me all fall down.

Late February in Pennsylvania sometimes means snow, cold rain or, as is the case this year, clear skies and mild temperatures.  You just never can tell.

What you can count on is another running of Pretzel City's Ugly Mudder, a self-proclaimed "doggone ugly way to spend a day" on the trails on Mt. Penn.

The trails are plenty rocky and, depending on the whim of race director extraordinaire Ron Horn, full of steep climbs. This year, apparently, he felt the need to add a few more and steeper inclines than last year.

I've been climbing well as of late (and enjoying the hell out of it), so this should have played in my favor.

I can't seem to turn down a good climb, however, and had made the mistake of putting some time in on Mole Hill the day before (though it was good company, Steve).  Not the wisest decision the day before Ugly Mudder, not when I recover like the 37 year old I am rather than the 24 year old who's body I sometimes seem to ignorantly think I am in possession of and certainly not when that trip up/down Mole also resulted in a body-jarring fall on an iced-over log.

Anyway, Jefferson and I drove to West Reading on Sunday morning relaxed and ready to run and I was blissfully unaware of any latent fatigue.  The weather was perfect.  I have no idea what the temperature was but I felt perfectly comfortable in shorts, tights, long-sleeved t-shirt and lightweight windshirt.  There was just enough chill to merit the addition of gloves and a hat, but there was little wind (unlike the day before when friends at the FebApple 50 were pummelled with wicked gusts all day long) and the sun was shining.

The Ugly Mudder had been added to the renowned La Sportiva Mountain Cup, a series of a dozen or so sub-marathon distance trail races strewn all around the country each year.  This lured out some fast legs from afar (here's a race report from eventual 3rd place finisher and La Sportiva-sponsored runner Jason Bryant: http://lifethroughtheeyeofarunner.blogspot.com/2012/02/la-sportiva-mountain-cup-ugly-mudder.html) and added further interest to an event that routinely draws over 700 participants all on its own.  If I understood correctly, there were over 700 pre-race registrants and another 150+ on the day of the event, though the posted finishing times would suggest either a lot of DNF's, a bunch of no-shows or some combination of the two.

Long story short, there were a ton of bodies packed behind the starting line and only a couple of hundred yards before those bodies needed to funnel into an uphill section of singletrack.  I'd hit that clogged mess the year before and made up my mind to stay ahead of the fray if at all possible.

I managed to meet that goal and scampered up that first climb somewhere just behind the lead runners and the next chase pack.  I hadn't gone far, though, before I recognized that I was working on two tired legs.

Dumbass.

The flat in-the-park start and quick transition to singletrack was comparable to last year but, if I'm not mistaken, we actually took a slightly different route up that initial climb than we did in 2011.  If anyone reading this can confirm, I'd appreciate it.

Regardless, at some point we were back on familiar sections and I settled into as quick a pace as I could manage in expectation of maintaining it throughout the full 7 miles.  I wanted to be going a bit faster, but I was definitely "racing" and pushing the pace any harder at that point was sure to bring on a bonk later.

No more than a mile or two into the race, we hit a road crossing at which runners were receiving on-the-fly course instructions from the Horns, Ron and his lovely bride and fellow person-who-makes-Pretzel-City-happen Helene...the very sound of Helene's voice makes me happy and the smile she always (and I mean always) has to offer only adds to that happiness. 

There was a steep 5-foot section of poured concrete that led from the trail down to the road surface and it had three or four runners in front of me drawn basically to a stand still.  Determined to keep moving, I scooted by them on their left and leaped almost to the bottom of the "step", fell forward, rolled on my shoulder, popped back up and kept going.  It happened quickly enough that my brain failed to process an "ouch".  Seeing Ron a few feet ahead, I decided to run behind him so I could give him a congratulatory smack on the butt.  In doing so, I gave myself an odd angle back onto the trail and didn't really make sense of his advice to "look out for the cable" before falling to the ground a second time, having struck said cable full on with my left shin.

While my brain FULLY processed the "ouch" and even found some time to go back and address the one it had missed a moment earlier, I mumbled something like "oh, that cable?" and dragged myself back to my feet.

Dumbass.

Not only had I fallen off my pace but I wasn't going to get back there right away as the next short section was a relatively steep scramble up to the Pagoda.

A peculiar out-of-place landmark, the Pagoda has loomed high above Reading since just after the turn of the 20th century.  The first half of my childhood was spent in Berks County and because the Pagoda was always "up there", its oddity didn't really strike me until later in life.  Its constant presence and touch of uniqueness has made it beloved (I think) and I genuinely love the strange touch it gives Pretzel City races and am always amazed by how sweeping a view is offered from its high perch.  The image below was taken sometime in the 20's and while it gives some sense of its elevation above the city, it also shows a deforestation that, thankfully, has been replaced nicely by new growth.

The next portion of the course was the most strikingly different from the year before, at least the way I'm remembering it, serving up a fairly sustained and more-than-fairly steep climb soon after leaving the Pagoda behind.

None of it was so steep that it was completely unrunnable, at least not in a 7 mile race (50K+ and I would've considered these sections as hiking required) and, on fresher legs, I shouldn't have had to do any hiking at all.

To say it another way, I did some hiking.

We finally hit an aid station at the mid-way point and while I didn't need any actual aid, I did enjoy the confirmation that we'd made it halfway.

There were other climbs to be had in the second half, but nothing like the first 3.5 miles and, instead, it was a matter of keeping the pace and managing the technical track.  To make sure I stayed focused, I drank a beer at the mile 6 aid station.  I'm not sure it worked but it tasted great.

As I made the final clamber up Ron's infamous finishing hill, I heard familiar cheers from Erin, Finn, Noah and Helene.  Knowing it had an audience, the shameless clown-in-me decided it would be funny to turn around and run a few steps backwards.  No, I didn't fall down (yet again), but I did find when I turned back around that my body now wanted to puke.

I really didn't want to puke, so I walked the last few steps and came across in 1:02:47 with 35 runners already in ahead of me.  In 2011 I finished 32nd in 1:02:02 and, frankly, was hoping to improve upon those numbers this go round.  That disappointment came and went in a hurry, however, as I embraced the victory of not puking when I was sure it was going to happen.

Win!

In the end, as is usually the case at a Pretzel City event, I walked away thrilled to have taken part.  I met some new folks, reconnected with old friends, finally saw J.C. in the flesh (let's make it a habit, brother), witnessed Jefferson shave 2 minutes off of his 2011 time (!) and was there for Sheldon's impressive trail race debut.

A doggone pretty way to spend a day, I'd say.

Now if I can just stay upright next year....

4,226 feet high and rising.

I last boarded an airplane back in August and, despite the economic gloom the news would have me believe, the parking lot outside the airport was packed, the hallways were flooded with bodies hurrying from gate to gate and there was not a single unoccupied seat on board.  Looked just like it did in the salad days of the late 90's and early millennium by my eyes.

But Cincinnati in early 2012 had room, room, lots of room to spare.  My mind conjured up the foretelling of the rapture but I couldn't recall if Cincy fell in the ol' Bible belt or not and my instincts told me no.

Nope, not a single soul had ascended to heaven but some of the hell had been taken out of flying.  The flight in from Philadelphia found me enjoying a row of seats all to my lonesome and I'd landed in Ohio without any need to unfold myself from a cramped position.  The doors flung open and there waiting in the airport was...nobody.  Glorious.

There was another spare seat waiting on the connection from Cincinnati to Salt Lake City and clear, obstacle-free skies delivered me blissfully to the Wasatch Front.  Back again and ready to run.

Yes, there was work (much work) to be done and as much as I'd like to "cool guy" you into believing I don't give a crap about work, I'd be bluffing and you'd be right to call me on it.  I toil away like my Germanic father before me, wearing a work ethic like its the only pair of pants I own.

But I do leave room for my vice and, in a world of R-rated vices, mine is downright Disney with a capital G.

The clock strikes 4:30 AM Mountain Time and I am out the door.  Fifteen minutes later, I'm a thousand feet above downtown and Salt Lake City sleeps below like the slumbering lion of The Tokens' song.

I only covered about 5 miles but the thin, crisp (and impossibly clean in comparison to home) air and the meandering singletrack put me in the right headspace for a day of business-ing in the climate-controlled environs of the Salt Palace and the Winter Outdoor Retailer trade show.

I did take a pretty big digger on a patch of black (brown?) ice that surprised me on the otherwise soft, sandy trail and deposited on my, er, um...ass.  Which is where being in my line of work comes in rather handy.  In between appointments, I ducked into the Kahtoola booth and bummed a pair of MICROspikes from Danny Giovale, the very man who built the damn things.

What are MICROspikes?  Glad you asked.  They are one of those startlingly simple engineering marvels, a set of low-profile crampons integrated into a durable rubber housing that slips easily over whatever footwear you got.  You might be more familiar with Yaktrax, but they are truly pedestrian in comparison to the adventure ready MICROspikes.

Where can you get them?  Glad you asked.  Try here:

http://www.backcountryedge.com/kahtoola-microspikes-2011.aspx

So, I'd secured traction but needed advice on how to get up higher.  Danny began saying something about Grandeur Peak but then got pulled in another direction, leaving me with an imagination-inspiring name but no idea how to get there.

Lucky for me, those-in-the-know were milling all around me, including Piep. 

Piep (John Pieper by birth, but, take it from me--a Steven known to many/most as Leon--he is and shall ever be Piep) had been living with his lovely family in Durango, Colorado for the past several years but had returned home to Salt Lake about a year ago, taking a Director of Sales and Markeing position at Gregory Mountain Products.  He was well familiar with the area trails and he seemed to agree with Danny that Grandeur Peak was well worth visiting.  After dinner, he grabbed a topo map, outlined the approach options and then insisted that I take the map along with me when I headed back to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep.

Thanks, Piep.

I just realized that I've failed to touch on the fact that the daytime temperatures in town had been hovering in the upper 40's and low 50's even though Salt Lake City sits at an elevation of 4,226 feet, a good 3,800 feet higher than my Manheim home.  In other words, winter hadn't come to the Great Basin any more than it had come to the Susquehanna Valley.

And, so, the next morning I awoke to precipitation, but not the fluffy white stuff that I'd hoped to find.  I drove up above town, hung a right on Wasatch Boulevard and then took a left up Millcreek Canyon in the dark.  The moisture in the air still qualified as rain but just barely.  A good sign.

As soon as I stepped from the car, I was headed uphill through a National Forest picnic area.  The lungs were immediately heaving despite the fact that I was creeping along at a rate well shy of my normal pace.

A sign came into focus in the beam of my headlamp and confirmed that I was headed in the right direction.

That was fractions of a mile farther than I expected which immediately illuminated the fact that I'd forgotten to bring my Garmin.  Who cares right?  I know, I know, BUT it meant that I was going to be ascending in the dark with no real idea of what time it was or how far I'd gone which could be problematic since I needed to eventually to get back to the hotel before returning to the Salt Palace for another day of work.

The effort required in the climb and my love of running in the dark combined to back burner those concerns.  Per the topo map, I was looking at well over 2,500 feet of climb in those 3 miles and my legs and lungs were busy confirming that reading.  I cycled between running, power hiking and straight-up trudging, all with an oh-so-happy grin.  You know the kind...shit-eating some call it, though that phrase has always been lost on me.

Periodically, I'd peek to my right or my left depending on the turn of the switchback and ponder the void, wondering at the invisible drop.  I was so captivated by the darkness, it took me longer than it should have to realize that I was ankle deep in snow and more was falling.  A look back over my shoulder confirmed that I'd been plowing through snow for quite some time.

Such is the power of the MICROspikes.

Long (too long already) story short, I ended up turning back before the top out, a decision I'll probably always question, but the appropriate call given my not being able to confirm the time but being conscious of my going pretty darn slow given the conditions and my flatlander lung capacity.

Thanks to the short hours of winter daylight, I didn't see a single drop of sun on my morning runs but I loved everything I could see in the tunnel of light that I carried with me.  I look forward to getting back up to Grandeur (or anywhere else Piep or other locals can point me toward) in August and getting in a run or two ahead of taking another shot at the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase up in Park City (just confirmed today as again being part of the La Sportiva Mountain Cup series!) on the Saturday of Summer OR.

Then, if the body holds up, I'll be back through Salt Lake in October for the drive down to Moab for the SlickRock 100.  Pretty stoked.

And, just to return to the good omen of the empty flights, Salt Lake sent me off in style with an unexpected meet-and-greet (a run-in...get it?) at the airport with the iconically-mustachioed Nick Offerman.

Who?  You know who.

Pretty random, I know, but good times nonetheless.  Don't let the scowl fool you (his, not mine), he was a sweetheart.

If I hadn't alreay returned Piep's map and Danny's MICROspikes, I might have clued him in on Grandeur Peak.

Next time.

"i just wanted to say that i'm a nerd."

In December, I formally laid out my if-all-goes-well race plans for 2011.  It was (and is) a pretty ambitious schedule but leaves some room to sign-up for additional events depending on when they are being held.

Last month, the 2011 La Sportiva Mountain Cup series was announced.  If you're unfamiliar with this series that began back in 2008, it consists of 10 trail races ranging from 10K to marathon distances held between March and August at various sites scattered throughout the country.  Runners tally points based on where they place (closer to first, the higher the points) in their five best finishes in Mountain Cup races and after all races have been run, La Sportiva posts the winning results and award cash prizes.

I've never taken part in a Mountain Cup race and other than a passing curiosity, I wasn't expecting to do so anytime soon.  That changed the second I saw the final date for this year and my determination to get involved solidified as I further investigated the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase.

http://www.mountaintrails.org/2009/03/jupiter-peak-steeplechase-august/

For the 19th consecutive year, the Mountain Trails Foundation will be putting on this challenging event at Utah's Park City Mountain Resort.  A 16-mile sufferfest, the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase starts at 7,000 feet, gains more than 3,000 feet of elevation by the halfway point and then leaves you with an 8-mile run back down from its 10,400 foot high point.

That description alone was more than enough to pique my interest but travel plans also happened to already be in place that coincided perfectly with the date of the event.  As a gear buyer for Backcountry Edge (http://www.backcountryedge.com/), an online retailer of backpacking, hiking and camping equipment, I would be in Salt Lake City that entire week for the Summer Market Outdoor Retailer trade show.  A little creativity in my scheduling could free up enough time in the morning and afternoon of August 4th to allow me to make the drive up to Park City and the slog up to the top of Jupiter Peak.

I immediately logged onto the Mountain Trails Foundation website and attempted to follow the provided link to register for the event.  With a 400-participant cap and the inclusion of the event as a Mountain Cup event, there was a good likelihood that registration would close long before race day.  Unable to complete the sign-up, I became nearly frantic and fired off a message to the race director.  Minutes later I received a very kind and patient response that pointed out the big bold letters on the event homepage that spelled out the fact that registration opened on February 1st.

I was as apologetic as I was embarrassed.

I marked my calendar and waited.  Having checked back on the Mountain Trails Foundation site to find that registration was slated to open at 12:01 AM on the 1st, I decided to stay up late on the 31st.  Moments after midnight, I logged onto the page and was disappointed to find that sign-up was still unavailable.  Recognizing that the event is being held in Utah, I assumed that I was jumping the gun by a couple of hours and set my alarm for 2:00 AM.

Turns out the registration page is hosted by a west coast administrator.  In other words, I caught another 60 minutes of shut eye before rousing at 3:01 to try again.  As my sleepy eyes adjusted to the light of the monitor, I gasped to see that the beautiful "add to cart" icon had been activated on the website.  A running tally indicated that two other runners had already managed to sign up ahead of me.  I hurried through the registration process, hit "submit" and smiled to find that I was on the roster.

After patting myself on the back for not having foolishly waited until morning, I settled into sleep, dreaming of high altitude adventure.

Roughly 19 hours later, the roster shows that a grand total of one more runner has signed up and there are still 396 slots available.

Boy, am I one sleepy running nerd.  And a happy one.

So worth it.