07 Vegan Bodybuilding Profile

My buddy Robert Cheeke at VeganBodybuilding.com recently asked me to fill out a featured athlete profile for his site. Even though i'm not a "bodybuilder" he thought that people should know about what i'm doing. Robert put together a great questionaire for the profile, so if you'd like to get a little more info on what i'm doing and how i'm doing it, check it out at: http://www.veganbodybuilding.com/rob/?page=bio_tim
have an amazing Wednesday :)

Tim

11/24/07 Giving Thanks

Giving Thanks on Thanksgiving Day.

All too often we lump the words thanks and giving together into one word - Thanksgiving. It has come to mean turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and family. The word does little more than house the name of a holiday.

After spending an incredible evening with the Chicago Raw Community for their Thanksgiving dinner and then spending the actual holiday with my family, I've begun to reflect on the meaning of the words "thanks" and "giving" and on the holiday itself.

I love the idea of family, friends and communities getting together to celebrate and give thanks. How we chose to express that thanks varies greatly though. More often than not it becomes a gluttinous "beaching of the whales", as eager thanks givers line up at the trough to gorge on seconds and thirds of greasy, buttery, gravy laden "tan" foods. Stomachs stretched to their elastic limit and the snuggly comfort of food coma in full effect, the whales beach themselves in front of the TV for the rest of the day... well at least until the call for dessert rings out.

The scenario above was all too familiar to me for most of my life. At the beginning of the meal I'd be thankful for all the food that I was about to devour. But by meal's end I was pleading with some ultimate being that I'd be thankful if they just made this awful feeling in my stomach go away. By the middle of the next day I felt fine again, and I was thankful for this.

This year's Thanksgiving was markedly different. For starters, it was the first Thanksgiving that I've attended with my family since I've gone raw. Secondly, there was something glaringly absent from the dining room table - the big bird. My family had decided on their own to forego the turkey this year and replace it with a Dr. Frankenstein inspired Tofurky. I was thankful that my family was beginning to make the connection between diet and health.

My contributions to the table included a raw stuffing that took a day and a half to make, a room temp coconut curry green soup, and some cranberry apple sauce. I made enough for the entire table of ten, but everyone was hesitant to try my strange concoctions. My dad was the first to jump in - he'll eat anything. A look of surprise beamed across his face when he tried the stuffing and he encouraged everyone to try it. It wasn't long before the entire table was going for seconds of the raw stuffing and leaving the standard issue alone. The soup was also a big hit, and served as the staple for our next two leftover lunches.

I was thankful that everyone was trying and enjoying my creations, so I thought I might return the favor. Afterall, my mother, grandmother and sisters had slaved away in the kitchen for an entire day preparing this bountiful meal, so it would only be fair to at least taste some of the fruits of their labor. I'd never even seen a Tofurky before, the whole concept kind of freaks me out, but I had to try at least a tiny piece. Well, you can't have Tofurky without a small spoonful of vegan mashed potatoes (you heard right) and a tiny sampling of vegan stuffing (Tofurky sausage). It amounted to no more than two large spoonfulls on my plate. It was a symbolic gesture of gratitude, solidarity and blood being thicker than diet.

I didn't make a big deal out of it. I simply reached for the dishes and rationed out a tiny bit of each plate. The room fell silent. Everyone watched as i put the fork into the food in front of me and brought it to my mouth. It tasted strange, but good. The textures were unfamiliar, softer than I'm used to. I was breaking bread. My mother was the first to speak. It was with great elation that she said "I'm glad to see that you are not perfect". The rest of the family joined in a joyous chorus of cheers as they witnessed me fall off of my high horse. I was celebrating them. They were celebrating my demise. I stopped mid bite and I asked them why there were so happy. Their response - they were glad to see that I was still human. "Human?" I said. "In order for one to be human, they must abuse themselves with food?". I was taken aback. Is this how Americans express their thanks? By commiting a slow and deliberate suicide with a Standard American Diet (SAD). How many times have I heard Grace before a meal in which the speaker states "we are thankful for our health" and then moments later I watch that same person causing tremendous harm to their health by the foods they choose to consume.

I think it's time to find a new way to celebrate the giving of thanks. To be truly grateful and respectful to ourselves and our loved ones. To celebrate around health, family and community. To be stronger and more alive at the end of that day than we were at the beginning. To honor this gift of life that we have all been given.

I'm thankful for my health, for my family and for all of you who are reading this. You give me my purpose.

Tim

11/16/07 US Bank Center Stair Climb, Milwaukee

It's been a very exciting week here in the windy city, and feeling more and more like home everyday.

I was a bit disappointed with my third place at the Sears Tower, so I drove up to Milwaukee yesterday afternoon to compete in the Climb for a Cure tower race up the US Bank Center. Although it's the tallest building in Milwaukee, it's only half as tall as the Sears Tower in Chicago. I thought a 45 storey climb would be a sprint compared to the 103 floors of the Sears Tower. I thought wrong.

Anxious to "redeem" myself in this race, I edged to the front of the line as the racers began to line up. Standing next to me were a group of some of the finest examples of athleticism I've ever seen - The Milwaukee Bonecrushers arena football team. These guys have speed, strength and quads that go on for days. In addition, there were several elite stair climb athletes that I've seen in LA, Chicago and NYC. So needless to say, I was VERY nervous. When the starter announced that the race would begin in 30 seconds and asked who would like to go first (15 seconds seperated each racer), everyone backed away, leaving me standing alone. I've never started first in a stair race, and the thought of there being no one to catch and EVERYONE behind me chasing my heels, made my pre-race jitters even worse.

The gun went off and I ran like