As we ascend into the alpine on the Appalachian Trail (AT), the weather begins to deteriorate. After 4,000 feet of uphill we gain Madison Ridge, laughing and chatting as the sun begins to set. Above treeline, however, the wind and rain are so intense that we can no longer hold conversations. The boulder-strewn trail is so slippery that we can no longer hop with abandon. Our pace slows as darkness descends.

It’s August 8, and our group of five is in the Northern Presidential Mountains of New Hampshire, pacing 46-year-old British ultrarunner and coach Kristian Morgan on his fourth attempt to set a new fastest known time (FKT) on the Appalachian Trail. We head north from the Pinkham Notch on the route the trail takes up and over the summit of Mount Washington. At least, that’s the plan.

Morgan leads our group as we scamper across the summit of Mount Madison. Lightning strikes in the distance. I count four one-thousands before the thunder arrives, but any comfort is lost as we immediately hear a crackling noise. My exposed hair stands and tingles. The air is electric. We look at each other wide-eyed then spring into action, adrenalized. We need to get off this ridge as quickly as possible. Morgan disappears downhill, into the darkness of the mountain.

The Draw of the Appalachian Trail FKT

The Appalachian Trail is one of America’s premier long trails and the longest hiking-only footpath in the world. Traveling south, it runs 2,189 miles from Mount Katahdin in Maine, to Springer Mountain in Georgia, traversing 14 states and nearly half a million feet in elevation gain. The men’s FKT is hotly contested and has been previously held by ultrarunning luminaries like David Horton, Scott Jurek, and Karl Meltzer. Racing ultramarathons, however, does not necessarily equate to an easy time setting a new FKT on the AT.

“The major hiking trails have a history of famous ultrarunners who flail, every time, in their attempts to set new records,” said Buzz Burrell, founder of . “It’s actually uncommon for a famous ultrarunner to do well on a multi-day trail. These records are typically done by thru-hikers who have the methodology and, more importantly, respect for the trail.”

Currently, the AT’s overall record of 41 days, 7 hours, and 39 minutes—held by Belgian dentist Karel Sabbe—is considered out there in the stratosphere, nearly untouchable. Sabbe falls in that category of athlete who doesn’t have the traditional ultrarunning race success of Jurek or Meltzer, but has done exceptionally well on multi-day FKT efforts. His 2018 northbound record time shaved more than four days off of the previous best, which Joe McConaughy set unsupported in 2017.

RELATED: Hiking the Appalachian Trail: A Beginner’s Guide

Morgan first became interested in the Appalachian Trail after being invited to help Sabbe on his 2018 record-breaking run. “As soon as I was there, I just fell in love,” he said. “From day 1 to day 15, I just thought, I’d love to do this.”

The following summer, Morgan, who is “UK born, Australian raised,” traveled back to the United States from his home in London for a first attempt at the record, with his mother and his cousin as crew members. He quit after six days, in Asheville, North Carolina. “Everything just felt off, wrong, and unorganized,” said Morgan.

“We were just so naive,” said Morgan’s crew chief and mother Sharon Mullen. “Looking back, it was a bit silly we even tried it.”

His plans for a 2020 attempt were thwarted by the pandemic, and Morgan instead set a new FKT on the UK’s longest official national trail, the . In 2021, an injury drove him off the trail after having made it just a few miles further than the 2019 attempt.

Last year, in 2022, he finally finished the entire Appalachian Trail. Morgan credits very specific hill training and a preparatory class led by legendary AT guru Warren Doyle as essential. But the adventure wasn’t without incident.

Ahead of the record, after 31 days, he said he “cracked under the pressure” and stepped off the trail for more than 24 hours. He reached out to Karl Meltzer, who called to remind Morgan that he was still on track to have a very fast time, and that he’d never regret finishing.

“It was crazy because he was ahead of Karel all the way up to Vermont,” Meltzer told me. “I couldn’t believe it. I was like, man Kristian’s killing it, but then he had that one day where he lost it mentally. I just didn’t want to see him quit. I said, ‘You’re still gonna do it in like 43 days. Don’t give up just because you didn’t get first place. You’re still going to be way under everybody else.’” The stop cost him the overall record, but he finished with the second fastest time ever run.

Given the expense, time, and energy that a single effort requires, it would have been easy to pack it up and conclude that the FKT was beyond his capabilities. But Morgan refers to his previous attempts not as failures but as stepping stones towards success. “The more you fail at something, the more you learn,” he said, “and the more you learn, the more chance you have at success.”

No one knows this better than Meltzer, who took three attempts at the record to set a new mark. “I don’t think I know anybody, including myself, who was more determined to chase the record,” said Meltzer. “When Kristian said he was going back and going southbound, I said, ‘Jesus, you are so focused.’”

2023 Southbound Success

After Morgan ran away from us on Mount Madison, I take a hard fall trying to mimic his downhill speed in the rain. Alone, the trail forward is no longer obvious, and I grope around in the dark for a few minutes before rejoining fellow pacers Andrew Drummond and Veronica Leeds as they stream by.

When we arrive at the Madison Springs Hut soaking wet, the cozy inhabitants look at us with wonder and fear. Morgan, for the first time, looks tired. Getting over Mount Washington was the goal, but he had covered enough terrain that day to purchase a bunk, get some rest, and worry about the tallest peak in the northeast later.

RELATED: We Asked 5 Appalachian Trail Hikers What Their Favorite Piece of Gear Was

“The scariest time on the Appalachian Trail was when you and I experienced that static,” he said. “It wasn’t actually crossing Mount Washington that next day, it was that static electricity, because you can be struck at any point.”

The Appalachian Trail has a way of sending you challenges. For Morgan’s 2023 attempt it was physical injuries, which began in Vermont with a swollen ankle that required a partial day of rest. Then, as the end of the trail neared, he took a hard fall and tore his MCL, though he didn’t know it at the time. Battered, he intuitively figured out how to run without stressing the ligament.

Dancing in the Face of Absurdity

Multiple members of Morgan’s crew told me that they were astonished at his attitude, his ability to stay positive despite the injuries and the terrible weather they were experiencing.

“I just found happiness and positivity in every cell and strand of my body that I could,” said Morgan. “Nothing else went right.” He began to dance as a way to laugh through the absurdity of running for a total of 16 hours each day and posted on the internet to add some levity to the situation.

His last push was 85 miles nonstop with more than over 25,000 feet of gain and loss. On September 16—45 days, 4 hours, and 27 minutes since stepping off the summit of Mount Katahdin—he arrived at the trail’s southern terminus on Springer Mountain with the new southbound supported FKT and the second fastest overall time.

When I asked if he’s satisfied with this effort, Morgan said he began planning his next attempt a couple hundred miles from his finish.

“I’m still hungry,” he said. “OK, yeah I’ve got the southbound [FKT], but that was always my consolation. I don’t want to downplay the record going south, but my dream ever since I helped Karel was to get the overall record—regardless of direction.”

The post Solving the Appalachian Trail Puzzle appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

When Sue Johnston reached the peak of Mount Isolation on December 26, 2016, she opened a bottle of champagne and quietly celebrated with her husband. There was no entourage or photographers. Johnston, an ultrarunner and mountain climber from Vermont, hiked all 48 peaks above 4,000 feet in New Hampshire’s White Mountains every month for a year. Again, that's 48 peaks. Every month. For a year.Ìę

The challenge, called the , would be a lifetime achievement for most hikers to complete onceÌęandÌęusually takes years of diligent effort.Ìę

“I think she is a pioneering athlete on the women’s side for doing this kind of adventure running,” says Peter Bakwin, founder of , a site dedicated to documenting mountain and trail running speed records.

Beyond the grid challenge, Johnston put up some staggering numbers that year. She hiked or ran more than 3,100 miles (about 8.5 miles a day), summited 599 peaks, and climbed more than 1 million vertical feet during all types of inclement New England weather.

At 52 years old, Johnston has a few decades of FKTs and ultra victories under her belt, including the JFK 50, the Hardrock 100-Mile Endurance Run (two wins), and the Massanutten Mountain Trails 100 (five wins). But while she has been one of the country’s preeminent ultrarunners and fastpackers, Johnston shies away from the limelight. She doesn’t have an Instagram or Twitter account, and she doesn’t log her runs in Strava or bloviate on the internet. So, if you’ve never heard her name before, that’s by design.

For decades, Johnston has excelled under the radar, unknown to many except by those who have revered what she’s done for the sport, especially among women. “I didn’t have that many women to look up to,” says professional ultrarunner Krissy Moehl, who’s set multiple FKTs and has won the Hardrock 100-miler. “Sue was constantly going out and doing inspirational things. She’s a different kind of motivator, a silent leader.”

Johnston began as a hiker, completing sections of Vermont’s Long Trail in 1989 and 1990. Though she saw running as more of a chore, it seemed like an easy way to get in shape. This led Johnston to train for her first marathon, which she completed in April 1992.

That same year, while hiking in the White Mountains, Johnston met a man who had thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail and ran long distances. He called himself an ultrarunner, a term she had never heard before. He told Johnston about the United States’ first organized 50-mile footrace, the JFK 50, in Washington County, Maryland. “I showed up in 1992 thinking I’d run half of it, and I ended up doing the whole thing—and loving it.”

In 1994, Johnston completed the Appalachian Trail. At the time, few women hiked alone, and even fewer tackled the entire 2,190 miles of the AT by themselves. “It’s still the most epiphanic thing I’ve ever done,” Johnston says.

After that, she built even more momentum, knocking off 50- and 100-milers across the country. In 2007, Johnston set a record on California’s iconic John Muir Trail by completing the 210 miles in three days and 20 hours, faster than any woman or man. Her women’s record stood until September 2017, when Darcy Piceu bested her time. “The JMT is one of the most sought-after records,” Bakwin says. “So the fact that Johnston’s time stood for more than ten years against some excellent contenders is a testament to her accomplishment.”

Piceu’s record on the JMT won her the 2017 FKT of the Year Award from Ultrarunning magazine. As Piceu tells it, it was Johnston who actually pushed her to try for the record. “She told me, ‘I’m sure you can do it faster,’” Piceu says. “She’s like a silent force, but she inspires me just by quietly going and doing these really cool epic adventures.”

One of Johnston’s other great accomplishments—and a record that still stands—is her brutal effort at the Barkley Marathons. The race is considered one of the toughest ultras in the world, existing on the fringe of a fringe sport. For this reason, it has gotten a recent bump in notoriety by the popular documentary . Athletes have 60 hours to complete a 20-mile loop, five times, with no aid stations or course markings. Since the race’s inception in 1986, only 15 runners—all male—out of more than 1,000 have finished.

To this day, Johnston holds the distinction of being the woman to survive Barkley the longest, with a record she set in 2001, when she ran three and a half laps before running out of time. “She just has such a calm demeanor,” says race director Gary Cantrell, who hand-selects each year’s entrants. “That’s why she had the best chance. Nothing fazed her.”

Johnston can’t say exactly why she’s been so successful in endurance events, except that she’s been lucky to have very few injuries. “My only injury is getting old and slow,” she jokes.

Although Johnston hasn’t racked up pro deals and hasn’t been widely lauded in the media, she has left an indelible mark on the sport of ultrarunning in a way that harkens back to the sports humble, fringe roots. And as she made clear with her White Mountain Grid FKT, at 52 years old, Johnston doesn’t appear to be slowing down, though she was cheerfully vague about what, exactly, she has planned for her next adventure. “My goals are personal,” she says.

The post Sue Johnston Is an Ultrarunning Pioneer appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Way back in 1965, cardiologists first noticed that as a person’s health deteriorates, the tiny fluctuations between their heartbeats become more uniform, like a metronome. “Just before you have a heart attack, there is zero variation,” says Lindsay Thornton, a sport psychophysiologist at the United States Olympic Committee. “It’s just boom, boom, boom. Perfect regularity.” On the flip side, a healthy heart beats with great variety.

That measurement, called heart-rate variability (HRV), “is an easy and simple reading of a person’s overall health,” says Thornton. In fact, elite coaches have long used the metric to determine if athletes have recovered enough from a tough training session to go hard again.Ìę

Until recently, tracking HRV required high-end machines found only in a physiology lab or a hospital’s cardiology wing. But a new wave of apps allow you to record your HRV from home. Which is good news for amateurs who are just as likely as elites to equate rest with laziness, then train hard when they should be taking the day off, resulting in chronic fatigue, injury, or worse: by some estimates, up to 60 percent of athletes suffer from overtraining.Ìę

To track your HRV, you’ll need a finger sensor or a heart-rate strap like the ($80), which connects with your smartphone, and an app like (Android and ; $10).Ìę

Start by testing every day for two weeks to establish a baseline. Control for variables by taking your HRV at the same time each morning, before getting out of bed. The apps deliver a score from 1 to 100. If your result is on the low end—say, less than 60—take it easy; your nervous system, which controls your heart rate, hasn’t recovered. A score closer to 100 means you’re in a state of homeostasis and—lucky you—you’re ready for some grueling hill repeats.

Four Things Every Athlete Should Know About Their Heart

Higher fitness levels mean fewer beats. A strong heart can push more blood per beat than a weak one. Adult males have an average resting heart rate of about 70 beats per minute, while an elite athlete’s heart rate can drop as low as 30. (Cyclist Miguel Indurain’s was 28 during his Tour de France wins.) A slower heart rate can also reduce risk of high blood pressure and cardiovascular disease.

Dehydration elevates your heart rate. Your heart pumps oxygenated blood around your body during exercise. When you’re dehydrated, your circulatory system has less fluid volume, causing your heart to work harder. Be sure to drink whenever you’re thirsty during races or training.

Endurance exercise isn’t bad for your heart. “A lot of this comes down to genetics, but exercise actually helps maintain elasticity in the heart, which is a very good thing to take into your later years,” says Dr. Bruce Andrea, who runs the in Colorado.Ìę

Your heart, like your other muscles, needs a break. It’s essential to have hard days and easy days, hard weeks and easy weeks, and hard months and easy months. Play the long game and take real time off each season.Ìę

The post Is Your Heart Healthy? Ask Your Phone appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

In December, 2012, James Lawrence of Orem, Utah, Ìęafter completing more Ironman distance races in a single year than anyone before him. Inspired to bring attention to the growing epidemic of childhood obesity, the triathlon coach and public speaker completed 30 official Ironman races in one year, beating the previous record by 10 races.

But the record wasn’t enough. Lawrence had hoped to bring more attention and money to his cause and spent the next two years plotting a second, more audacious record attempt: 50 Ironman courses on 50 consecutive days in all 50 states. And on Saturday, July 25, he crossed his personal finish line, having swam 120 miles, biked 5,600 miles, run 1,310 miles, and Ìęin an RV with his entire family. We caught up with the 39-year-old at his home in OremÌęto ask him about the experience.Ìę

OUTSIDE: How do you feel today [the day after finishing]?Ìę
LAWRENCE: I feel awesome. I got close to ten hours of sleep last night. I dealt with a little bit of muscle cramping because of the elevated effort yesterday in my last marathon. I ran under five hours, so the fastest marathon of all 50.Ìę

You set a Guinness World Record previous to the 50/50/50, but what was your experience level coming into this and your fastest standalone Ironman?Ìę
I’ve done over 40 full Ironman official events and hundreds of sprints and Olympic distances. My fastest standalone Ironman was 10 hours, 18 minutes.Ìę

Why are you called the ?
In 2011,ÌęI was doing Ironman Canada and there were just so many people that my family had trouble picking me out to cheer for me. So I decided to put on a cowboy hat. It just became a hit and the entire crowd started to engage with me as an athlete. In 2012 I wore a cowboy hat in all the 30 events so I that people would recognize me and it just stuck. Ìę

I know you personally financed the 2012 Guinness World Record effort, did you have more sponsorship support this time around or was it all on your dime again?Ìę
Yeah, in 2012 we had very little support, but it built up my credibility. So, this time around it was a lot different. It was interesting, a lot of my sponsors even said, “Well, we’re not certain you’ll make it but we wanna see how far you’ll go. And even if you don’t make it, it’ll get the attention we want.” My title sponsor was Young Living Essential Oils, and our other big sponsor was AirBnB, who helped with lodging across the country.Ìę

What was your athletic background like before triathlon?Ìę
I wrestled growing up, in Canada. I’m from Calgary, Alberta. I did my first triathlon in 2004. Before that I didn’t have any run, swim, or biking background. I actually didn’t learn to swim until I was 28ÌęyearsÌęold. My first Ironman was in 2008.Ìę

Did your family join you in this adventure?
Yeah, the entire family came, my wife Sunny and my five kids [ages 5, 7, 9, 11, 12]. While I was out doing the 140.6 miles every day the kids went and did whatever was cool in the state—zoos, museums, monuments, or just swimming.

How did you prepare for this training-wise?Ìę
A lot of swimming, biking, and running. [Laughs]. I worked with a triathlon genius named David Warden. I left it up to him to put the plan together for me and I just had to execute it.Ìę

What were your days like?Ìę
I’d wake up at 6 A.M. I’d be swimming from 7 A.M. toÌę8:30 a.m. I’d try to be on the bike by 9 a.m. and ride until 4:30 or 5 p.m. And then I’d run from 5 p.m.Ìęuntil 11 p.m. And we’d do the fun run for everyone to come participate at 7 p.m.ÌęI averaged between four and five hours of sleep as we traveled through the night.

With that little sleep and that big of a daily effort humans start to fray at the edges. Did you have any lingering effects of the sleep deprivation?Ìę
Yeah, my body was just trying to deal with the stress of doing the Ironman that all the little things don’t get any attention. My tongue was numb. I also had little sores in my mouth, I think it’s called thrush. The sides of my mouth were cracked too. Both my pinky and ring fingers on both hands are still numb, I don’t have feeling in those or my toes. My body was pushing all the blood to my major organs, it just didn’t have the time or energy to push it out to my external organs.ÌęSo, I don’t have any dexterity with my hands right now. And that started about three weeks in. I also have an impingement in my neck and shoulders.

What about the saddle?Ìę
That seemed to work itself out actually. I was surprised with how few issues we had in that area. We just managed it really well.Ìę

How did you fuel yourself?
A lot of real food. I tried to eat about 8,000 calories a day, which became very difficult. I was just sick of eating. My crew did a great job of just throwing food at me. While I was racing I used Energy Lab Nutrition. I used four of their products every single day.Ìę

Do any days stick out to you as being most difficult?Ìę
Currently it’s one big blur, I need to go back and look at the pictures. The early events were the most difficult, before my body adjusted. The easiest ones were later, so 30-50, I was sort of on cruise control. I got stronger as I progressed through the campaign.Ìę

Did you suffer any acute injuries?
I didn’t have any muscle strains or stress fractures. I crashed once on the bike because I fell asleep. That was in Tennessee, race number 18. I had a bunch of road rash, some bruising, and some fluid in my hip. I was only at about mile 30 for the day, so I had to get back on the bike and finish the 112 miles and then I ran the marathon that night.

What do you think your biggest asset is in being able to do such an ambitious adventure?
My biggest asset is my wife and kids. They are everything. They are my support, my motivation, my inspiration. That’s the reason we did the project in the summer-time, so my kids could come with me.Ìę

What was the finish line of number 50 like for you?Ìę
The finish was totally crazy. It was bigger than my wildest dreams. The love and support was just overwhelming. We couldn’t have been happier as a collective team.Ìę

I know you, how much money did you raise doing this?Ìę
On the last night we were at $68,000 and I know we received at least $10,000 more after that. So far $78,000. Every dime goes to The Jamie Oliver Foundation. We don’t deal with any of the money, we just facilitated donations, meaning that I don’t get a cut of it. None of the donations funded this project or fed my family. Ìę

What would you say you learned about yourself through this experience?Ìę
That’s a pretty in-depth question. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve figured out who I am as a person. Because of the kindness and love that were shown, I want to give that back. So I want to continue to raise money for the charity and give as much back as I can. The goal now is to go around and speak to schools and continue to educateÌęabout childhood obesity and hopefully impact the next generation.

The post The Iron Cowboy Makes Masochism Look Like Fun appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

On February 19, Karl Egloff finished a hard push to the top of 22,837-foot Aconcagua in 7 hours, 55 minutes, fueled mainly by a handful of energy gels and bars. Standing on the summit, inhaling the thin air and looking out over the cloud-covered Andes range, Egloff realized he had the time-cushion necessary to beat the ascent-descent recordÌęon the Western Hemisphere’s Highest peak, set just two months earlier by famed mountain runner Kilian Jornet—if he hurried.

“Kilian is almost unbeatable on the downhill, so I needed to ascend faster than him to have a chance,” Egloff says.

And he did. Egloff hustled back down the mountain, logging the entire 50-mile endeavor in 11 hours, 52 minutes, nearly an hour better than Jornet’sÌęround-trip time of 12 hours, 49 minutes.

It wasn’t the first time Egloff has busted one of Jornet’s records. On August 13, 2014, after guiding a group to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro days earlier, he broke Jornet’s four-year-old record on the mountain, Africa’s highest peak. Before the attempt, local guides refused to assist him and scoffed at his plan to challenge Jornet’s time. Egloff ran up to Uhuru Peak (the highest point on Kilimanjaro’s Kibo rim, at 19,340 feet) and back down again in just 6 hours, 42 minutes—32 minutes faster than Jornet.

After the run, Kilimanjaro park staff issued him a certificate of his time, making it official. “I was anxious to get the rangers to certify it because nobody was going to believe a small David could beat a Goliath like Kilian,” said Egloff.

So just who is this mountain-running David?

Egloff, 33, is a professional mountain guide from Quito, the capital city of Ecuador. His record-setting Aconcagua run was actually his third trip to the summit in eight days—an impressive feat in itself. The mountain usually takes guided groups four days to climb and a month to recover from because of the elevation change and physical exertion. Two days earlier, on February 17, Egloff guided a group of six mountaineers, including his girlfriend Adriana Velasco, to the ceiling of the Americas. On the summit, Egloff proposed to Velasco. (She said yes.)

Egloff was born the youngest of three children and the only boy. His father, Charly Egloff, was a Swiss mountain guide. After meeting his Ecuadorian mother in Switzerland the pair returned to her home country to explore the Andes. Charly started taking his son with him on expeditions at a very early age. By the time he was 15 years old, the young Egloff had already ascended mountains higher than 5,000 meters (16,400 feet) more than 250 times and ones above 6,000 meters (19,700 feet) 30 times.

Though mountain running was a constant, Egloff, as a teenager, was drawn to soccer. At age 17 he moved to Switzerland to finish school. Between serving in the Swiss Army and attending university he trained to become a pro soccer player, a decision his family didn’t support. After graduating with a Business Administration degree, Egloff returned to Ecuador at age 25 and opened his guiding business,Ìę, as a backup plan.

Injury and age eventually dashed Egloff’s dream of playing professional soccer. To rehab an injured abductor he turned to cycling. “I started mountain biking as a hobby,” he says. “But that led to racing, and after a year of racing I was named to Ecuador’s National Team. After two [years] I was racing in World Cup events.” But no matter how hard he trained, even though he had the engine, his late entry into cycling prevented him from attaining the technical skills necessary to excel in international competitions.

[quote]“This has nothing to do with Kilian,” Egloff says. Rather, his objective is the culmination of a lifetime of hard training, a passion for the mountains, and newly realized ability to race up them faster than anyone ever has.[/quote]

Three years ago, at age 30, Egloff shifted his focus towards guiding and altitude training. Once the porters and guides in Ecuador noticed how fast Egloff moved up the mountains they started encouraging him to go for the speed records. At that time he had never heard of Jornet, who by then was already featured in documentaries, on magazine covers, and had a film crew shadowing him 24/7.

He joined Mammut’s International Athlete Team shortly thereafter, and although he continues to guide, his primary focus is setting speed records for all seven of the highest peaks on each of the seven continents, known collectively as The Seven Summits.

Right now,ÌęJornet, of Catalonia, is king of racing up high peaks. Ultrarunners call these mountain-running speed records FKTs or Fastest Known Times, and Jornet has racked up at least a dozen of them sinceÌęhe turned his attention to speed records in the early 2000s. He has already won most of the major ultrarunning races around the world, includingÌęEurope’s and the . Jornet is now attempting to set new records on a collection of mountains he considers the world’s most important. The project, which Jornet calls the “Summits of My Life,” is slated to culminate with a record attempt on the planet’s highest peak, Mount Everest, which may happen this spring.Ìę

To some, it may appear a strange coincidence that Egloff’s record-breaking rampage coincides with Jornet’s. In some instances, like at Aconcagua, it appears that Egloff is literally following Jornet’s footsteps up these mountains, albeit at a faster clip. But Egloff denies that his project has anything to do with Jornet’s.

“Although five of the seven peaks overlap with his Summits of My Life project, I’m not going after Kilian,” Egloff says. “This has nothing to do with him.” Rather, Egloff’s objective is the culmination of a lifetime of hard training, a passion for the mountains, and newly realized ability to race up them faster than anyone ever has.

This year, with the exception of a possible Mont Blanc record attempt, Egloff will spend his time guiding, raising funds, and training with a combination of mountain biking and vertical kilometer foot races. His next goal is a June 2016 record attempt on North America’s highest peak, the 20,322-foot-high Mount McKinley—yet another mountain where Jornet holds the fastest known time.

Jornet, who has a lifetime of ski mountaineering experience, set the Denali record on June 7, 2014, using skis, skins, and crampons in addition to running shoes. Egloff, however, has little experience on skis. “I have no idea how to ski, but I am going to attempt the same record, the same way Kilian did it,” he says.

It’s a difficult undertaking, but as the Kilimanjaro guides learned: Never underestimate Karl Egloff.

The post Where in the World Did Karl Egloff Come From? appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

When Gene Gurkoff’s grandfather was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, he began looking for ways to raise research money, including running three to four marathons per year.

“It was a lot of work to raise just a few thousand dollars per year this way,” saysÌęthe former New York City finance lawyer. Hoping to tack some zeros onto his donations, he approached several large companies, but they weren’t interested in sponsoring him. “I didn’t have the draw or the reach of a pro athlete, like a Derek Jeter,” saysÌęGurkoff. “But, I figured if we had hundreds of thousands of people, collectively we could be as attractive to them as a Jeter.”

So in June 2012, Gurkoff launched a free iPhone and Android app called . On the user end, it works quite simply: Open the app and go for a walk, run, or ride. Using your device’s GPS, the app calculates how far you’ve traveled and then donates 25 cents for every mile you run or walk and 10 cents for every mile you bike. You choose where the money goes from a growing list of 32 charities including , , , , , and the .

The money comes from corporations that sponsor Charity Miles. Half of the sponsorship dollars go directly to app’s partner charities with the other half funds the for-profit app. In return, companies get their branding on the app and the knowledge that a big chunk of their marketing is going toward philanthropy.

Here’s how it works: Say Timex sponsors Charity Miles for $50,000. When you log onto the Charity Miles app, it will be branded with a Timex background. Once Timex pays out $25,000 for all of the miles users have covered and Charity Miles takes its 50 percent cut, the app will shift to a different sponsor. (Charity Miles keeps a reserve fund in case users outpace sponsorship at any point.)

This is different than the traditional sporting-event charity model in a few ways. First, non-profit organizations often rely on donations, not corporate budgets. In turn they are expected to give a higher percentage of the revenue directly to charities. For example, The Leukemia & Lymphoma SocietyÌęsends 73.3 percent of its proceeds to charities.

But Charity Miles isn’t bound to events, so whether you’re biking to work, walking the dog, or running an actual charity race, the miles all add up to real, easy donations.

The app’s first major sponsor, who signed on in 2012, was Lifeway Foods, Inc., the probiotic company that makes Keifir. Charity Miles now has eight corporate sponsors including , , , and .

With active monthly users topping 100,000, the app is building to Jeter-scale ad impressions, according to Gurkoff. To date, members have earned over one million dollars for charity. “Our big hairy audacious goal,” he says, “is to move one billion dollars to charity by 2016.”

The post The Next Big Thing for Charity Is Running—Wherever You Want appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

“I think he probably needs to go to the hospital,” I quietly said to our crew in the Blank Cabin parking lot.

This was in 2012, and my partner, renowned ultrarunner Jared Campbell, and I had just completed a slog of 58 hours and 58 minutes through Colorado’s Sawatch Mountains. We’d covered about 106 miles, gained more than 44,000 feet in elevation, summited 14 peaks above 14,000 feet, and notched our names as the fifth and sixth athletes to have completed the since its inception in 1991.

After hours of stumbling through the bush, Campbell’s sunken cheeks, filthy yellow La Sportiva jersey, and sinewy body made him look as if he’d just emerged from being lost in the wilderness for months. He looked like he needed a trip to the emergency room and an I.V. That isn’t to say I had fared any better. I had nearly quit, just three peaks into the run. My lack of altitude training and Campbell’s superior climbing speed left me weak and wondering out loud if I should stop so he could move faster. “You can do something special on this route,” I told him. “Just go without me.”

He refused, instead insisting we continue together, running ourselves into the ground. Why?

Humans are hardwired for adventure. Taking risks ignites the brain’s arousal and pleasure mechanisms, offering a dopamine response similar to drugs. So we push farther, faster. It’s an evolutionary advantage. Early hominids—who ventured far from home, swam to the island on the horizon, and trekked all day to find a new water source to keep the tribe from starving—risked dying just to survive. But their efforts often paid off, and made, for many of us, adventure-seeking an ingrained part of our humanity. It’s why we become euphoric when a new landscape unveils itself from the top of a mountain we’ve never climbed. Food security and modernity have done nothing to diminish our need for novelty and adventure.

Sanctioned events—even ultramarathons on beautiful singletrack—lack a certain aesthetic appeal. Medical teams, aid stations, course markings, and other runners are there to make sure everything is okay. But what if you want to flirt with that line where you aren’t sure everything is okay? What if you know true adventure comes from fear and uncertainty?

As Campbell and I learned, Nolan’s route is a test piece for finding the limits of human physiology. “Nolan’s is right at the margin of what is possible,” said Blake Wood, 56, of Los Alamos, New Mexico. Wood and Campbell remain the only two people ever to have finished three of the hardest ultrarunning chores in the same year: the Barkley Marathons, Hardrock 100 Endurance Run, and Nolan’s 14.

Where races are contrived to ensure that as many people as possible arrive happy and healthy at the finish line, more and more people are foregoing the race scene for the aesthetic of wilder lines and fastest known times (FKTs). “With my climbing background, I find trail racing in the United States boring,” said Campbell. “For me, there are very few 100-mile ultras that are intriguing.”

This year alone, Nolan’s has seen 19 known attempts. The route—which starts west of Leadville, Colorado, and finishes at the trailhead of Mount Shavano—was the brainchild of ultrarunners Fred Vance and Jim Nolan. In 1991, Vance challenged Nolan to see how many 14ers he could fit into a roughly 100-mile route. Nolan, who had climbed all of Colorado’s 54 peaks over 14,000 feet, returned a week later with what we now know as the “Nolan’s 14,” a logical north-south line connecting all but one peak in the Sawatch Range. With no trails between the peaks, bushwhacking and off-trail travel make up the majority of the route. Vance and Nolan then made sleep deprivation mandatory by adding a 60-hour cutoff to be considered an “official” finisher.

The idea languished for eight years before the first efforts were attempted. In 1999, four “Hardrockers” gathered to share moral support, route beta, and support crews in a loosely organized event. Nobody finished. “We were using FRS radios to communicate and help each other with route finding,” said Wood.Ìę

Once the best routes had been flushed out through multiple failed attempts, Nolan’s became possible in one push. In 2001, four of the 11 starters—Mike Tilden, Blake Wood, John Robinson, and Jim Nelson—accomplished the feat. To date, John Robinson, 48, of Portland, Oregon, is the only athlete to complete the route twice. His second finish, in 2002, resulted in the current FKT of 54 hours, 57 minutes. In 2003, threats from the U.S. Forest Service to ticket and fine anyone racing the peaks in an organized fashion put an end forever to Nolan’s as an organized event.ÌęHowever, there is nothing stopping a hearty individual from legally setting out into the Sawatch on their own volition.

Spurred by a trickle of new finishers and a high profile failed attempt, the run has flourished in the past few years. This year’s flurry of attempts from July to September resulted in four finishers of the iconic line along the Sawatch. On August 29, Gavin McKenzie, 30, of Leadville, Colorado, and Brandon Stapanowich, 29, of Manitou Springs, Colorado, traveled together and finished in 56 hours, 19 minutes. The very next day, Brandon Worthington, 29, of Aurora, Colorado, emerged as the only finisher in a group of starters who shared resources, sneaking in just under the cutoff at 59 hours, 24 minutes.

Easily the most impressive effort, however, came from Andrew Hamilton, 39, of Denver, Colorado, who completed the route without a support crew. Hamilton, who set the speed record for climbing all of the Colorado 14ers in 2009, carried everything he’d need from the start, getting only available water along the way, and finished on September 12 in an astounding 60 hours, 19 minutes.

Modern-day adventure has no survival value; rather, it is one of those things, like friendship, that give value to survival. Couple the two and you’ve got an intoxicating potion.ÌęThis is ultimately why I didn’t quit after La Plata Peak in 2012.

By the time we made it to our 12th summit, Mount Antero, at 14,276 feet, Campbell hadn’t absorbed a calorie in hours. “I knew that we didn’t have much room for error and my condition had degraded to absolutely terrible,” said Campbell. At five percent body fat when we started, he was running on fumes. Unable to hold down gels, he continued to eat them just for the small adrenaline response caused by throwing up. In more than 10 years of long-distance endurance races, I’ve never seen anyone move for so long on so few calories. Thankfully, it was enough.

In the end he didn’t need to go to the hospital on that August day after all. He chose a cheap hotel bed and pizza over a gurney and intravenous fluids. “This truly is one of the finest mountain challenges I’ve experienced to date,” said Campbell. Turns out our capacity for suffering might rival our desire for adventure.

The post Your Brain on Pain: The Nolan’s 14 Route appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

On July 11, human anomaly Kilian Jornet smashed the six-year-old course record at the . Despite Jornet’s unbelievable speed, Coloradan Kirk Apt, who finished in 39:38:51—nearly 17 hours behind Jornet—received the loudest applause at this year’s awards ceremony.

That’s because the 52-year-old—who broke the course record in 2000 with a time of 29:35:00—kissed the Hardrock for the 20th consecutive year, a new record.ÌęThe race was his 48th hundred-miler since 1991; that’s an average of 2.1 hundreds per year, and he’s managed to show up healthy and fit to all of them.

In an era when elite ultrarunners drop out as soon as the smallest thing goes awry, Apt is the exemplar of what determination and perseverance can accomplish: a level of lifetime fitness unknown even to the most famous and revered professional athletes.

We caught up with Apt at his home in Grand Junction to see how 20 years of Hardrock is even possible.

OUTSIDE: When did you start running ultramarathons?
APT: I actually don’t remember; it was probably a year or two before my first hundred, which was Leadville in 1991. In 1990, I paced my friend Greg Brunson at Leadville. The next year, we reversed roles, and since then I’ve lost count of how many times he has paced me in my 48 total hundreds. Probably close to 20, including Hardrock again this year.

What initially drew you to the sport?
The simple love of running in the mountains and the challenge of resetting the edge of the envelope physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.Ìę

Who was instrumental in you getting hooked on the sport?
In addition to Greg, my early mentors include Steve Mahieu, Charlie Thorn, and John Cappis.Ìę

You dropped from your first attempt at Hardrock in its 1992 inaugural running due to food poisoning. Was that a formative experience?
Maybe, in the sense that the experience solidified the feeling that I really don’t like not making it to the finish line. That remains my only hundred-mile DNF.

You finished Leadville before you first ran Hardrock. Did that prepare you for the 100.5-mile loop through the San Juans?
Oh, it was so different than Leadville, and I was still quite low on the learning curve. There was so much uncertainty before the first Hardrock; we wondered whether it could be completed in 48 hours. I remember going into the run with a healthy dose of fear and respect. Certainly it was beneficial to have the 100-mile experience of one race, but Hardrock is a very different experience than other hundreds.

What memories do you have from your first Hardrock 100 finish, or have they all blurred together?
I do remember my first Hardrock. As for gear, I had the whole house with me, a huge backpack. I wasn’t even experienced enough to think I knew what to expect. My plan was to go out and see how it came to me. That first finish line was very special. I remember running super conservatively and feeling huge elation running into the finish, which was down by the gazebo and courthouse [in Silverton, Colorado] back then. It made up for the disappointment of the DNF the year before.Ìę

What was winning the 2000 race like for you?
We were living in Boulder that year, and it was a low snow year. So, just great training in the Front Range. I certainly didn’t go into it with a “win or bust” attitude, but I knew I was super fit.

I did my thing through the race and found myself in the lead. We were going counterclockwise that year, and I got to Chapman aid station [mile 82] feeling pretty good and thought, “I’ve got a shot at winning this.” I’m really not competitive by nature, so I had to convince myself to go for it because it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. It was a big mental effort to keep myself pushing.

I had the best running day of my life on probably the best day to have it. That was the high-water mark of my lifetime fitness.

Being able to show up at Hardrock for 20 straight years and fit enough to finish such a tough course is a level of lifetime fitness most people can’t achieve. How do you do it?
Luck. Also, because I’ve made Hardrock the focus of my year, all my training and other prep has been all about getting to the start line in the best position to be successful. I try to have a healthy lifestyle, eat well, get regular bodywork, train smart. I also take time off when necessary. And I stay positive.

What has been the key to your training?
I now train at really low intensity. I don’t have any problem walking if a climb is working me. My [slowing] times kind of reflect that.

For me, it’s just been the long run. Time on my feet. I don’t care how much ground I cover or how fast I’m going. I do try to get as much terrain [vertical gain] in as possible. May and June are the key times, but you can’t always get up high with snow in Colorado. I just do what I can.

When I was more competitive, I was underemployed, so I had more time to train. My partner, who is also a runner, and I have been together for almost 20 years. We don’t have kids. She’s key to keeping me on track with my training.Ìę

Have you had any injuries along the way?
About five to eight years ago, I realized that my adrenals were kind of shot. That really had a hand in increasing my finish times at Hardrock. I worked with a naturopath doctor, got regular acupuncture, and was on multiple herbal adrenal-health supplements. Eventually that fixed it. Three years back, in the spring, I started to roll my ankle a lot—worse than usual. I ended up having to wear an air cast every time I ran for a year.

What’s your diet like?
I eat mostly vegetarian, but certainly not completely vegetarian. Dinners are always centered around a gigantic pile of steamed vegetables. I also eat beans and quite a few eggs for protein.Ìę

What keeps you motivated year after year?
Well, there’s nothing I’d rather do than spend all day on my feet in the mountains. Motivation hasn’t been an issue.

The post What It Takes to Finish the World’s Toughest Ultra 20 Consecutive Times appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

There are few debates more polarized in the running world than the one between maximalists and minimalists. It seems everyone either subscribes to the super-cushioned cult or the minimal movement, and there’s not much common ground in between.

After the minimalist craze of the past few years, more top shoe brands are entering the maximalist fray. So we reviewed the latest beefed-up options to get to the bottom of the dispute. Or at least add more fuel to the flame.

Hoka One One Conquest ($170)

Intended for: Road

This is the Cadillac of road runners. —the latest edition from the brand known for its trademark giant foam—is Hoka’s first attempt at a road shoe. Perched on a 29mm stack, the Conquest has twice the cushion of most normal road trainers. This makes it a great option for runners who log a lot of miles and want some extra cush or for those returning from injury.

Noticeably narrower and slightly less cumbersome than Hoka’s trail-shoe options, the Conquest still has a boxy, stilt-like effect. With that said, it’s also astonishingly stable thanks to a new RmatÂź midsole-suspended cradle system that cups your foot. This shoe is laterally stiff and so cushioned that there’s very little ground-feel, which might turn off some runners.

I found the shoe to be quite comfortable thanks to a seamless upper. Take note: the collar and tongue are uncushioned, and although I didn’t have any problems with this, it could chafe some runners. All the more reason to try before you buy. The Conquest’s Race-Lace system (similar to Salomon’s Speedlaces) did cut into the top of my foot, but this was easily fixed by swapping in a pair of normal laces (included with every pair of shoes). Ìę

The Conquest’s 4mm drop and rockered forefoot accelerate your transition from ground-strike to push-off, delivering on the promised feeling of “weightlessness.” Hoka devotees will notice the new foam is less plush than that in other Hokas, but this shoe is still a great combination of cushion and responsiveness for the road. Alberto Salazar told us, ”The more you run, the more support your foot needs.” This is a big-mileage shoe for any road runner looking to extend their long run in search of racing glory.

Important note: Hokas run at least a half size larger than the number on the box, so be sure to try these on for sizing before you buy.

Weight: 11.8 oz.; Drop: 4mm; Geometry: 25/29mm

Brooks Transcend ($160)

Intended for: Road

The Brooks Transcend, , looks a bit like it arrived on a spaceship from the future. The Brooks Super DNA midsole is 25 percent more cushioned than any of Brooks’ other offerings. Its rounded heel and 8mm drop helps you roll through your gait cycle and allows the shoe to maintain Brooks’ quick-footed lightweight feel. It’s a traditional road shoe that doesn’t compromise its midsole responsiveness for unnecessary cushion.Ìę

For this shoe Brooks departed from a traditional shoe post—designed to keep you in proper biomechanical alignment—in favor of a new technology it calls “Guide Rails” to protect against pronation and supination. These rails are specialized plates along the upper on the outside of the shoe.ÌęThe rails act like bumpers, so if your foot doesn’t roll in or out, you won’t notice them. If it does, they’ll keep you from over-pronating or over-supinating.

The shoe’s plush upper feels downright luxurious, but I found the shoe could use a little more room in the toe-box. Runners with narrow feet shouldn’t have any problem with the fit, but if you have wide feet, definitelyÌętry before you buy. The Transcend is a wonderful option for a focused road runner who wants a bit more cushion, but who isn’t ready to make the jump to a Hoka One One.

Weight: 12.2 oz.; Drop: 8mm; Geometry: 22/30mm

Altra Olympus ($130)

Intended for: Trail

Named after a peak on the edge of the Salt Lake valley, is the first maximally cushioned, zero-drop shoe. The heel is at the same height as your forefoot, as it would be if you were running barefoot.ÌęAltra believes this promotes proper biomechanics.

The wide toe box allows your toes to naturally splay, good for anyone with wide feet or runners who battle neuromas. The foot feel is soft and slipper-like, even without socks (if you choose to go that route).Ìę

The Olympus forefoot rocker—like a early-rise ski tip—helps initiate your stride. And the Olympus’ wide platform makes it a very stable ride despite its relativelyÌęhigh stack height.ÌęIf you charge downhill, or hope to, the Olympus will gobble up terrain like no other. The price for that, however, is less return of energy from the midsole. At times this shoe feels like riding uphill on your big travel freeride bike: the shock absorption is great until you have to climb. That means it can have a wet-shoe feel on the flats.

Our major gripe? The Olympus’ tread looks more like what you’d expect on a road shoe. It wasn’t tacky enough for rock, and it wasn’t toothy enough for steep dirt trails. Finally, I found its tongue needed to be a bit longer and wider, or it needed an offset loop, to keep debris out. On long runs, I inevitablyÌęgot rocks in the shoe.

Weight: 11 oz.; Drop: 0mm; Geometry: 32mm

New Balance Fresh Foam 980 ($110)

Intended for: Road

Of all the new maximal shoes this year, doesn’t feel like it belongs in the super-cush category. It has the slimmest profile of the crop and really doesn’t comply with it’s marketing copy of “soft, pillowy, and cloudlike.” What this shoe lacks in “pillowy” however, it makes up for in proprioception. That means it provides superior ground-feel than its competitors. Combine that with how light this shoe is, and you have a fast, lightly cushioned racer.Ìę

Fresh Foam 980’s 4mm drop encourages a mid-foot strike and a quick cadence. A comfortable fit with a thick cushioned tongue, it features an elegant single-piece midsole and outsole that provide long-term durability (a technique made possible by new ). The breathable upper uses welded overlays to eliminate seams and possible hot spots for blisters. It has a narrow forefoot, and sizes a little small—you should probably size up at least a half size when you buy.

The Fresh Foam 980 is the fleetest maximal shoe on the market today. It’s super responsive, light, cushioned, and wonderfully flexible for a maximal shoe with a lot of midsole. When your training volume increases and your long runs get really long, this is the high-mileage workhorse you’ll be happy to own.Ìę

Weight: 8.8 oz.; Drop: 4mm; Geometry: 22/26mm

Vasque Ultra ShapeShifter ($170)

Intended for: Trail

The “” in the name denotes who this shoe was made for—ultrarunners. The super-cushioned ShapeShifter subverts the traditional construction methods (and associated construction waste) by attaching the shoe’s upper directly to a one-piece injection-molded EVA outsole. This method eliminates the midsole and the insole entirely. Take note: that also means this shoe won’t work for those who run with orthotics.

The Ultra ShapeShifter features a roomy stretch mesh sock upper and the Boa L5 lacing system. The latter is brilliant for on-the-run customization, and anyone who prefers their shoes loose for uphills and tight for downhills. Simply bend down and twist the mechanism to tighten your shoe to your preferred snugness. Because the laces are thin (about the size of fishing wire), they can cut into the top of your foot if they’re too tight.Ìę

The one-piece sole is malleable and conforms to the trail, and I found it gave me great traction even on loose kitty litter. It’s also a fantastic buffer between you and the hard ground, which increased my downhill running speed. Eliminating the layering comes with the added benefit of giving the ShapeShifter good trail feel for a shoe that lifts you 28mm off the ground.Ìę

The biggest downside: I found the fit to be quite odd.ÌęThe front of the arch/midfoot was much narrower than any other shoe I’ve worn. I couldn’t run more than a few miles in this shoe, and if you have wide feet, either consider another option or definitelyÌętry before you buy.Ìę

Weight: 10.6 oz.; Drop: 6mm; Geometry: 22/28mm

The post Tested: Maximalist Shoes of 2014 appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

I have now been to Hardrock five times. I’ve paced and crewed three former winners, and last year IÌę. In 2011, I briefly lived in Silverton, Colorado, in a dilapidated pink house with that year’s runner-up, Dakota Jones. I’ve run the whole course in one shot four times, three of which were “Softrocks,” which break the course into three days of 28 to 45 miles each. I’ve spent countless hours on the course and even more thinking about the race. It’s simply the most rugged and beautiful 100-mile course in existence.

Like waiting to be asked to the prom, I waited for my friend Jared Campbell to ask me, unprompted, if I would pace him this year at Hardrock. If anyone on the Hardrock starting line doesn’t need help getting around the course, it’s Jared Campbell. Earlier this year, he won the nearly impossible —a 100-mile bushwhacking race with no course markings, more than 60,000 feet of vertical gain, and only 14 finishers. Ever. Campbell has finished twice, and this would be his 10th time lining up for Hardrock.

They say complacency is the leading cause of death for the experienced mountain athlete. As dusk descended Friday for the first time on the , I was running back and forth to my car trying not to become a statistic. Adding and subtracting items from my running pack, I couldn’t decide how much or how little to take with me for my pacing duties. If overlooked, the reality of 31 night miles in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado will land you in the hospital—or worse. Still, complacent and maybe a little flippant, I didn’t pack rain pants or a winter hat and gloves.

Hardrock is widely considered the premier mountain 100-mile race, with an average altitude of over 11,000 feet above sea level. The course starts in Silverton, Colorado, at 9,318 feet and is a beautiful loop through the San Juan Mountains. The race is often jokingly called the “Hardwalk,” because the altitude coupled with the 33,992 feet of vertical ascent leave even the best runners walking.

This year, more than 1,200 people applied for the 140 available entries into the Hardrock 100. A first-time applicant has about a 1.4 percent chance of getting in. I’m one for six. My single race-day experience is a common one. A pretty good endurance runner comes to Hardrock with a heart and mind full of hope and gets destroyed by the course, conditions, altitude, and mental burden of not performing as well as they should have. My body required a nap just to make it to the finish line.

But I finished.

This year, the lottery gods showed favor to the stars and the gazers, creating the most competitive field in the race’s 21-year history. I asked race director Dale Garland—who makes five personal picks—if he made the race competitive this year. He assured me the lottery did it. Unlike other endurance events, the Hardrock makes no special allowances for elite athletes. Everyone has to get in through the lottery system, and this year hit the jackpot. “The stars lined up,” said Garland.

Modernity and the deep field attracted media coverage never before seen in sleepy little Silverton, which has a year-round population of 500. Hardrock board members were making on-the-fly decisions on things like media access that previously had never been considered. There were camera drones at the start line. You’d be hard-pressed to find something so un-Hardrock, a race that prides itself on being a run, not a race. The fact is that only human anomalies can race the Hardrock 100. The rest of us survive it. This isn’t Western States.

The hype coming into this year’s race was unprecedented. The presence of ultrarunning’s reigning alpha (and anomaly), Kilian Jornet, meant everyone else was racing for second place. The real question was would he set a new course record after what he just did on Denali?

In 2008, a then 23-year-old Kyle Skaggs stunned the ultrarunning world by becoming the first person to run the revered 100.5-mile course in under 24 hours. In Hardrock’s inaugural 1992 running, David Horton won the race in a time of 32 hours, 34 minutes. Skaggs, racing hard from the gun, rounded the loop course—which tours the iconic Colorado towns of Telluride and Ouray—in 23:23. Neither of these two Hardrock champions run ultras anymore. This year, Horton was showing off a new knee, swollen from too many mountain bike miles, and Skaggs basically retired after his record-setting run. The repercussions of the effort left him with an undiagnosed racing heartbeat and odd palpitations that made it hard to sleep, let alone run. He’s now happily farming in New Mexico.

Hardrock’s tagline “Wild and Tough” delivered this year with a lingering storm cycle coming through as the race leaders were either climbing Engineer Pass or on the course’s high point, Handies Peak, at 14,048 feet. Hardrock stories of hunkering down to avoid lightning or to get warm after developing hypothermia are common. The year I ran Hardrock, my pacer and I spent 45 minutes in a cave trying to avoid getting lit up. The San Juan Mountains are known for brief afternoon showers in July.Ìę “There is always the monsoonal flow, but to have [storms] at night and have them stick around for four or five hours is uncommon,” says Garland.

This year’s women’s race unfolded almost exactly as it has in the two previous years, with Boulder, Colorado–based athlete Darcy Piceu running to a steady win after race leader Diana Finkel dropped out late in the event. In 2009, Finkel set the women’s course record of 27:18. While pressing to win the overall race in 2010, Finkel pushed her body to its limit and spent the following three weeks in the hospital on dialysis. Amazingly, she managed to win again in 2011 but has withdrawn with health issues in the past three years, each time leaving the race to Piceu.

Campbell and I were unfortunate witnesses to Finkel’s demise this year. As she has during the past few Hardrocks, Finkel was running in the men’s section of the field. In eighth place overall when we caught up to her, she was experiencing the all too familiar symptoms of kidney dysfunction. As we approached, she was stumbling from side to side, with her stoic husband, Ben, trying to keep her from falling and ultimately dying in the basin. She would make it to the Maggie aid station, at mile 85, and drop from the race. Lacking the competitive depth of the men’s field, this year’s second woman finisher was more than eight hours after Piceu.

As Campbell and I were trudging up Handies peak, about 61 miles into the race, Canadian athlete Adam Campbell (no relation) and his pacer were hit by a dispersed lightning strike on the summit. “It blew my headlamp up and knocked us both down,” Campbell told me. Undeterred, the Canadian raced an almost flawless effort and finished third overall in 25:56.Ìę

Although the altitude, stormy weather, and course conditions took down some of the best endurance runners on the planet, Jornet sauntered to a new course record with his usual aplomb. The 26-year-old Catalan ultrarunner and mountaineer missed the brunt of the day’s storm by running out in front of the field and the lightning. French ultrarunner, 2011 Hardrock champion, and eventual second-place finisher Julien Chorier managed to stay within striking distance until Jornet decided it was time to push for the record. Jornet is so much better than the next-best athlete in most races that he stays with them just for the company. As the finish line approaches, he then makes a move for the win. Worried about getting lost on the sparsely flagged Hardrock course, Jornet decided he’d run easy until mile 72. “I planned to go for it at Sherman aid station because it was just a marathon for me then,” said Jornet. Still a whopping 10 minutes behind course record pace at mile 85, Jornet flew to the finish and a new record by 42 minutes. “This is a record that will stand for a long time,” says Garland of Jornet’s 22:41 finish.

I ran with Campbell for about 10 hours—11,000 feet of up, 31 miles, and just under a third of the Hardrock course. We shared few words and one puke (watching him puke made me puke). Charging to the finish line with a time of 28:23, Campbell finished in seventh place. He ran the finish-line shoot with his wife and six-month-old baby before kissing the Hardrock.

My heart palpitated.

The post A Killer Course appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.